Denzil's Stories

Shifting Sands, Solid Ground: A Journey of Homes Denzil Jayasinghe 3 min read C olombo, Ceylon, mid-fifties. My first breath was a fragile gasp in the sterile, somehow comforting, De Soysa Maternity Hospital on Kynsey Road. Three days later, the world shifted. I was swaddled, a tiny parcel of new life, and carried to 69 Kandy Road, Dalugama, Kelaniya. This wasn’t just a house; it was the echo of generations, my father’s ancestral home, built with the calloused hands of my grandparents. The scent of wood polish and Kadayamma’s spice-infused cooking clung to the walls. In the gentle hum of family life, it was here that I first felt the warmth of belonging. The house, soon christened “Denzil,” became more than a dwelling; it was a promise, a legacy waiting to unfold. Then, at four, the familiar walls of “Denzil” receded, replaced by the boundless expanse of 248, Mudiyansegewatta. My maternal grandmother’s ancestral land was a world without the hum of electric lights but alive with the sym...

  The Road to Freedom A Chronicle of Wheels and Dreams Denzil Jayasinghe 4 min read L ong before the hum of an engine or the gleam of a dashboard, my journey began with two wheels and a heart full of dreams. It was a battered, second-hand Raleigh bicycle, bought from a classmate named Nihal for fifty Rupees — a small fortune for a boy fueled by pocket money and ambition. When my hands gripped its handlebars, and my feet hit the pedals, I was no longer just a boy; I was a king, racing through the streets with my shorts flapping in the wind. That bicycle was my first taste of freedom, a simple yet profound joy that set the wheels of my life in motion. As I grew older, so did my wheels. The bicycle gave way to a Lambretta scooter, a sleek machine that turned heads and announced my arrival into adulthood. I was the fashionable lad everyone noticed, zipping through narrow streets with a reckless grin and a heart full of youthful exuberance. The scooter wasn’t just a mode of transport; i...

Wings Through Time: A Journey Across Skies and Memories Denzil Jayasinghe 5 min read 1958: At three years old, I took my first flight to   Gal Oya , a remote town in Ceylon, with Grandpa Lewis, my mother, and my father. The world below was a blur, but the excitement was crystal clear. We flew on Air Ceylon, and it felt like magic. 1962: I flew to   Jaffna   with my sister and father, and my father’s voice weaved Tamil tales as the plane hummed its own story. The skies felt alive with language and laughter—another journey on Air Ceylon. 1965: Father, my sister, and I flew to   Anuradhapura , the plane carrying us to ancient ruins and shared adventures. There was another flight that year, but it’s a hazy memory — a fragment of childhood wonder. Again, on Air Ceylon. 1975: My first solo flight to   Jaffna , landing in Kankasanthurai. The independence was exhilarating — the skies were mine alone to conquer. I paid for my ticket myself and flew on Air Ceylon. 1977: I...