Inthe serene village of Mudiyansegewatte, amidst the picturesque landscapes of Ceylon, my mother confronted me one day with a stern expression.
“You are getting too wild in this place,” she declared, expressing concern and reproach.
In my youthful defensiveness, I replied, “And go where?”
Her suggestion was clear, offering both promise and uncertainty. “Go somewhere, Europe, because you spend too much time on the road here. Maybe London or Germany.”
As her words lingered, a determined decision began to form within me — a departure from the familiar, a venture into the unknown.
“I will take you to the parish priest.” She softened her tone. “God can perform miracles. But you must go from here. You are getting wild.”
And so, the wheels of change were set in motion. The prospect of a journey beyond the boundaries of my sleepy village beckoned, guided by the wisdom of a concerned mother and the uncharted path awaiting me in a distant land.
Reflecting on it now, my mother’s understanding proved correct. Without my awareness, I had descended into a realm of recklessness. Evenings were consumed in the company of friends, enveloped in the smoke of cigarettes and the sound of clinking glasses. The appeal of this lifestyle had firmly gripped me, making it difficult to break free. Smoking had evolved into a defining aspect of my identity — an action I held onto, a symbol of how I wanted to be remembered, with a cigarette securely grasped between my fingers, pressed against my lips.
One evening, we ventured into Colombo, ascending to the first floor, and finding ourselves in a narrow dark passage. The atmosphere buzzed with the presence of numerous women, lingering, giggling, and casting glances. A conspicuous sign declared, ‘ADULTS ONLY. MASSAGES TWENTY RUPEES AN HOUR.’
We settled for a soft drink at their eatery, a refreshing concoction that revived our senses under the watchful eyes of the madam-in-charge. In a moment of candour, my friend posed the question, ‘Which one of the women do you fancy?”
The implication struck me immediately, and a mix of shyness and self-awareness enveloped me. The inclination to flee, to retreat home, tinged with a hint of fear, but I resolved, “I must overcome this.” Despite that initial discomfort, I was drawn to the club repeatedly — each day when I had a bit of money was marked by return visits, occasionally culminating in longer sessions.
“You are getting too wild. You have too many friends,” my mother admonished.
I paid her no heed until the night I failed to return. The following day, facing the consequences of my choices, I made a solemn vow to halt the drinking and indulgences that transpired in that place.
“I don’t want to live here,” I told my mother. I was afraid that if I lived here and died in my sleep, I’d go straight to hell, to the welcoming arm of the devil.
About a week later, she insisted, “You must come with me. We are going to the priest. We can get you out of the country for ten thousand.”
The parish priest, renowned for his evangelical fervour and promises of financial liberation, received us warmly. Placing his hands on my head, he commenced a prayer for guidance away from my habits.
He continued his prayer, uttering in a mystical language.: “Yahweh, hallala sallalh melekala halamala.” Onlookers were astonished as the priest and a group of elders gathered around me, pointing dramatically towards the sky and pushing me to the ground, making me kneel.
The priest was adamant that I needed to pursue some form of tertiary education, and my mother expressed gratitude for his encouragement. “Imagine coming back from London in a fancy Benz,” he added. The idea of returning from London or Germany with a sleek Mercedes Benz became a compelling motivator.
Over the next two months, everything fell into place for my departure, thanks to what my mother referred to as the priest’s “miracle hands.” A friend secured a job, an air ticket to Dubai materialised, and my mother’s ten thousand was saved. The chance to go abroad seemed to come out of the blue, attributed by my mother to her prayers working miracles in the clouds.
On the night before I left home, things got really emotional. My mother talked about how tough it was to see me, her oldest son, leave. She brought up memories from when I was a kid, and tears rolled down her face. My father sat on my bed and said a few things too, but I couldn’t fully grasp how sad they were. It felt like there was a hidden, deep sadness beneath their words.
The day of my departure was a mix of emotions. Relatives bid farewells, focusing more on eating, drinking, and gossiping than on my impending journey. In a strange turn, my mother kissed me, adorned me with a Mother Mary’s medal, and shed tears. Edward handed me a ten-dollar bill, Nimal contributed a new brown comb, and Asoka and his brother Sunil provided a luxurious ride to the airport in their shiny Borgward car.
As my bag was loaded into the boot of the orange Borgward, my mother called for a moment of pause. Tearfully, she kissed my cheeks, and I avoided eye contact with my family and friends.
In contemplation, I looked outside while driving through the streets from Mudiyansegewatta to Kohalwila, then onto the Kandy road, and finally along the Negombo road.
Reaching the airport, I began to wish I wasn’t leaving. The vast airport lounge felt overwhelming, but the loud announcement confirmed that my Singapore Airlines flight was on time.
When I passed the security officer before climbing the steps to the giant Boeing 747, he asked, ‘Are you going to study abroad?’
And I proudly replied, “Nah, I am going to buy a Benz”.
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 Stan...
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 ...
20 quick-fire questions * If you could give your younger self one piece of advice, what would it be? Your life would not turn the way that you planned. It is OK to be naïve and stupidly young. What do you like doing in your spare time? Writing and reading. Both complement each other. What would you change your name to? My family's name is Jayasinghe. ජයසිංහ in Sinhala in the original script. Phonetically, it is pronounced Jaya-Sinha in Sri Lanka. But in English, through generations, it was spelt Jayasinghe, which sounds differently in English. I would change its spelling to Jaya-Sinha to align it with its original sound. Perhaps my grandkids in Australia could do it. What’s your favourite time of day? The morning hours. I am most productive in the mornings. What is your biggest weakness? I could get carried away with what I could be doing. Sometimes, I must pinch myself to stop what I am doing. What is your favourite colour? Green. Always from my kid days. Would you believe I had...
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