One one things

I was having lunch with a friend and her friend this afternoon when I get a text from Singapore reading “Tamilselvan is dead!” I blinked and read it again. I interrupted the conversation between the two girls and said “wow..Tamilselvan is dead.” None of us knew what to say - we didn’t know each other particularly well so we didn’t know how reactions would be greeted - I think. I didn’t know how he had died, and I knew I was happy but I felt bad to feel happy if he had died of an illness or something. I got back to office and was inundated with emails and messages with the news. It quietly sank in..their number 2 was gone. And he was hit by the air force that was battered, physically and morally just a week ago. It was fantastic for us, militarily, politically. BBC front page, even they were saying it. I was happy. I worried for a bit about retaliation, but hey, that can wait, this was great. Tamilselvan..dead. I was happy, I’m sure. “Let’s put an arrack and celebrate, machan.” Yeah, even arrack.

I came home that evening and was watching the news and soon after his death was announced there were explosions in the night. They were just firecrackers, but in Colombo we’re edgy. I asked the chaps downstairs about the noise and MA said, “ah araya maruna ne, ithin rathinya daanawa kattiya.” I shrugged. Years ago whenever I heard crackers for no reason my first thought was hey Prabha might have died. War does strange things to people. My evening was quiet, I was distracted, so I let myself drift. I drifted back 12 years, almost to the day. It was late in the night and I remember being woken up by my mother with tears in her eyes. “Podi aiya’s plane is missing.” I cried my way to my uncle’s house. I don’t remember a lot, everyone was there, we had the radio on waiting for news. Every time the phone rang the room held its breath. But nothing - we had hope, that was the worst part. His girlfriend didn’t stop crying on the bed, my uncle didn’t say anything but he was never the same again, my grandmother couldn’t believe she lived to see a grandchild die - I, I just cried. My cousin was in the air force and the Antonov he was flying was shot down. We never found a body.

We cried, they celebrated. And today it’s the other way around. Except I don’t really feel like celebrating.

Poor form these days. I’ve just been through 15 pages of mathematical dribble which concluded that the average Bangladeshi will increase consumption by about $1 if income increases by $1, and that if they have more access to credit that they will increase consumption by a greater amount. And the buggers use about 10 different models to prove this, GETS, ADF, BETS, FUKS..bloody jokers. And for good measure they rape Friedman, Modigliani and other consumption bad boys in the process.

In other poor news I managed to put my trousers into the washing machine with my Ipod in the pocket. I thought I had lost the bugger so I was looking round frantically when I came home to find it on the washing machine, clean as a whistle. As expected it didn’t work despite trying to tip the water out of it from all possible angles. That’s what happens when technology makes things smaller and smaller. I comfort myself knowing that it was a Shuffle, 2nd hand, and had served me for a good year after serving my flatmate for a couple of years before that. Doesn’t stop me being a monkey though. I miss it at work now, whenever my concentration would drop I’d put it on and listen to whatever was on the playlist for the day, and would be on the money fairly soon. The sound of the A/C seems louder now, almost drowning out my rumbling tummy.

As a final piece of worrying news, I’m increasingly suffering from road rage. Contrary to what most ppl think, driving in Colombo is a hoot. Never a dull moment with these trishaw buggers squeezing in from all over, competing with the car in the next lane as you both edge forward at the traffic light waiting to get ahead when the green comes on and of course avoiding pot holes and the mad buggers who jump into the middle of the road and grin. At which point you can’t help but grin back, shrug your shoulders, and keep driving. It’s life and death at the best of times but I can’t help but enjoy it. If I had to drive in some place like England I’d be lost, what with all the order, ridiculous. Sadly of late I think it’s been getting to me. I’ve been swearing to myself, putting the shutter down and gesticulating, giving mock kaney paras and generally being a bit of a chav.

The other day I had just left home and was driving down my road when thadang, hena noise like i’d been slapped by a saucepan. To see the car coming on the other lane had whacked my side mirror, which duely snapped onto my shutter. Thankfully the shutter was up bc it was hot, normally I avoid the A/C bc I spend the whole day in a A/C room so its nice to get some fresh air. Anyway after the initial 3 seconds of shock I looked back to see the other bugger had stopped about 30 yards down the road. I felt my blood boiling and I reversed all the way back. Now all the three wheel buggers on the road know me so they were up in arms running to the other car and making the person get down and generally looking rather menacing. Then an oldish woman steps out looking nervous as hell. My heart melts and I walk up to her and ask her if everything is ok and whether her car is damaged. Not a scratch it seems. I still dont know whose fault it was, and she didn’t seem to know what was going on so I said ok let’s leave it and we went off. It’s quite funny that the only two (touch wood, thuk thuk thuk) accidents I’ve had so far have been down my own road.

But yes, all this angst is I think due to the weather. Seriously the timing is awful. It’s nice and sunny all day, and then 5′ o clock when I’m out of work and driving home the clouds form like some army that is really peeved about something or the other. Then just when I get home and strap up the doggie for her walk the rain falls down in buckets. By around 6 when I’m ready to go for a swim gadugudas the thunder and lightning take over. The other day I was so desparate I went to the pool anyway. Within a few minutes the pool attendent comes looking like mother superior.

