Looking out from a window, the runway, the acceleration, the roars, the take-off, and everything becoming smaller by the second. As if I have wings now.
The enormous terminal building at Ratmalana becomes smaller in front of my eyes. The airport looks like a running pitch. The Ratmalana — Colombo Road looks like a winding track, like a curved serpent. The buses and cars plying look tiny. It is like a boy’s playpen with dinky toys. The coconut trees become smaller. This is a marvel, a dream. Nothing like a little boy has experienced before. The ground will never be the same.
Two cotton buds cover my ears. Chewing lozenges given by the smiling blue saree-wearing hostess, I enjoy my flight. I am sitting in a window seat, grasping the view of the world below me. It is a pleasure to view like a flying bird. This new power inspires me to imagine. It shifts my thinking. The space I lived in is such a small place. There is a bigger world out there. I have been small up to now.
The plane soars above the city of Colombo. On my left is the blue sea with ships anchored in the Colombo harbour. The vessels are tiny. Their smoking funnels are even smaller. They look like little paper boats I play with when it rains. But in reality, they must be enormous. I wipe my eyes to pinch myself that this is real.
A little later, I am among the green, fauna and bushland. So much green. Then the occasional rivers and waterways. Tiny homes and tiny cars dot the sparse roads. But I cannot see any humans.
The plane goes over a big nature reserve. I see rows of elephants from above. They are like rats from up high.
My view is like pages from a picture book I have read before. Everything is new. I am amazed. I am mesmerised.
Half an hour later, the land is not so green anymore. Now, all I see are the fallen coconut trees. My father comes over, leaving my little sister in her seat. He says the trees were fallen by a vicious cyclone that hit northern Ceylon a few months earlier. I am amazed that so much damage can be caused by wind. I had no idea that a cyclone could cause so much mayhem.
The plane roars. I can see the jet engines whirling under the plane’s wings. The air hostess offers me more lozenges, toffees, Maliban biscuits and orange juice. I see some clouds for the first time under me. I did not know that I could fly above white clouds. I could be a bird, flying over villages, beaches, jungles, wildlife reserves and above clouds. I wish I could touch the clouds, but the windows in the plane are tight and closed.
More snacks and sweets follow from the smiling air hostess. Finally, she gives me a tiny envelope with a storybook with “Air Ceylon” printed in yellow and red.
I am in a tranquil land, above the skies. I think of my mother and kid brother at home. I think of Kadayamma, my grandmother. I wish they had accompanied my father and sister on this air trip.
I feel excited. Below me are land, waterways, animals, houses, gardens, and standing and fallen trees. I remain seated, pressed against the cold windowpane until the Air Ceylon plane starts to descend. My ears hurt. My father asks me to yawn. The air hostess gives me a toffee to chew and two new cotton buds for the ears. Little by little, everything on the ground becomes bigger. The landscape is different, arid, and sandy.
The plane lands with two thuds. It reaches the tiny terminal building at the domestic airport of Kankesanthurai, some 260 miles north of where I flew in from. I descend the rickety steps to the hot tarmac holding my father’s hand. My sister is on the other side of him, holding him tight.
I am going to tell all my friends about the wonders of flying.
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 ...
Demons and Devotion: A Family’s Pilgrimage Denzil Jayasinghe · “Demons and Devotion: A Pilgrimage to Tewatta” is a short story by Denzil Jayasinghe about a family’s pilgrimage to a holy site in Sri Lanka. The story follows Denzil, the eldest son, as he reluctantly accompanies his devout parents on this journey to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary. Although initially sceptical, Denzil reflects on his childhood faith and his family's hardships. However, the pilgrimage turns unexpectedly when an encounter with a priest who claims a demon possesses Denzil creates tension and leaves him angry. T he air hung heavy with a solemnity that felt out of place for a silver wedding anniversary. Denzil’s father, whose pronouncements held the weight of scripture, declared, “We are going on a special trip to the holy place of Our Lady at Tewatta. This day, showing God’s blessings, will be a private event for our family.” On a recent arrival for a two-week holiday in Sri Lanka...
Shattered Innocence A story of a needle Denzil Jayasinghe · “Shattered Innocence. A Story of a Needle” by Denzil Jayasinghe is a short story told from the perspective of a lad who discovers their father injecting insulin . This discovery shatters his innocence as he grapples with the reality of his father’s diabetes and the fear and uncertainty it brings. The story explores themes of family, responsibility, and the challenges of facing difficult realities. T he pre-dawn light filtered through the window, casting a pale glow over a scene that shattered my world. We were lost in the quiet routine of getting ready — me for the apprenticeship, my siblings for school, and my father for his work. I wandered into my parents’ room, searching for the familiar black comb. What I found wasn’t the comb but a sight that froze me in my tracks. Father, stripped down to his white undies, his usually strong face creased with worry, was doing something… di...
3 min read·Jan 12
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