Denzil's Stories

Doctor Doctor Memories of medical care in my early years As a toddler, I contracted whooping cough, a deadly disease of that time. My mother went through a lot of anxiety until I got better. She was so pleased with the doctor who treated me that he became our family doctor. As a two-year-old, I don’t remember a thing about that trying time. It must have shaken my mother so much; she thought my survival was a miracle. She never failed to remind me of that fact growing up. At four years, I was operated on for hydrocele at Lady Ridgeway Children’s Hospital in Colombo. During my entire stay, my mother stayed with me at the hospital, sleeping nearby. I have great memories in the hospital, caring nurses and frequent visits from  my grandfather, Lewis . I loved his visits, his fancy stories sitting on my bed. When the hospital discharged me after four days, my grandfather carried me to his car. Back home, I was not allowed to wear pants until I healed. That was embarrassing. The discharge not

  Politics in my blood P olitics is in my blood. I was weaned on social justice from a young age. My political and social bend is a mystery I am trying to untangle with this essay. Political assassination The whole thing started in my kindergarten days when I was four.  Kadayamma , my grandmother, took me to a funeral procession. Holding her hand, by the side of the main road, I watched the funereal motorcade passing. It was a huge motorcade decorated with white flowers, carrying the body of the then-prime minister of Sri Lanka. As it passed, my grandmother explained the circumstances of his death. The prime minister was assassinated. Everyone mourned his death, including Kadayamma. She was his fan. Religious discrimination Three years later, the Sri Lankan government was on an anti-Catholic crusade. It ordered the expulsion of foreign priests and nuns and the take-over of privately run Christian schools. Kadayamma, a strong Catholic who believed in community spirit, was aghast. The Ca

  Shopping with mum Helping a mother with her shopping B eing the eldest of two other siblings, I had some serious family responsibilities. When I turned ten, my father was posted to a remote town. I became the man of the house by stealth, albeit at that tender age. Our family was large, with two grandmothers living in our home. Running a large household was a big business in a village in Sri Lanka in the sixties. I helped my mother with many things in the household. On weekends, I accompanied my mother to shopping, helping her carry the shopping bags. We went to the markets and clothing stores together. I was her travel companion in a country dominated by men. Probably, her guard. I loved going to the Pettah market in Colombo with her. We took the trip, a ten-kilometre ride from our village, by bus. The groceries, fresh fruit, and vegetables from the main market in Sri Lanka were bound to be cheap than in the local town centre. The Pettah market was busy with buyers, traders, go-betwe