Denzil's Stories

  D J Antony A role model of a teacher Denzil Jayasinghe 6 min read·Jul 27, 2022 3 My friend, Rohan Rodrigo, brought a  knuckleduster  to the classroom. Rohan is a tough, brave boy ,  bringing in a hand-to-hand weapon , everybody thought. Whom is he going to use it against?  was on everyone’s mind. Rohan was the fearless hero of the day with a weapon. Brandishing it, he was showing it off to fellow classmates. The boys gathered around him, marvelling at this weapon, touching and admiring it. D J Antony, our language teacher, walked into the class — pin-drop silence, not because of fear, but because every student respected D J Antony. From the corner of his eyes, D J Antony saw Rohan trying to conceal his knuckleduster, hiding it among his schoolbooks. D J Antony did not utter a word. He pretended everything was normal. Quietly, he came to Rohan’s desk and took the knuckleduster away. There was no drama. His friends around him expected the worst. But D J Antony was calm. Back at his des

  On arriving “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses” Denzil Jayasinghe 6 min read·Jul 24, 2022 51 Be warned. This could be a bit of a rant. It is a story of dramas at arrival lounges at international borders. When I arrived in Dubai in the seventies, I walked through the biggest airport I had seen. At the immigration counter, I stayed in a queue marked for South Asians. That is, Indians, Pakistanis, Bangladeshis and Sri Lankans. I gave the only identity document that linked me to my body, my freshly minted passport, which was a few days old. The kandura-wearing immigration officer, who did not know how to smile, inspected it, and stamped it, comparing it to a document he had with him. To my shock, he did not return my passport. He held it with him, in a bundle with other passports of the newly arrived before me. I felt that he took my identity away. When I questioned him, he said that the company would hold my passport, I would work for. That was it, he signalled me to mo