Why?

The hardest part about asking questions is when you can’t seem to get an answer. Then they say that you’re probably asking all the wrong questions. Maybe you are but who is anyone else to be the judge of that?

Can a question really be wrong or right?

Of course they will argue that when we ask all the wrong questions in hope for an answer that we will never receive, there is no point in asking the question in the first place, thereby making the question ‘wrong’ because there is no answer.
But what happens when you can’t stop asking all the wrong questions anyway? They’ll probably get really exasperated and say ‘you’re asking the wrong question again Giffy!!!’….

small mercies

Haven’t got any campus gossip to blog about but thought I’d get a bit personal this time just so I can come back to this later on and reminisce. Ever been in this state of mind of perfect relief, and calm? I get ruffled... Sure I do.... I still have that harassed expression on with that manic spark in my eyes... the dark circles and bags under my eyes add to that deranged look that my mother wishes I would stop wearing...

But honestly I wake up smiling in the morning now. Which is unusual when usually, the routine; the norm would be to wake up worried or questioning why I was born.

I still see no purpose in life.

You are given so much and then you die but you take away with you nothing, at least nothing you can be certain off. Your rotting carcass is left for the maggot banquet or burnt to ashes. You ARE CONFIDENT that others will hold on to you and you will never fade away . If you made a mark in the world maybe you will be immortalized in literature, or a picture of you framed in gold and hung on a wall or through your prodigy nurtured with such care but then you become just a name with no face or face with no name or your prodigy fails to carry that torch you kept a light so carefully.

But then you get these small mercies in life, when hard work pays off, when denial doesn’t seem that bad, when madness makes sense... and in these blessed moments you are given a chance to wake up and smile... And I thank ‘life’ for these small mercies that makes the toil worth it.....

DALI and THE PURPLE SARI

Been one hectic one and a half weeks and even with all the mid-semester stress one particular incident did happen that I and ‘THE DALI’ of Web designing felt was worthy of taking blog space. So THE DALI was on the way for lectures via the best form of public transport Sri Lanka offers (THE BUS), when old lady in PURPLE SARI makes her way to the back seats where THE DALI was seated. THE DALI felt PURPLE SARI was familiar. A distant relative perhaps? Someone from the neighbourhood? THE DALI was aware that PURPLE SARI’S posterior movements and general body language indicated that she wished THE DALI to display model Sri Lankan youth’s magnanimous qualities; rise from seat and give it to PURPLE SARI with radiant smile. THE DALI was not in mood to be that model youth. In fact THE DALI felt weak and drained and that in the event PURPLE SARI confronted THE DALI, that she would inform her with a polite cough that she was suffering from ‘consumption’, (may I add that DALI is a huge ‘phobi-ach’ and for THE DALI to have decided to pronounce such an ‘untruth’ it was indeed un-natural and therefore bound to cause some sort of cosmic imbalance which would consequence in some mishap or close call, which is after all why she is such an ardent ‘phobi-ach’ in the first place).

Anyway after arriving at destination THE DALI – to her dismay realised that the department had mixed up her lecture times and decided to accompany me to ask department what we were to do with ourselves. When heading towards department, DALI stalls and spins around in her heals and whispers ‘OMG that’s the purple lady in the bus I didn’t give the seat to’. I turn to look and see her frozen in position about to enter her chambers (the English teaching unit), armed with Malu paang and Kesel. As soon as my eyes fell on her I felt that sick feeling in stomach when unpleasant memories come rushing into mind. My mind had slowed down her movement. I watched as she took vigorous bites off her Malu paang with closed eyes and then off her Kesel, her eyes closed relishing each bite. Crumbs of bread stuck to the corners of her mouth and with each consecutive bite the crumbs fell only to be replaced by more.
Memories of being rudely awoken from some darn good dreams by and old lady who looked a lot like this one flooded in. After washing my face I would be sitting at the dining room table my O/level maths text book open trying to dearly hold on to the few grains of dream slipping rapidly from my mind as she marked my homework. Then came the tea and toast. O lord how I dreaded the tea and toast ritual. She would bite off the toast and crumbs would fall on my text book, but that wasn’t what bothered me. No. It was what came after. She would lift her tea cup and ‘ SLUUURRRRRPPPPP....’ my teeth would go on edge and body would cringe to the sound of her savouring its taste and even though I dare not look I would look up just in time to see a singular drop of tea that escaped her mouth drip off her lips, then chin and splash on my text book. If she noticed, she would wipe it off with her palm, if not the drop would be left to dry, leaving a permanent scar on its ‘till then’ unscathed page.