PA(MS): *clap* *clap*
Me: Moko aunty?
PA(MS): Pissuda oy?
Me: Aiyooo aunty…
PA(MS): eliyata enna, haiyo lamayo.

The lightning doesn’t allow me to watch the cricket either, not that it’s been flash (pun intended though it is bloody awful). I’ve been disappointed by the Champs trophy, not only bc SL is out but bc the standards of cricket have not been great. The matches have in general been one sided and plagued with really shoddy displays. For instance the West Indies batting against SL, Windies again tried their very best to lose to India despite having the match in the bag, Pakistan against SA, NZ against SL, SL against Pakistan, India in general. So many really ordinary matches, I guess the pitches and the dew haven’t helped, but it just seems everyone is lacklustre. But then it’s the Champion’s trophy and nobody really gives a shit do they? In other interesting cricket news Minki van der Westhuzian has been named cricket WAG of the year. w00t! Also not bad for Murali’s missus, beat a pop-star to second place. Excellent quote by the director of Stickcricket,

“Minki is a cricket fan’s dream woman. She’s sleek, sexy and with a successful career to boot. Cricketers attract a finer class of WAG. While football is a game for chaps copping off with Chavs, cricket is a game for gentlemen going out with goddesses.”

Quite right too. Yet another moment that I lament sacrificing a career in cricket for one as an economist. Buggeroo.

The other day I was having the usual lunch at the dodge Chinese joint with a friend. The place belongs more in Beijing than in Central London with duck and chicken carcasses hanging on display, whetting the appetite and screaming bird flu. It’s well located (just near the museums and the South Ken tube station), cheap, tasty, seedy and always full despite the fact that the staff only bother to serve you in between shouting battles amongst themselves. So whilst happily tucking into some roast duck with egg fried rice, a couple of builder guys came and sat at our table, as sharing tables is the norm in chinese places here. It was all good until one of them tells the waitress “No cock for me today please.” I was shocked, but the girl didn’t seem too perturbed, but I don’t think she understood it bc most of them don’t speak much English. This continued for several minutes including some comments rather less subtle than the pun on coke. As they left, one of them told the waitress that she better be ready at 8 O clock that he’s coming to pick her up.

I was thinking to myself later on that this sort of behaviour is the norm amongst ppl of such a social category. You often get builders, road workers etc. harrassing ppl on the streets and I guess one comes to accept it. This does sound terribly classist, but it is the reality, though a generalisation. Recognizing differences in social class is I think engraved in human nature. Though I and a lot of ppl in my generation tend to consider the caste system to be primitive and massively discriminatory, we exercise the very same discriminations in our mind every single day. The only difference being the caste system uses the professions of one’s ancestors whilst we use the professions of today. For instance, if someone told me I could get married to a girl working in a garment factory, chances are i’d refuse. The role of caste in marriage is the same, the majority of weddings in our grandparents’ (and sometimes parents’) generation were determined by social caste. Today we look down upon the latter but secretly acknowledge the former. I think that I maintain a basic degree of liberalism by rejecting the caste system, unfortunately this makes me a hypocrite. This is not a defence of the caste system bc that system crosses the line by passing judgement on individuals based on what their great great grand parents did with themselves. It is however normal to pass judgement on ppl based on what they do with themselves in their own life. Acknowledging differences in social class is completely normal, and to be blind to it is probably impossible at this stage of human history.

The same applies to things like race, skin colour etc. we are born with a Masters Degree in prejudice. (If you doubt this conduct the following thought experiment, you have a line up of 4 possible suspects of a terrorist bombing, one a short Chinese chap, two a middle aged white guy, three a tall black man, four a bearded Middle Eastern guy dressed in traditional Muslim clothing, what would your most instinctive thought be? Similarly if you were told to name which of the four are likely to have been involved in a television robbery, and which of the four is a millionaire and which of the four is a computer engineer, most of us would have fairly similar initial instincts). I guess the best we can do is to accept that one will be judgemental about one’s differences but to try one’s best to not let that judgement affect one’s decisions and actions.

A totally unrelated but mildly amusing thing that I found out today is the name of those long chairs that you find in walauvvas, the ones characterized by polished wood and a meshwork of cane with extended arms to raise your legs onto with the intention of having an afternoon siesta. They are deliciously named Bombay Fornicators.

