Denzil's Stories

  Unveiling monochrome – of one’s parents Denzil Jayasinghe 4 min read·2 days ago The story is about the author’s parents and their lives before they met each other. The author reflects on the photos of his parents and wonders about their lives before they became his parents. The photos make him realise that there are aspects of his parents he hardly knows at all. The author becomes more forgiving and accepting of his parents as he better understands their lives. She stands in a saree, her face calm and composed. Her long hair falls on her shoulders, parted in the middle. A watch adorns her left arm, and a white pebbled chain is around her neck. Her leather slippers peek out from under her white saree. She is my mother, barely nineteen years old. She would marry my father ten days before her twentieth birthday. I wonder what year this photo was taken. Maybe it was in 1952 when Princess Elizabeth became Queen Elizabeth II after her father’s death. When a war split Korea into two. Did sh

  Growing up in Dalugama Denzil Jayasinghe 2 min read·Apr 24 G rowing up in Dalugama was like living in a dream world where my imagination could run wild, and there was never a dull moment. As the eldest of my siblings, I felt a special sense of duty to care for my younger brother and sister, but it never felt like a burden. It was a privilege to watch them grow and learn alongside me. Our neighbourhood was like a small kingdom, with about ten families living in our gravel street. The houses had large blocks and fences that nobody paid much attention to, and there were plenty of kids my age, a bit older and a bit younger. We were like a big family, with everyone as a brother or a sister. Our parents trusted us to roam free, and we took full advantage of that, exploring the vast land with its multitude of coconut and banana trees. In our games, we were anything and everything we wanted to be. We played cops and robbers, shopkeepers, cowboys and Indians, priests, dads, mums – you name it

  Hiccups Denzil Jayasinghe 2 min read·2 days ago T he little boy hiccupped once again, and again, and again. His mother had been trying to help him overcome his hiccups for hours. She had exhausted every remedy, forcing him to drink water, holding his breath, back-patting, and even tickling. Unfortunately, nothing worked. “I wish I could find a way to make your hiccups vanish,” the mother expressed with a hint of frustration. The little boy simply smiled. Despite the annoyance caused by his persistent hiccups, he remained a content child, undisturbed by the inconvenience. Without any effort from him, he made a strange and novel sound. He was thrilled by what he heard. The mother took solace in her son’s cheerful disposition, even though he was physically uncomfortable. And so, the mother persistently experimented with various remedies to alleviate her son’s hiccups. She exhausted all known methods and even ventured into uncharted territory. Yet, none of her attempts yielded the desire

  Vesak A festival and a mother who did not give up. Denzil Jayasinghe 5 min read·May 11 T he next few days were the Vesak festival. Three days of glittering pandals and Vesak lanterns were not to be missed. Also not to miss were the popular food stalls that sprung everywhere. My friends boasted about what they did last year, how they ate free food to their hearts’ delight, met some girls at the Galle Face Green, and walked back home. My friends planned to spend a night roaming the city streets. It was going to be an all-night vigil. I had never stayed up a whole night out, leave alone a Vesak vigil. This would be my first time. When the sun set, I sneaked out of the house without telling my mother where I was going. I knew she would never let me roam the streets of Colombo all night long. I met up with my friends and strolled along the main Kandy Road. The whole area was dazzling with colourful paper lanterns and clay oil lamps. We sampled some free food stalls, stuffed our faces with