Leslie and the Glitch:

 

Leslie and the Glitch:

A Satirical Tale of Language and Identity

Denzil Jayasinghe
·

Imagine life in a village under the Sri Lankan sun, where wisdom shines brighter than fancy words. That’s where I grew up, content with the local lingo and mango tree whispers. Then there was Leslie, my classmate, like a character from an old movie stuck in white clothes. He loved English like a dragon guarding a dictionary, speaking it grandly, even if it came out jumbled with his slow stammer.

He’d be a one-man Shakespeare show at the bus stop, greeting everyone with booming “Good mornings!” and speeches about anything from clouds to stray dogs. He thought his fancy talk made him the village hero, leading us simple folks into a world of big words.

Meanwhile, I wished for invisibility, like a chameleon hiding in chutney. His English pronouncements were spotlights I desperately wanted to escape. It was like having a loud peacock for a friend, attracting unwanted attention while I craved peace (in our language, thank you very much!).

So, I became a hide-and-seek master, sneaking behind the bus stop like a dancing leaf. But sometimes, Leslie would spot me and yell, “Hello, how do you do?” in his grand voice. I’d pretend to be deaf, wishing the ground would swallow me whole. Embarrassment? Double dose!

His family was a whole other story. His dad, the choir leader, looked like a vampire with cherry lips on dark skin. He rode a bike to work, and his wife, Leslie’s mother, could wrestle a bull and win with a voice louder than the entire church choir. They had a bunch of kids, each one noisier than the last.

Five years earlier, when I was ten, Mr. Choirmaster invited me to join the choir. I felt like a tiny bird entering a golden cage. But my singing career crashed faster than a falling star. During a hymn in a Sunday mass, a giggle escaped me, and BOOM! I was kicked out quicker than a bad singer at a talent show.

Mr. Choirmaster couldn’t handle his wife’s roar, but my little giggle? Unforgivable! Maybe he envied my carefree laughter, something his own house probably lacked.

Then there was Joseph, Leslie’s brother. Officially, he drowned in the river, a sad accident. But whispers, like smoke signals, told a different story. Love, disapproval, and the river being a “convenient” solution. We all knew the truth, but his funeral was filled with unspoken secrets.

Image crated by Bing AI

Disclaimer: The above is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The author has made every effort to portray the characters and events in a fictional and entertaining manner.

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