I admit i’m quite a sucker for most traditions. A couple of days ago the Avurudu celebrations were held back home and I was feeling quite sad for most of the day, missing our routine at home. Every year we light the hearth at the appropriate time, dressed in the appropriate colour, facing the auspicious direction and hoping the milk boils over following suit. The hearth is great fun, there’s nothing like some controlled arson. Thaththi then feeds all of us in turn, and since last year Teq beq also gets fed kiribath and gets to drink the freshly boiled milk. Seeya and aachchi then come home and have kiribath, and then we follow them back to their place where we have kiribath, do the ganu ganu (at least until last year when I started earning and felt obliged to do some denu, I distinctly remember getting a raw deal, ganu ganu is more my game). The rest of the day is spent traversing Greater Colombo, relative hopping. Not my favourite part of day, but it must be done. Being the youngest I spend a good part of the day on my knees, bulath in hand doing the rounds. This year I missed the whole do and tried to compensate as best I could by boiling milk over the gas cooker, still facing South and decked in vaivarna clothing (well a vaivarna sarong at least). A few friends came over for kiribath, baila and general amusements, and it did feel quite nice.

Tradition is forever challenged by time and progress. This is good in some instances, but not so good in other instances. Ragging for instance is a pathetic tradition, and the sooner it’s out of the picture the better. But certain traditions play an important role in chiselling the identity of cultures, institutions and even families. These traditions need to be protected and carefully nutured. Just recently I heard that the Oxford University tradition of wearing full sub fusc for exams could possibly be made redundent. There was a vote held to make it the choice of each student whether to wear it or not. That sounds fair enough, choice is good after all, but I would have thought that the end result would be obvious. The average student would rather do some last minute revision instead of spending the last 5 minutes getting into the “penguin suit”. Furthermore, the average student is unlikely to feel all that attached to the institution that he/she is part of, and is thus unlikely to want to contribute to the traditions of an institution unless coersed. But happily enough the result of the vote was in favour of keeping the sub fusc.

I bought a ticket for the first Lords test between SL and England in May, and when the ticket came by post I thought they had by mistake sent me a dozen tickets bc the envelope was so fat. The actual ticket was quite standard (thought prettier than your average) but the rest of the contents were more interesting. It included a ticket holder beautifully adorned with a drawing of the ground, a leaflet detailing the available picnic box sets, and most amusingly a 15 page booklet entitled “A guide for ticket holders 2006″ detailing the vast rules and regulations for spectators. Some of them are quite harsh. Among the items banned are flags, banners, musical instruments, klaxons, rattles, fireworks, fancy dress and oversized hats. But, this is after all Lords, it isn’t your average cricket ground. I think it’s fair enough that they try to maintain the traditions that make the ground unique. If you want to wear big hats and beat some drums, as most of us like to do, we can do it anywhere else in the world. There is a reason that any player in the world would want to score a hundred or take 5 wickets at Lords, it’s because Lords is unique, it is steeped in tradition and it is like no other. Therefore I have no qualms with allowing the ground and the MCC to try and maintain that uniqueness, afterall I’m just a spec in the 219 year history of the MCC.

A lot of ppl can’t be bothered doing the avurudu traditions, most ppl scoff at the requirements of watching cricket at Lords, most Oxbridge students find the sub fusc to be a hassle, but it’s different traditions like these which make the human race interesting. The unique cultural celebrations add a bit of colour to life, Lords is a special cricket ground whose appeal is derived from its adhering to tradition more than others and finally Oxford University is special not because of its education (other than one on one tutes) but because of its rich history and the traditions it clings to. It would be sad if we fail to cling to such traditions and slip into monotonous homogeneity. Each day traditions are lost and the world becomes that much less interesting. I think it’s important to maintain and celebrate diversity, to celebrate that uniqueness with which we’re all born.

I think a family history is that much richer if it can boast an impressive family feud. I was reading Micheal Ondaatje’s “Running in the family” recently and was continually amazed at how exciting and spicy the Ondaatje family life seemed to be, specially the feud between the Ondaatjes and the Bandaranaikes. It reminds me of a quasi-feud that our family had with our neighbours a long time back, at the time it was more fun than anything else, and I remember taking part with glee as a 8 year old right until we left the neighbourhood when I turned 16. When I look back on it now it’s even more amusing than it was at the time.

It all started back in 1992 when my parents had started building our house in Kollupitiya, they were relatively young (in that they were just out of postgrad) and aiya and I were 8 and 10 respectively. We’d visit the building site regularly and mess around with Amarasekara bass and his wheelbarrow. One time there was a bit of a hullaballoo outside. To see, thaththi was having an argument with this old lady about our gate. Now, our main entrance was on a private road, and under a strict reading of the law the house opposite us has a claim on the land immediately in front of our gate. But nobody really makes a fuss except for this old lady. This particular issue would be the cornerstone of many an ensuing skirmish. So thaththi that was apparently trying to convince her that having a gate there isn’t really going to change anything bc they weren’t using that land at all in the first place. Unfortunately old lady wasn’t impressed and decided to set the dogs on my father, diplomatic dialogue at its best.

Things went downhill from there. A few weeks after we moved in I opened the gate to see that pissu aachchi had decided to plant a coconut tree bang in front of the gate, making it impossible to take any cars into our house. The tree was quite small and as soon as thaththi got home he was fuming and went about removing the tree with his bare hands. Naturally it didn’t quite work, and the ever looming threat of the dogs had him hurrying back indoors. The next morning however the tree was forcibly removed, and another squabble took place. We’d watch from the balcony as pissu aachchi and her daughter engaged in verbal warfare with my parents. It was hilarious.

