When my father dropped me at school, he gave me ten cents. I could buy whatever I wanted during the school break with that money. As I got off his bicycle in the morning, in front of the school, the ritual of waiting for him to open his wallet was an epic moment in my early life. Something I looked forward to every school day.
I bought a milky he ten cents from the school’s tuck shop. Every boy jostled to get their popsicle. They sat on the ground, cherishing and enjoying the cold treats with each bite, licking and sucking every drop of the vanilla or strawberry-flavoured popsicles.
Occasionally, I chose to buy a fruit mix from the vendors outside the school gate. The pickle mixes were made of tropical fruits, mangoes, and pineapple, made to a crunchy spicy taste with chillies and salt, full of mouth-twisting zing. An alternative mix was the wood apple sambal made from wood apple pulp, also with chillies and salt.
Every Wednesday, there was a bonus. Twenty-five cents, more than double the daily pocket money, but only once a week. It was the moment to look forward to the granddaddy of all pocket monies, the twenty-cent coin. I loved mid-week, the arrival of Wednesday when my father opened his wallet and when that shiny silver twenty-five cents coin passed from his hand to mine.
On Wednesdays, my bonus day, I indulged. The twenty-five cents were to be spent in whole. I bought the most expensive ice cream available at the tuck shop. It was an icy choc, the craved item for any boy. A milky vanilla-flavoured ice cream coated with chocolates and wrapped in shiny silver paper. It oozed with a creamy taste, every boy’s dream of a mid-day snack. The icy choc was so coveted that I saved the used silver paper, hiding it among the pages in my schoolbooks.
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 ...
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 ...
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...
2 min read·Jan 13
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