The tray on the left belonged to my paternal grandmother. She used it to serve betel leaves to customers in her shop, which she ran after she was widowed when my father was a teenager.
It is a model toy aeroplane that I bought in Sydney. It can be wound by hand for a short movement on the ground.
This is a metal chook bird, slightly smaller than life-size. I bought it in Sri Lanka from Paradise Road. It reminds me of the chook pen that my grandmother maintained in our backyard when I was a kid. It is heavy.
This is a Baldessa camera made in Germany in the early sixties. It has a viewfinder and bulb flash holder. My eldest daughter gifted this vintage camera to me, knowing that I was a camera buff.
I bought this from a village fair at Country NSW at Nelson Bay. It depicted an Indian cattle type and reminded me of the bulls and cows in my old country, Sri Lanka.
The bell belonged to my father. He used it in his office to draw attention to the messengers in his office. It is made of copper and still works.
This is the bust of Siddharth Gautama before he became Buddha. I bought this during a holiday in Sri Lanka.
This tray, made of brass, belonged to my maternal grandparents. They bought it when they visited a venerated church for Catholics located by the side of a beautiful beach in Northwest Sri Lanka.
These photo frames belong to the 1940s and 1950s. The frames and photos are originals. The two small photos on either side capture my mother and father and his friend before they got together. Both are dated from the early fifties. The larger photo, taken in 1940, is of my paternal grandparents and their children. My maternal great-grandmother is also in that photo.
A Child of Curiosity How inherent inquisitiveness became a key driver in learning experiences. Denzil Jayasinghe · B orn in the mid-20th century, I am a product of the post-World War II era. My parents, who were teenagers when the war commenced, married in the 1950s. As a representative of the baby boomer generation, I was born under the astrological sign of Capricorn, the tenth sign of the zodiac. My birth took place at Zoysa Nursing Home, a renowned institution in Colombo, Sri Lanka, around 5 in the morning. Sri Lanka, known for its tropical climate, is a beautiful island nation south of India. This climate appealed to me, and I sought similar weather in my twenties, spending them in Dubai, where the winter resembles an Australian summer. Raised by religious parents, I held them in deep affection. However, the church teachings posed a paradox for a young mind, instructing one to love God more than one’s parents. I initially adhered to the Ten Commandments and other societal norms in ...
Packing lists An addiction to packing lists Denzil Jayasinghe 3 min read·Nov 6, 2022 My fascination with packing lists started when I was young. Eventually, it became a life-long habit, a kind of addiction. When I enrolled at the Christian brothers’ formative school at eleven, a packing list was given to my parents. 2 School shorts 2 School shirts, white 2 Baniyans, aka vests 4 Pairs of white socks 1 Sarong 2 Casual shirts 2 Casual shorts 2 Handkerchiefs 1 Toothbrush 1 Comb 1 Bedsheet 2 Pillowcases 1 Pair of black shoes 1 Pair of canvas sports shoes My parents went into fast gear to assemble the packing list. My father started from the bottom of the list, the shoes. He took me by bus to Colombo to P G Martins, a shoemaker. We came out of that shoe store with DS-branded black and Shinwa-branded canvas shoes. Also bought was a Ford suitcase, in shiny sky-blue colour. Mother bought vests and socks from Velona, a garment outlet run by one of our relations, Aunty Helen. A trip to a ta...
Neville at the Edge Denzil Jayasinghe 3 min read · 10 hours ago In the lazy, sun-dappled days at St. Joseph’s Novitiate, where the beach seemed to hum with the scent of jasmine and the distant promise of monsoon clouds, there was a little haven we boys held dear — the Milk Bar. It was a humble shack just beyond the school’s creaky gates, its tin roof glinting under the noon sun, its wooden counter cluttered with frothy glasses of Milo, bottles of sweet vanilla milk, and a jumble of pencils and dog-eared notebooks for forgetful lads like us. To us, De La Salle boys, it wasn’t just a shop. It was a sanctuary, where the weight of prayers and the Brother-Superior’s stern frowns dissolved into the clink of coins and the soft buzz of our chatter. Neville was always there, a gangly boy with limbs that seemed to outgrow him, as if they belonged to a taller shadow. His parents had sent him to the Novitiate dreaming he’d don a Christian Brother’s collar, but Neville, with his twice-failed ...
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