Pissu aachchi had 4 grandkids, and most of them were around our age, and naturally the familial politics spread across the generations. At first we didn’t do too much other than stare and give gal looks across the balconies, but later on us kids had our own skirmishes. It started when I used to ride my bike on the road and they’d leave obstacles to trip me. Coconut husks (the coconut tree was one of their formidable weapons at the time), large rocks and bricks were placed strategically along the road whilst they watched from the balcony. It would have been pussy of me to just avoid them and ride somewhere else, so I’d usually try and ride over them, and sometimes i’d get past and turn around to give a triumphant, smug look, and other times i’d tumble and walk home with my tail between my legs to endless sniggering. I found a worthy ally in pissu aachchi’s tenant, a boy of my age from Vavuniya. Pissu aachchi’s grandson had dropped a brick on this bugger’s head from the balcony, so we had a common enemy.

Every 31st night we’d get together with the boys on the other side of the road and have firecracker wars with the fronthouse kids. This entails sending ahas kooru along the ground towards the other camp, and throwing ali dons and thummulas into their garden. Every single year we’d blow up pissu aachchi’s mail box by filling it with fire crackers and exploding it. The next day pissu aachchi would be scream at us about the litter, like a prayer.

The little buggers were utter snitches as well. One time Vavuni Ally and I were messing about with an old badminton racket and some stones, seeing who can hit a stone further. Unfortunately a van decided to stop in the middle of the junction and one stone went crash through the window. We hooked. We hid behind some bushes while the van driver came around looking for the culprits. The idiot kids next door pointed us out to the driver who threatened to call the cops, luckily we managed to get out of it by inventing some sob story. Another time when we were playing cricket on the road, the ball went next door and one fellow in sarong climbed the wall to retrieve the ball. The next door kids decided that this fellow was flashing them (3 of the 4 kids are girls, damn terrors) and told their mother. Aunty ran straight to my mother to complain in the customary dramatic fashion. Happily enough my mother knowing their track record wasn’t too bothered about the accusation. In retaliation to the lack of response, Tarzan (the only boy next door, who gets his name from running around in his undies when we was small), wrote a nasty note about the alleged flasher, calling him a kukul betta. The note was dropped in our letterbox, and I came across it. Fuming, I composed a response, mustering all the filth I had learnt in my 10 years of life. Unfortunately I didn’t quite understand the meaning of a lot of the words I used, and didn’t realise that it was pretty hardcore Sinhalese filth. I dropped my response (on the same paper) in their letterbox and awaited a reply. A couple of days later they made a brilliant tactical maneuver. Instead of an angry retort, aunty brought the piece of paper to my mother’s attention with the intention of apologising for her own son’s note, knowing full well that my mother would see my response and look like a fool.

Pissu aachchi continued her antics on a regular basis. One day she had decided to dig a massive ditch just next to our gate. Ammi’s brother is a lawyer, so we called him up and he came to put his 2 cents. Maama walked upto the ditch to see pissu aachchi busy digging. “Mrs. S, are you digging your grave by some chance?” Fireworks. Annoyingly we were sent inside but I heard stories about an udella wielding pissu aachchi, redda hiked up, threatning maama from across the ditch. Later on pissu aachchi had some heart trouble and spent some time in India, during this time there was a lull in the action as we actually thought she might have died.

The kids remained a pain, disrupting our cricket matches by throwing stones, riding their bikes through the pitch and generally being annoying. One day a bunch of friends from school came over to play some cricket and the girls next door were walking home from some place, and as usual we halt the game till they pass. This was during the time of the major pitch invasions in England by Pakistani and Indian supporters during one NatWest series. One of my friends said to another “we’re also having pitch invasions”, and someone else said “not pitch invasion bitch invasion” This wasn’t too clever, but he didn’t say it for them to hear. Unforunately they did hear something and complained to their aunt. Now their aunt is a bit of a battleaxe who probably never quite let the ’60s pass. She summoned me and threatened to complain to my school principal about this. I said sorry, and that they were joking around and didn’t mean for anyone to hear, let alone get offended. But in true feud spirit, I called her bluff and told her to tell anybody she wants, and walked off. Looking back, it really was quite stupid of those buggers to have said that, joking or otherwise.

The kids had taken on a new craze of adopting stray dogs. One of these dogs was an utter pain and kept growling and putting part to ppl on the road. One day the stupid dog decided to attack Vavuni Ally and we knew something had to be done. The two of us got together and got some beef, laced it with chillie and laxative and left it for the dog. Two weeks later it died of a car accident, and I still feel a bit guilty though I don’t think the spicy beef had much to do with it.

As we got older we began to tolerate one another better. One day Tarzan came home with a peace offering on Christmas, and since then we didn’t have any problem with the kids. We started talking and even hanging out together and chilling on the road. That last 31st night we didn’t even blow up pissu aachchi’s mail box, and spent most of the time lighting firecrackers with the kids. In the end they were quite sad when we left. I never told them about the spicy beef though.

