Denzil's Stories

  My home theatre a story about a makeshift movie theatre Denzil Jayasinghe 3 min read·Apr 1 M ovies are not just a source of entertainment but pure magic that captures our imagination and emotions. As a teenager, I was besotted with the wonder of cinema. The moving images, the dialogues, and the music were like a symphony that trapped me completely. I eagerly watched every movie my school screened for charity; the cowboys and heroes like Monte Christo and Robin Hood were my absolute favourites. My passion for movies only grew with time. I was fascinated by the intricate workings of the movie theatre, the film rolls, the mechanism of lights, projectors, and dark rooms. I was always on the lookout for anything related to films, and when my classmate gave me some discarded film strips, I felt like I had struck gold. But I didn’t just want to collect the 16mm film strips. I wanted to showcase them in my private cinema, where I could revel in the magic of cinema. I had no money to buy a mi

The Red House A simple household in Dalugama in 1965 Denzil Jayasinghe 2 min read·Mar 30 1 S tep into our neighbourhood, and you’ll see a house that’s anything but ordinary. Our house is a true marvel with its grand entranceway boasting grills and not one, not two, not three, but four doors. But that’s just the beginning of the story. Our house underwent a complete transformation three years ago, with a magnificent arch in the middle, two extra bedrooms, and a built-in kitchen. And just when we thought our house couldn’t get any more unique, my father decided to paint it red earlier this year, making it the only one of its kind in the entire neighbourhood. It’s easy to spot and gives us a sense of pride, but sometimes it’s hard to look at too. But that’s not all that makes our home stand out. My mother is a master of crafting birds out of cotton wool, and her creations are displayed all around the house in glass cages. These little white birds, chickens, baby chickens, swans, ducks, ra

  Blended Language Fusion of my English — an experimental poem Denzil Jayasinghe Mar 28 C himing to the rhythm of blended tongues, My voice sings a melody of diverse roots, Born from countries colliding and colluding, A fusion of languages, a chorus of fruits. L ankan, Indian, Dubaian, Aussie, Each English version, a lover in my linguistic bed, Their passion blended, my voice and writing cozy, A hotchpotch of words, a symphony ahead. M other, oh how I wish you knew English well, Father, your pronunciation was distinct, I wish you could hear your grandkids and great-grandkids, A change in language, a shift that does not shrink. C himing to the rhythm of blended tongues, My voice echoes a tale of diversity, A legacy of cultures and languages young, A song of heritage, linguistic prosperity. Subscribe to my stories  https://djayasi.medium.com/subscribe . The images belong to the original owners. English Poem

  Bajar days A recall of my youth, in a short poem form of a short-lived time in Sri Lanka Denzil Jayasinghe 1 min read·Mar 28 Oh, the memories of Bajar days, When life was simple, in so many ways. My friends knew me, through and through, And I knew them, just like they knew. We’d stroll around the neighbourhood, Lost in conversation, feeling good. No worries for the time or day, Just enjoying each other, come what may. We’d celebrate our wins and fails, And we’d pick each other up, without any nails. Our headless youth was such a sight, We were just kids, everything was alright. But now we’re all grown up and busy, Our schedules filled, it makes me dizzy. We compare calendars, but it’s all the same, Eventually one of us cancels, we’re all to blame. Adulthood’s too exhausted to leave our homes, We’re too tired to call, or even roam. I miss the sense of belonging, that once was mine, When life was easier, and everything was just fine. Oh, those Bajar days, they seem so far, But the memo