Denzil's Stories

  Pens and Pencils A lifelong love of fountain pens and pencils W riting is creation. It translates thoughts from our minds into words. Drawings and illustrations create imagination. Writings and drawings are then in the wider world for others to review, poke and admire — no wonder the instruments that give that magic power to humans became an important part of my life. I was seriously addicted to pens and pencils. I love my pens and pencils. Writing helps others to understand your thoughts. Drawing helps you to illustrate powerfully. Holding and using a pen or a pencil is therapeutic. The sheer act of it relaxes your soul. I would not have been where I am today without pens and pencils. My fascination started with pencils when I was a toddler. My father sat me down on our front veranda. He started by drawing a ship in the simplest of forms. He drew the ship’s hull, the two decks, one big funnel and a bit of smoke. He drew simple shapes that a small child could comprehend. I was fa...

The Incredible Martins A Boy’s Experience with a lionhearted family and how he survived a Hailstorm of Stones In middle adolescence, I started loving my independence. Friends and social networks outside my family were getting a lot of attention. My best mate was Ajit Martin from the same class. Ajit and I had similar interests and were always looking out for new adventures. Ajit’s enthusiasm and get-go were infectious. All that a friend can ask for, Ajit, was that for me, in an age when one always wanted to hang out with your best mate. During school holidays and occasional weekends, I convinced my parents to allow me to stay at Ajit’s home. I took the long ride of forty kilometres, combining multi-mode transport, buses and trains, interchanging at Colombo central station to get there. Not many kids my age did that on their own. Ajit’s home was always full of action and bravado; no teenager could resist hanging out with Ajit and his siblings, sister Shanti and the two brothers, both tw...

  Burly Mr Suraweera & his flying missiles A bunch of 10-year-olds face a violent teacher and survive. In 1965, I was in the 5th grade, class 5A. For the first time, we had a male teacher, a burly Mr Suraweera. Until then, my classmates had only female teachers. Mr Suraweera was an imposing man with a quick temper. He was notorious as a tough teacher in school. With his ill reputation, when we were in grade four, we started to feel apprehensive about what awaited us the next year. Kids adapt to any situation quickly. Everyone adjusted to Mr Suraweera’s rough style in no time. His punishments were harsh, making boys stand and kneel. He admonished boys with expletives. Depending on his anger, he hit them on their ears with his hand or knocked them on the head with his fist. He threw things at the boys, the duster, pen and other items he had on hand. He had uncontrollable anger and a violent tendency towards young boys. In year five, the last year of primary school, we were housed...