Pissu aachchi continued her antics right till the end though. The last incident I remember was when we were playing cricket on the road, as always, and the ball rolled into pissu aachchi’s garden, as was usual pissu aachchi was tending the garden with her helper. Due to our more cordial relations of late, the guy who hit the ball went upto the garden and asked pissu aachchi’s helper to pass the ball. Pissu aachchi wasn’t impressed and told the girl not to lift a finger, and told Mani to not dare order her servants about. Mani shrugged his shoulders and started to walk into the garden when pissu aachchi stood up and told him not to come in, and muttered under her breath “pita rata demalu”. This pissed Mani off bc he’s an upcountry Tamil. He started towards her and I had to run and hold him back. Pissu aachchi, not to be outdone was up and at him, idella in hand. It was a classic scene, me dragging back Mani on the middle of the road with pissu aachchi threatning him with a large idella. She followed us all the way up the road, heart condition and all.

Recently I saw two of the front house girls at coffee stop, but only exchanged smiles and said hi, but I was pleased to see them. Vavuni Ally, who also moved out at the same time as I, met them last year and apparently they’re doing good. Even pissu aachchi is still alive and kicking. We left that house in 2000, and despite the feud I love the house and the neighbourhood to bits, it was an amazing place to grow up.

Long time back I watched a movie called Legal Eagles. Like many movies that I enjoyed, I only remember the fact that i liked it a lot, and precious few further details. After watching it I got hooked on the idea of becoming a lawyer, and even encouraged my friend’s elder brother who was doing his O/Ls then to watch it bc he was keen on law (at the time I was about 6, and he was about 16. About 15 years later the two of us became colleagues in the same research institute, tiny tiny Colombo). Anyhow, I was determined to defend the innocent and damn the guilty, it all sounded very glamorous. But my family was critical of the idea, and effectively quelled my tender hopes. Aachchi would frown and shake her head saying lawyers are “boru karayas” who are out to get your wallet, others would tell me that being a lawyer makes it difficult to sleep at night. I didn’t quite understand this, and firmly believed that there was nothing that couldn’t be solved by some Piriton and musawada. Nonetheless the idea drifted away and became one with many other faded dreams (see The Job Hunt).

A couple of years ago I was thinking about career options and law crossed my mind bc one of my favourite teachers had done the same undergrad course as I, and then did a law conversion degree and is now a hotshot London lawyer. The profession seemed very appealing again, I’ve always enjoyed logical argument and i’d imagine it to be an excellent intellectual challenge. You’d have to construct a watertight logical argument, and defend it against another man’s own effort at the same. May the best man/woman win. It’s like a sport, a battle almost, sounds excellent. Throw in the bonus of helping those wrongly accused and handing out justice to those who deserve punishment. Of course this refers mainly to criminal law, I guess other forms of law won’t be as exciting.

Unfortunately there’s a hitch. The problem would arise when you have to defend somebody that you know is guilty. Everybody deserves a fair trial, that includes those who are guilty. Say for instance a rapist asks for your services, do you defend him wholeheartedly with the possibility of getting him back on the streets on a legal loophole, or do you not give it your best and thereby not allow him a fair trial? It’s a dilemma. I was at a dinner once where a doctor asked a lawyer how he can bring himself to defend a man who he knows to be guilty. The lawyer replied, “machan, if your worst enemy comes to you in terrible pain, would you not try to cure him?” That makes sense I think. For the legal system to work you need to have lawyers defending the guilty, if there was no assurance of a fair trial for both parties the legal system would lose its validity. Some might argue that those who are guilty of such offences do not deserve a free trial. But, how can we be sure they are guilty unless they go through a legal process and all evidence is put forward clearly? Innocent until proven guilty. And you cannot prove their guilt without due legal process. Due legal process requires a fair trial, therefore everyone deserves a fair trial.

Being a criminal lawyer is a morally difficult thing to do, but someone’s got to do it. I don’t think I have the moral courage to do it. I don’t think I could sleep at night knowing I have helped a killer/rapist/thief get back on the streets to do his thing. And I don’t know whether I should be in awe of those who do defend these ppl or whether I should lose all respect for them.

My friend to whom I referred in my last post has been unable to post her own response bc the spaminator was convinced she’s trying to abuse me. That said, I am of the opinion that she is fairly harmless, so this is her post.

Ok “ddm” This is going to be a looong rant. Prepare yourself. First; I’m thrilled that our topic of conversation the other day got you thinking. Clearly I am making YOU a better person and you are just polluting my mind with your racist jokes.

Second:

“if I can make people laugh, surely that’s a good thing?”

Not necessarily true, I’m sure there are those that find the abuse of Iraqi prisoners absolutely hilarious — does it mean that it’s funny? Not to burst your bubble, but I think that the fact that ppl find your ‘N’ word jokes funny, is a reflection of the ppl that are laughing, not necessarily the joke.

