Posts

The Landlord and the Shopkeeper

Image
  The Landlord and the Shopkeeper Denzil Jayasinghe 4 min read T hat year, the rains came early to Dalugama, painting the red-earth roads in slick, liquid strokes. But neither the weeping sky nor the shifting ground could keep Ruhunusiri Mudalali from his morning rite. As dawn stretched its pale fingers over Ceylon, he unlatched the wooden shutters of his shop with the quiet certainty of a man who knew time not by the clock but by the rhythm of survival itself. It was 1970, and the island trembled on the brink of becoming Sri Lanka. But politics was a distant murmur to a man whose kingdom was four whitewashed walls and a ramshackle tile roof that sang beneath the rain. From seven until seven, through the press of heat and the damp that clung like a second skin, Ruhunusiri’s shop stood — unyielding, unchanged. Today was Poya when the government declared no groceries should cross a counter. The law was clear, but Ruhunusiri had long known rules that were like those of the monsoon — l...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Exorcism of Nagahawatta

Image
  The Exorcism of Nagahawatta Ceylon, 1975 Denzil Jayasinghe 3 min read T he house smelled of incense and sweat, of candle wax and something darker — something that slithered between the whispers of prayer. Rienzie’s home was a stage, and tonight, the devil had the starring role. Dalugama had raised its children on fear. Shadows were never just shadows; faith was never just faith. It needed teeth. So when Rienzie called them — his friends, the curious, the thrill-seekers — they came not to worship, but to witness. The boys from Nagahawatta arrived first, their grins wide, restless energy in their eyes. Then Cyril, Edward, Suneth, Leonard, Mahinda, Nelum, and Denzil, the church gang, drawn like crows to garbage. Even Merril and Shirley, who usually haunted the junction with their lazy mischief, pushed inside, their eyes alight with hunger. Then — the house erupted into chaos. Swarna, Rienzie’s sister, tore through the lace curtains like a storm, her eyes wild, fingers clawing at her...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Marriage Broker

Image
  The Marriage Broker A stubborn bachelor, a desperate aunt, and a weary marriage broker clash over tradition, duty, and the weight of unmet expectations. Denzil Jayasinghe 4 min read T he marriage broker arrived at 248 Mudiyansegewatta with the weary precision of a man who had spent a lifetime navigating the delicate choreography of his trade. His age was etched not just in the wrinkles of his face or the grey balding hair but in the frayed hem of his sarong, the faded brown jacket that had long surrendered its original hue, and the umbrella – black, bent, and battle-worn – propped like an old comrade. His teeth bore the deep crimson stains of a lifelong betel habit; his shirt, the yellowed tinge of neglect. He did not rush. Instead, he lingered beneath the fruit tree in the yard, a silent observer in the dappled shade, as though assessing the household’s worth not in rupees or property but in the quiet, unspoken currency of respectability. Only when the ritual of patience had bee...
Post a Comment
Read more

Shades of Grey in Mudiyansegewatte

Image
  Shades of Grey in Mudiyansegewatte Faith and Vice: The Tale of Mudiyansegewatte L ife unfolded in stark contrasts in the village of Mudiyansegewatte, where the sun rose and set like a metronome marking time. The south, with its proximity to the church and the bustling energy of Colombo, was a world of white shirts and long pants. Here, the men worked in the city, bank clerks, junior bureaucrats in government, teachers, and general clerks, their lives punctuated by the occasional drink in a polished Colombo bar, far removed from the raucous chaos of the village. Their wives lived in quiet dignity, their homes free from the echoes of violence. Their children attended schools in Colombo or semi-urban towns, their futures shimmering with possibilities. The south was a place of order, where the rhythms of life were measured and predictable. But to the north, the village told a different story. Here, the air was thick with the scent of sweat and struggle, the lives of blue-collar worke...
Post a Comment
Read more