One one things

It usually takes me a very short time to get homesick, it’s taken me almost 2 months this time. A combination of horrible weather, a broken down boiler, a few complications from the females of the species and the ever-present shadow of work, is not a good one. It just makes me want to say “nope, enough of that shit, i’m going off for a bit.” But no, I’m stuck here in front of the comp making notes on the influence of ideology on political outcomes. Right now I’d love to be in SL, a hot afternoon, at the old Commons having a coffee and a sandwich with a friend(s) and just chill. Or even at home, in my room, with my little Lab, a Bob Marley CD, a nice book, sarong, arm chair, cool thambili, ahh, c’est la vie n’est ce pas? But what’s to do, it’s just for one year and then i’ll be done at last, might as well make the most of this opportunity to live abroad.

I put on one of my two baila CDs, a welcome change. I’m often surprised by baila, the lyrics, though not profound, are so witty, melodic and clever. And at the same time they have a beat which is infectious and just makes you want to move. Dancing to baila is one of the most fun things to do, specially at parties, weddings and cricket matches with all your friends, it’s like you’re given a licence to be silly. (In fact I once went to a funeral where they had Baila. Our buggers one thing, any excuse for a party.) I particularly love the time of the evening when everyone joins a koachchiya and produces one big chain of energy and fun. The other time baila comes to the fore is on school trips. Bus journeys are never as fun without a solid baila session. Anything has the potential to become a musical instrument on these trips, empty bottles, chairs, windows, heads, anything within grab’s reach really. For some reason those sessions have the potential to go on forever, everyone contributes at least one line, specially the songs where individuals’ names are inserted into each stranza to make a different story each time. It’s funny how I know the lyrics of all the bastardised versions of Sinhalese songs and none of the proper versions, thanks to hours on school buses I guess. Unforunately baila is never quite the cup of expat teachers’ tea, they would forever complain about the “incessant beat” of Thararay thara poaduda, Baby, Thambi kadey and of course the Raptararara song and its many many extensions. They knew that profanity was being used each time we’d laugh aloud for little reason and would roll their eyes accordingly. Some of my favourite stanzas are;

There was once a man from Ceylon,
Who wished he’d never been born
He wouldn’t have been if his father had seen
that the tip of the condom was torn.

From the depth of the crypt in St. Giles,
Came a scream that resounded for miles
Said the Vicar, “Good gracious,
Has father Ignatius forgotten the Bishop has piles?”

There was once a man from Moratu
Who tried to bugger a Muththu,
The Muththu said “Thu! Umbay Ammata Hu!”
And burnt his Bush with a suruttu.

Sigh, good times. Sri Lanka, how I miss you.