Third; nothing you’ve said has made me change my mind & I stand by what I said the other day. One of your arguments was about having no black friends, but I dont think that is necessarily true. I also have no black friends (this is circumstance, not choice) — that right there tells you something about the british private school system & the uni we both attended and discrimination, but that’s a whole another story! — yet I would never ever use the N word or the Sa ‘K’ word to describe a black person.

I didn’t study slavery in school/civil rights movement in school, but to me, the N word spoken by any non-black just is entirely unnecessary. White slave owners used to rape, torture and beat their slaves, torch the schools of black children and generally do pretty crappy things and THEY are the ppl who used this word, if anything (imo) I think THAT’s a reason right there not to use it.

I’m not entirely sure about the cultural argument, because I would never use a word that is derogatory to Tamils, despite not knowing any (again, circumstance not choice).

Re; the ‘they use it so why can’t we’. I’d go with the mother argument, it’s ok for you to insult your own mother in front of me — but you’re not looking for me to agree with you. Similar thing. Second, it doesn’t matter if they use it. It’s not for us, as non-blacks to question the equality of the ‘rule’. If it offends them, it IS offensive. End of story.

Thing is “ddm” racist words are simply not in my vocab, so I cannot comprehend any of your “arguments”. They are rude and vile, whether or not someone of that race is within earshot or not.

I think it’s fair to reach two conclusions at this point a) I am clearly a better human being than you. b) YOUR JOKES ARE NOT FUNNY! - Racist or otherwise. Hah!

That is all for now. On another note, hope you’re feeling better now.

Your die-hard fan (stalker), you are an inspiration to us all and we all aspire to be more like you. Ohm Ohm.

A

And that’s it, none of this was edited except the ohm ohm part.

I recently had a debate with a friend about the use of racially derogatory language. We couldn’t come to any mutual agreement after several sessions, and there’s a lot of interesting points that came up. It started with me sharing some rather harsh and racist jokes with her and she getting offended (despite being the same race and religion as I). She was particularly peeved about the use of the word nigger in humour. It should be said that she’s a Brit Lankan (SL parents but born and bred in the UK) and that i’m a Lankan lankan (SL parents born and bred in SL).

The word nigger is rather harsh, and I would never use it in front of a black person bc whether or not it offends them, it’s not very respectful. As my friend pointed out, it has very deep and unpleasant roots, touching on slavery and oppression. I have no issues about using that word, and other potentially insulting racial caricatures as long as it is in good humour and nobody of that race is within earshot and as long as nobody else gets offended by such usage. If my intention is not to harm anyone, and nobody does get harmed by my use of such language, I do not see it as a problem. Also if it can make some ppl laugh, surely that’s a good thing? I wouldn’t really have a problem if somebody took the piss out of me as long as I didn’t get to hear about it (and as long as those ppl aren’t my friends or some ppl that I care about).

So why did my saying nigger in a joke bother her so much? Her argument was that it’s a matter of cultural difference. Back in SL the word nigger doesn’t really carry as much historical baggage as it does in England, and it carries less baggage in England than it does in the Southern USA. Over here ppl have friends, colleagues etc. who are black, and therefore the word nigger carries more personal implications. I guess it makes sense, in that I don’t use words that are derogatory to Tamils, and that’s probably influenced by the fact that I have several Tamil friends. And maybe if i had more black friends i’d be somehow more averse to the word nigger. But, again i don’t have a problem about jokes being made about the Sinhalese be it about laziness or any other caricatures that exist. The aversion to the word nigger could also be the result of a guilty conscience, not that my friend or her ancestors had any part in slavery and black oppression, but Western society in general will carry that weight for some time. Any reminder/reference to that time would be frowned upon.

The interesting thing is that black ppl tend to use the word nigger quite liberaly amongst themselves, and so what makes it so bad for others to use it? (not on other blacks but amongst themselves). As I just mentioned, I often poke fun at Sinhalese laziness. She suggested that this could be an attempt to desentisize the word, but I didn’t buy that, at least it seems unlikely that it is a conscious effort in this regard.

The question is, why involve race in humour anyway? I guess the world would be better off with less racially centered humour, I mean, there’s still plenty of less umm crude things to chuckle at. Having said that, I don’t think it’s such a big deal. It’s not like my (and all other non-blacks) not saying the word nigger is going to eradicate the word from the English language, just get a 50cent CD and there’ll be enough of it to make up for all of us. I’d argue that if I’m willing to enjoy some humour out of Sinhalese caricatures, there’s no reason that others can’t do the same. Similarly, if black ppl happily say the word nigger there’s no reason for others to consider it utterly taboo.

