Denzil's Stories

The Courage to Help: A Story of Friendship and Action Denzil Jayasinghe 3 min read 1 In the quiet halls of St. Benedict’s College in 1971, I learned one of life’s most profound lessons: sometimes, the greatest act of friendship is simply paying attention and having the courage to act. I was in grade 10 with my close friends, preparing for general certificate exams. Among them was Richard, a usually cheerful boy whose sudden withdrawal from our group became impossible to ignore. Where once stood a bright-eyed student with an engaging smile now sat a shadow of himself, often lost in distant thoughts, his gaze fixed on the roof. The transformation was stark and troubling. While others might have dismissed these changes as teenage moodiness, something in me recognised the signs of more profound distress. Perhaps it was my own past experiences that made me more attuned to the silent signals of suffering. The decision to approach Richard came naturally, though the conversation that followed ...

  A Grandmother’s Magic: Tales from Sri Lanka Denzil Jayasinghe 5 min read In my childhood, my grandmother Kadayamma — also known as Barbara Saram — wielded a special kind of magic. While other children had their bedtime stories, we experienced enchantment woven through mealtimes and twilight hours. Her stories passed down through Sri Lanka’s rich oral tradition, carried a unique flavour that was distinctly hers. Though many families across the island shared similar tales, Kadayamma had mastered anchoring her stories in a child’s world, making them both memorable and meaningful. The Tale of the Nariya and the Bird One of her most memorable stories was about a clever fox — or nariya, as we call it in Sinhala — and an unsuspecting bird. In Sri Lankan folklore, the fox often plays the role of the cunning trickster, and this tale was no exception. High up in a tall, leafy tree sat a pretty white bird. It held something special in its beak — a delicious cake with pink frosting! The bird...

The Heart of Memory The literal transformation of the father’s wedding ring into the bride’s bracelet Denzil Jayasinghe 4 min read T he scent of Iceland poppies drifted through the Hampton-style house’s passage, a fragrance that had marked every spring of Roanna’s childhood. She stood before the white-framed mirror, which had witnessed countless Sunday-best adjustments and preparations over the years. Now, wrapped in white silk that caught the familiar mid-morning light streaming through the wavy-glassed windows, she felt like a photograph coming to life. Her siblings’ children — little echoes of their childhood selves — circled her like butterflies, their tiny fingers touching her wedding gown with wonder. “Come in, Dad,” she called out, recognising the soft shuffle of his boots and the distinctive tap of his hat. The sound transported her back to Sunday mornings when that familiar shuffle meant book readings and quiet moments shared. Her father entered, followed by Natasha, Roshin, a...