AsI 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 and old.
Mudalali is a jack-of-all-trades. He expertly weighs items, easily handles cash, and keeps track of customers who buy on credit. He even makes tea for anyone who asks. I watch him in awe as he effortlessly juggles his tasks, wondering how he does everything. But when he hands me my change, his friendly demeanour never falters.
I spy a stack of notepads and notebooks for sale in Mudalali’s cabinet and yearn to buy them, but I’m short on pocket money today. Maybe another time. With the remaining change, I buy a few Narambic lozenges for my siblings. They’re not much, but they’ll be a sweet treat after a long day. My sister and brother would be glad to gobble them.
As I leave the store, I feel a sense of relief washes over me. The afternoon sun is warm on my skin, and I’m glad to be outside. I hurry home, eager to finish my homework and catch up with my friends. But for now, I’m content with the simple joy of running errands and being a helpful son.
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 ...
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...
Doctor Doctor Memories of medical care in my early years As a toddler, I contracted whooping cough, a deadly disease of that time. My mother went through a lot of anxiety until I got better. She was so pleased with the doctor who treated me that he became our family doctor. As a two-year-old, I don’t remember a thing about that trying time. It must have shaken my mother so much; she thought my survival was a miracle. She never failed to remind me of that fact growing up. At four years, I was operated on for hydrocele at Lady Ridgeway Children’s Hospital in Colombo. During my entire stay, my mother stayed with me at the hospital, sleeping nearby. I have great memories in the hospital, caring nurses and frequent visits from my grandfather, Lewis . I loved his visits, his fancy stories sitting on my bed. When the hospital discharged me after four days, my grandfather carried me to his car. Back home, I was not allowed to wear pants until I healed. That was embarrassing. The discharge...
2 min read·Apr 29
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