But the obvious caveat is the intention of the use of the language. I would not want to say anything racially charged to offend somebody. As long as one’s intention is for humour, and not to intentionally demean another person, then it’s alrite. Racist jokes are just caricatures, it’s not that every jew is stingy, or that every sinhalese is lazy or that every irishman is slightly dim, it’s just an excuse for a giggle. I mean, I know only 2 Irishman, both of whom are fairly smart, and yet i’d say irish jokes bc they’re funny, not bc I think Irish ppl are stupid. But, one ought to be sensitive and not say Irish jokes in front of an Irishman. (Or if you really have to, be sure to say it real slow). I kid.

A couple of days late, but these days everybody seems to be dissing Valentines day. And that’s a shame. I know it’s all commercialized and got a bit silly, but I think it should be seen as an excuse to have a nice time. Forget the chocolates and flowers and things, but it’s a great excuse to go out, have a nice meal and do something fun with your partner or just your friends even. It’s like Christmas, i’m not Christian but it’s nice to put a tree and exchange presents and eat some rich food. What the hell, any excuse for a party no? Just jump on the bandwagon and have some fun.

P.s. What do you call a black man flying a plane? A pilot! You racist, what were you thinking? (Thanks to S)

For better or worse intelligence is a fairly important barometer of social standing. This is natural since intelligence is a fairly important factor in what we “make” of ourselves. So it’s fairly important to have a decent measure of intelligence. Unfortunately, in Sri Lanka at least, ppl tend to equate intelligence with academic achievement. The older ppl in my family in particular have this tendency. Aachchi usually asks about ppl; “Is he/she bright? graduate? science or arts?” and makes an appropriate face, eyebrows raised in approval or a slightly embul face in contempt. Others would say “Apo, that bugger, failed all 4 AL’s, useless bugger” (amusingly when asked his AL results this chap apparently says 1 F, 2 F, 1 F). But then, many of the 1F,2F,1F characters have gone on to excel in their own fields, be it business, the arts and even politics. So they’ve got to have something smart, clever or whatever you want to call it, within them. It just so happens that academics aren’t quite the stage on which some ppl shine. There could be several reasons for this, the education system could be shite, for instance only testing skills like factual recall and analytic thought. But even if the education system is good, some ppl just aren’t cut out for academic performance bc they can’t be bothered. Being lazy isn’t equivalent to being unintelligent, specially if you can get away with being lazy, when push comes to shove lazy chaps can throw their weight and match up to the cleverest. For instance, I have friends who never quite cut it in school but will kick your ass in poker or 304 nine times out of ten (because it’s card games really count, not school). To excel in academics you need two skills, learning and application. So if you suck at one of the two you won’t get too far in academics. But in life you can get very far with the latter despite not having oodles of the former (as long as you know your own game well enough, and that doesn’t necessarily require vast amounts of knowledge).

In most job applications and graduate requirement tests and stuff you find a lot of emphasis placed on quantitative and language skills. Though these maybe important for the job or university course in question, I don’t think they are a complete measure of intelligence. They test different parts of your brain (left or right cerebral hemispheres, or something like that) and different skills. I know plenty of ppl who are hopeless at maths and yet are exceedingly smart. A combination of quantitative and verbal skills are also insufficient in my book. I think the best measure of intelligence is the way that someone responds to a problem for which he/she is unprepared, how they make best use of available information and come up with a viable solution. This places everyone on a level playing field, and there’s every chance that the bugger selling cadju in Galle face will pip a university prof. All the preparation in the world won’t matter for something you’re unprepared for.

Finally, should intelligence really be a measure of social standing at all? Quite naturally it is one such measure bc intelligent ppl will achieve more in life than ppl not blessed with it. Blessed, that’s the key word. Intelligence is a gift, and I don’t think that a million years of schooling can give it to you. School gives you the advantage of gathering knowledge, training yourself how to apply it and organize it effectively. But raw intelligence is innate, you either got it or you don’t. So should we really judge ppl on something based on pure luck? I shouldn’t think so. Maybe then we should judge ppl on how they use their available resources to the best of their ability to achieve what they want to. But then what they want to achieve may not be your or my idea of “good”, so it’s probably best to allow ppl to judge themselves. Ha, not a chance. What a twisted last paragraph that was.

It’s a Wednesday night, and that means chillax time bc I finish my major weekly tutes on Tuesday and Wednesday evenings. As is usual on days like today I have consumed too much food and as a result i’m feeling lazy and bloated. Menu was grilled trout, chicken curry, parippu with niwithi and braised broccoli with more niwithi. Quite rich for a bunch of students innit? (I say innit purely in jest, it is not a term I use with any other purpose). I can’t remember the last time I had two types of flesh for one meal, probably was at home sometime. There was however a time when I ate no flesh at all, I had a vegetarian phase for about 10 months.

