Denzil's Stories

Helpers A tribute to the helpers of the past — in times gone by in Sri Lanka and Dubai I have mixed feelings about the helpers who helped my family and me in Sri Lanka and Dubai. Back in the day, helpers were called ‘servants’. Now, I find that term offensive and derogatory. I am ashamed of that past. It was common in more affluent middle or upper-class homes to have helpers. Many of them were children themselves. In that embarrassing past, social inequity and imbalance allowed a privileged section of society to have poor children, men and women as helpers. This is a tribute to the ‘helpers’ who helped my family and me. They were beautiful souls, helpless due to institutional poverty in a backwater country. Unfortunately, and regrettably, I was part of that system. My childhood memories begin with  Gunapala , a boy hired to look after me. He was my constant companion and carer as early as I could remember. He stood guard for me, watching me for safety. Gunapala was a child himself, abo

The Occasional Artist H ow did I become an artist? Is artistry natural? Are we born with it? I am uncertain. Although I did not attend an art school, art became integral to my life. I evolved into art from my early years. Being natural and comfortable with art is an incredible gift. It played a significant role in my career success. Creative arts is immensely fulfilling. Artists make change happen. I call myself an  occasional artist . This is that story. I was less than four years old. My father sat me down on our front verandah. He started by drawing a ship in the simplest of forms. He drew the ship’s hull, the two decks, one giant funnel and a bit of smoke. He drew simple shapes that a small child could comprehend. I was fascinated with the form of the ship he created for me. It was terrific. I could easily access pencils and paper that were probably deliberately left for me. So I started drawing ships on my own using paper and carbon pencils. Carbon pencils were popularly known as