Denzil's Stories

The Boy Who Dared the World Timeless, symbolic of the bond that endures. Denzil Jayasinghe 5 min read · 16 hours ago T he summer of 1973 arrived in Dalugama like a heavy sigh. It clung to the skin — the mingled scent of salt and coconut oil, sun-baked earth, and damp canal water. I was eighteen, having just finished school and entered that uneasy space between childhood and what came after. The streets shimmered with heat, the radio at the corner store played the same familiar hits. Everything was ordinary, yet I felt a quiet tremor of possibility. Ajith appeared in that tremor. He was sixteen, smaller than me, yet he moved through the world as if daring it to catch him. A cousin of friends, a familiar face from junior school in Wattala, he would appear unannounced at our house — and I found myself looking forward to his visits with a quiet mixture of anticipation and curiosity. Sometimes he borrowed clothes. Sometimes he asked for a cup of tea. Sometimes he simply sat on the verandah ...

  Childhood by the Grilled Window The trees of 248 Mudiyansegewatta Denzil Jayasinghe 5 min read · 1 day ago I lived in our old ancestral house, just ten kilometres from Colombo, in a quiet village where a narrow road wound past our gate and hardly a motorcar ever passed. From my bedroom, with its grilled window looking out to the lane, I could watch the world go by in slow motion — a solitary cyclist in the morning, a creaking bullock cart at dusk. There was even a little door of my own, apart from the main entrance, and that small liberty filled me with a quiet joy known only to children who dream by windows. Beyond the window stretched our garden — vast and untamed, with trees that had grown there long before I was born. A ten-foot-wide path led from the house to the lonely lane, a hundred metres of gravel and fallen leaves that glowed amber in the evening light. And just by the open-air wash basin stood a rose-apple tree, its branches heavy in season, offering fruit that tasted...

The Story of John Christie (J.C.) Jayawardane A young man born into duty, J.C.J. Jayawardane endured loss, strict discipline, academic setbacks and a mother’s illness — but quietly forged his own path. Denzil Jayasinghe 4 min read · 23 hours ago 1 T he story of John Christie Jayawardane begins in a house where voices and silences mingled, where kin lived under one roof in the old Ceylonese way, and where discipline and love were never easily separated. He was the eldest son, and from his earliest days it was clear that life would demand much of him. Julie lived with them then. She was a grand-aunt, his mother Euphracia’s mother’s cousin, and daughter of the strong-willed Paistina. She became the hand that soothed the children, the one who made sure they ate, bathed, and slept, while Euphracia’s mother Anna struggled with frailty and sorrow. Alongside her was Rosalin, another aunt and a gentle presence. For young Christie, these women formed a shield against the harsher temper of his fa...