I wanted to be a vegetarian around mid 2001. But then I started uni in England and I realised that there’s a limit to how much carrot, potatos and cabbage one can eat without jumping off a bridge. (I am aware that the brits know how to make potatos in a multitude of ways but i still think the best you can do with a potato is to use it as a weapon against shop lifters in supermarkets). So I quit no sooner I started but made a quiet pact with my conscience to become fully fledged vege boy once I pass away out. In 2004 I eventually passed out and after spending a few days gobbling lots of seafood back home I quite abruptly stopped eating all forms of meat. That is, no fish, no meat, no crustaceans and no birds. This was part of my attempt to be more spiritual and “one with nature” since it is fair to equate consuming flesh to killing. And killing is frowned upon. I think I remember the exact moment of inspiration. I was having dinner with my parents and as usual we had some meat and I swatted an annoying mosquito. Ammi at once reprimanded me saying that it’s a sin to kill. Wtp? it’s ok to kill a chicken but not a mosquito? Chickens don’t make annoying buzzing noises when you’re trying to sleep and they don’t suck your blood and they don’t give you God awful diseases (other than recent buggers, bloody poultry - and what’s with Asian Bird Flu inconspicuously becoming Avian Bird Flu? It’s like Sinhala Urumaya becoming Sihala Urumaya after realising that the original name is ever so slightly politically incorrect). So I thought to myself, if it’s bad to kill a mosquito (which it is, doesn’t mean I like them, zzzz zzzz swat!!), it’s equally bad to kill chickens.

I’m guessing most families would encourage a young aspiring vegetarian. But not mine. They said things like, “Don’t be a fool, that chicken would have been killed whether you eat it or not so might as well eat it.” and “Just bc you don’t eat some fish you think all the bloody fishermen will throw their rods in the sea and start knitting hankerchiefs?” Ok so they do have a point, my reduced consumption will not make a sufficient dent in total demand to reduce supply and thereby reduce killing. And if everybody thinks that way there would be no reduction in demand for flesh. But, as more and more ppl think otherwise, the dent in demand becomes greater and greater. Today there are far more vegetarians than there were 10 or 20 years ago, and that would never have happened if everybody had the mindset that one person can’t make a difference.

People forever try to reconcile Buddhism with eating meat, but I think that’s a very tough proposition. They say that the Buddha never said to not eat meat. It’s very difficult to argue that eating meat is not tantamount to taking a life. If we didn’t eat meat nobody would kill cows and chickens and try convince us to put it in our mouths. A good way to look at eating meat is as a sin of collective society, and we as individuals in society are all equally responsible. The way to avoid the sin is to take individual responsibility and remove ourselves from the cycle of killing and eating, that is the least we can do.

Now this is important. I don’t have a problem with ppl who eat meat. We all sin every single day and we know it. We lie, we cuss, we consume intoxicating substances, we lust and we do most things that pious ppl shake their heads at. And yes, we eat meat. I do have a problem with ppl who eat meat and try to make it seem like it isn’t a sin and that it isn’t tantamount to killing. Just bite the bullet. It’s a sin, it’s mean but we do it anyway bc it tastes damn good! I also don’t quite understand how some ppl eat one type of flesh but don’t eat other types of flesh. Now Hindus in particular say that it’s not very nice to eat beef bc we drink the cow’s milk and the bulls work for us and all. Fair enough too, they deserve a peaceful retirement. But screw the chicken, eggs or no eggs, the chicken is going down. And the goats and fish and everyone else. So why is it that some ppl find it a terrible sin to eat a goat or a pig or a cow but quite alrite to eat a chicken or a fish? Aren’t the latter creatures living, breathing beings too? One might say that by not eating certain animals you’re cutting down on the amount of lives you consume. But just bc you don’t eat beef or mutton, are you going to go without flesh that day? You’ll probably compensate with whatever type of flesh that you do eat. If you’re going to not eat meat you might as well go all the way, this is one area where I don’t think there is a gray area in between, it’s either all or nothing. In fact it’s probably better to eat a dish of beef than to eat a dish of prawns bc the latter would result in way more deaths. Another common excuse is that you need animal protein to survive. Cock. There are plenty of vegans who live perfectly healthy lives.

So what happened to my vegetarian phase? Around March this year I got a flu and I was sick for a week, quite basic stuff except that my natural immunity failed to recover, my white blood cell count dropped 40% below normal and I was told that I’m not consuming enough protein and was ordered to eat flesh. Thank God. I had already started cheating by that stage and sneaking in a chicken buriyani on the odd day as opposed to my usual vegetable rice and curry and it was a matter of time before my mental strength gave way to the power of the taste bud. I missed sea food tremendously. But I was very lucky in that I just adore Sri Lankan vegetables. Mallums, wattakka, nelum ala, karavila, watakolu, wambotu and so on, I could just live on the stuff. If not for that there was no way I could have survived even the 10 or so months I did as a vegetarian. Now I eat pretty much anything, as my father says “duwana paninina ona ekak kamu.” I understand that it’s not a very nice thing to do, but then I do a lot of not nice things. Hopefully someday I will have sufficient mental strength to quit meat for good.

Disclaimer: All you vegans out there, hats off to you (don’t take the title personally, it’s from a T shirt I saw and felt i had to fit it in here somewhere). Except the ones who go to social functions and make a fuss saying they don’t eat this and that and embarass their hosts as a result, stop being anal, it’s not going to kill you to eat a bit of meat, though it might kill something else.