The 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 desired outcome.
In the midst of the hiccup ordeal, the boy’s grandmother joined the effort, gently patting his back in an attempt to bring relief. Regrettably, her efforts also proved futile.
Finally, after a week of relentless trials, the mother and grandmother succumbed to exhaustion. The mother grew increasingly concerned about her son’s well-being.
“I’m at a loss for what else to do,” she confided to her husband. “I’m beginning to fear that these hiccups will never subside.”
The husband offered his support, comforting his wife with a gentle pat on the back. “Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “I’m certain the hiccups will eventually fade away.”
A sense of relief washed over the mother as she acknowledged her husband’s perspective. She realised she needed to relax and cherish her son’s presence, even amidst the hiccup-induced interruptions.
Consequently, the rest of the day unfolded with the son engaging in games with his siblings, laughing, and enjoying life to the fullest. Despite the persistent hiccups, he relished every moment, attentively listening to his grandmother’s captivating stories and assisting her in the kitchen.
The following day, the little boy awoke to find his hiccups miraculously absent. Overjoyed, he darted to his grandmother to share the good news. His grandmother patted him on his back.
Then he ran to his mother.
“Mother, my hiccups are gone!” he exclaimed gleefully.
The mother’s face lit up with a radiant smile. She was profoundly grateful that her son was finally free from the irritating hiccups that had plagued him.
And the little boy beamed with happiness, knowing his family loved him.
Cyril Stanley A story of gratitude — Denzil recalls a friend who looked out for him in his budding years in Sri Lanka Denzil Jayasinghe 11 min read · Aug 27, 2022 1 Give us a bit of background on how you met Cyril. It was the seventies in the sleepy village of Dalugama , my ancestral hometown, some ten kilometres from Colombo. With their flared bell bottoms and Afro-style hair, it was easy to notice Cyril and his younger brother Edward. I’d bump into the duo in the neighbourhood as I walked home after a day at college. A casual hello greeting turned into a conversation and an evolving friendship with the duo at an age when making friends was effortless. However, it was Cyril who reached out to me first. What did the brothers look like? C yril was a younger version of Smokey Robinson and his brother, Edward, a junior Lionel Richie but darker. Both had curly hair, grown long, copying the Afro-American idols of the seventies. Smokey Robinson, Cyril Stanley lookalike Where did they
My experiences of rebellions How waves of violence in Sri Lanka broke a young man’s heart Warning — Distressing scenes described in this story. A YOUTH INSURRECTION DURING MY BOYHOOD 1971 — There was a strong student and youth socialist movement styled on the “Che Guevara” clique. Many poor, unemployed and underprivileged young people joined this movement. My two elder cousins, my father’s brother’s children, Sisira and Marie, were also in this rebel group. In their home. They replaced Jesus’s picture with that of Mao Zedong and Che Guevara. Both of them, teenagers, boldly spoke about a future socialist society. A society in which everyone was equal in Sri Lanka. Young as I was, it was a bit gibberish to me. In April 1971, the movement turned violent. The insurrection began when the rebels started attacking police stations. The Sri Lankan government responded by deploying armed forces with brutal force. Rebels cut power lines and blocked roads with trees in the countryside. Schools wer
Arya Sinhala This story is about the significance of this costume in my family and its cultural relevance. My father wore shirts and pants as any English-educated Sri Lankan male did back in the day. Everybody gave their children English names. I am named Denzil Bernard. A few years after I was born, in the 1950s, Sri Lanka was trying to assert its ethnic identity, a decade after it gained independence from Great Britain. A new prime minister, espousing an ethnocentric identity, came into power. Emulating Indian leaders’ post-independence direction, he gave up his Western attire, despite his Oxford education and wore the national dress, Arya Sinhala. Arya is an ethnic and cultural designation to which the Sinhala race makes claims. The cultural transformation started in my family. My sister, born four years after me, was named Rekha Flora. She had an ethnic name and a Western name. Occasionally my father donned the national dress. My father’s elder brother ultimately gave up his West
2 min read·2 days ago
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