Denzil's Stories

  Mudalali’s Corner Store: A Haven of Comfort and Convenience An Ode to Childhood Memories and Simple Pleasures Denzil Jayasinghe 2 min read·Apr 29 1 As I step into the corner store, the scents of freshly baked bread and burning oil greet me. Mudalali, the friendly shopkeeper, flashes me a smile and calls me “Baby,” a nickname he’s given me since I was little. I don’t mind it, though. It’s comforting, like the sound of the store’s floor under my feet. I scan my mother’s shopping list in my cane basket. We need bread, sugar, tinned fish, and coconut oil — nothing too fancy. I don’t mind running errands for my mother, but I’m tired after a long day at school. Mr Suraweera’s endless talks and yelling still echo in my head, and I’m glad to be out of his classroom for the day. Clusters of bananas are hanging at the entrance of the store. Mudalali sells everything that the villagers need in a hurry. The shop is popular with the villagers, and the owner, Mudalali, is liked by everyone, young

  The last tribute The loss of a grandparent — a boy’s agony Denzil Jayasinghe 5 min read·Apr 25 My grandma, Kadayamma, had been unwell for some time. I was worried about her, and I told my friends in my inner circle that she was not doing well. But they didn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation. For them, grandparents getting sick and passing away was a normal part of life. But I couldn’t accept that Kadayamma could be gone soon. One day, she got worse, and the local priest visited her and gave her the last rites. I was scared and sad, but miraculously, Kadayamma survived that scare. However, my worries didn’t go away, and I always thought about her. I even wondered why old people had to get sick and couldn’t be healthy like me. But fate had something else in store for me. I was heading to Colombo by bus when something told me to return home. So, interrupting the journey and forgoing the bus fare, I got off the bus and returned home. And it was a good thing I did. Half an

  A Glimpse into a Grandma’s Room: A Lad’s Reflections on Life and Mortality Denzil Jayasinghe 3 min read·Apr 23 As soon as I enter Kadayamma’s room, I can tell from her breathing that she’s asleep. It’s weird, but even though I know she’s been lying on the bed the whole time, I feel like I’m seeing her for the first time. The sunlight streaming through the window illuminates the room. I can see the passion fruit vines outside through the window’s grills. Before Kadayamma fell ill, I helped her to water the vine every week. The vine shakes in the same pattern whenever the wind blows through the window, blowing the curtain. I sit on my bed, gazing at Kadayamma, holding my breath. She’s sound asleep, unaware that her grandson is in the same room. The room is silent. On Kadayamma’s bedside are medicine bottles, tablets, and a glass of water. It’s my mother who takes care of Kadayamma’s illness. Lately, Kadayamma has been getting sick. I’m not used to this. I don’t understand why older peo