I was brought back from my tortured past with a shudder by DALI who informed me that the coast was clear and we could continue with mission – confirmation that the class was cancelled. We proceed towards department to unravel our fate when out pops ENGLISH AROUND ... I mean ACROSS THE WORLD to ask us what’s going on. After a few blank expression exchanges we confirm what we already knew – that lectures were cancelled and that they will resume in an hour. Of course this isn’t what’s worth blogging about. It was what was going on behind DALI while exchanging blank expressions and fake remorse at lecture times being mixed up with ENGLISH ACROSS THE WORLD. While expressing fake remorse DALI was moving back and forth, unaware that PURPLE SARI was preying... I mean standing behind her, armed now with Kesel lella. Purple Sari stared intently at back of DALI’s head and DALI kept moving back and forth while expressing fake remorse to ENGLISH ACROSS THE WORLD. I watched in horror as only I had noticed PURPLE SARI and DALI saw my pallid face but couldn’t for the life of her fathom why it was pallid. Little did she know that purple sari well equipped with Kesel lella seemed preparing herself to box out DALI’s ears. When ENG ACROSS THE WORLD had moved away DALI seized to sway and just before any bodily contact could have happened giving PURPLE SARI and opening to commence onslaught on DALI, I managed to pull her away. On our way back to class DALI asks – ‘why did you have that perpetual look of horror on your face every time you looked at me?’ I gestured behind me and said “PURPLE SARI was right behind you looking as if she was waiting to make your ear drums bleed”. DALI began to laugh. I just wiped my forehead.

Mutiny

About two weeks back I was running for lectures late as usual. Getting dressed takes 15 minutes when it means slipping into long shorts, rubber slippers and an old t-shirt, so sue me for not being able to motivate myself to wake up more than an hour in advance. I never brush my hair. I don’t see the point. And seriously that’s one of the best parts about campus –NOBODY CARES ... well almost nobody. Occasionally you’ll get some moronic second ‘year’r’ who’d laugh at the mismatched attire and then i’d give him the finger (if we are shape eke friends) if not I will give him finger in head – either way I’m happy at the end.
Anyway while rushing up the stairs and reminding myself that if I continue to eat like I’m 15 and convince myself that running up the campus staircase when I’m late for lectures will be sufficient to keep me healthy and happy – man was I mistaken! Half way up I’m panting like a 60 year old and envisioning myself on a hospital bed due to artery blockage. When I finally reach the top of my own lil’ Adams peak I make a sharp turn to my left and bounce down the corridor. I would say stride, dash, or skip or even leap but that would be me kidding myself. When your late for lectures in the English department the least you can do is break sweat before slamming into the lecture door so the lecturer at least can assume that you at least ‘ran’ to class. Running Baywatch style isn’t really option anyway when you have a school bag on your back. Anyway on this particular day I was bouncing as fast as I could when suddenly I slammed the breaks. My eyes (luckily) fell upon it and it made me stop and take the work of art in. There it sat pretty, in the middle of the corridor, right in front of the lecture hall in one glorious shiny, lumpy pile – doggy poop. I was amazed, shocked. Which brave canine in campus had dared to pollute the sacred English department corridor?
As I walked passed it, I walked in reverence. To some it was mere a pile of Dog poop. To me it could be compared to the dirt smudge on the pristine white wall; it was symbolic of one of the many things local campuses stood for – mutiny & rebellion. My chest filled with pride as I tried to visualize which brave canine had decided to make such a bold statement. If stinky - our English department resident dog who is also slightly mentally disturbed and was most likely a poet or ardent lover of English in previous birth, hadn’t been adopted I would have bet you anything it was her – possibly in response to locking her out of a lecturer. What can I say – the girl had spunk! Then I wondered how the dog did it. Was it done carelessly in dog-stoned moment? Or was it a pre-planned mission accomplished after dark? Or maybe it was a dare... either way no one dared to move it. It was almost sacred.
When I entered the lecture hall everyone was talking about it. I heard snippets of “can you believe it?, the nerve!!, whodda thought? Wait till one of the lecturers see” and in between little chuckles of laughter. And then the lecturer walked in with her poker face, revealing no hint of what she thought of the symbol of mutiny sitting pretty outside the lecture hall. An hour went by painfully slow and often I had visions as I usually do of running screaming out the hall and jumping off the balcony. Finally she left. I got my stuff together and went outside and all that was left of the effort of one brave dog was the sand used by a janitor to take it away...

To anyone who has actually felt curious enough to visit this ‘bloggy’ let me start my tales by telling you what inspired me. Ever since I left school and joined the University of Colombo, all people want to know is – so did they rag you? What was it like? One year ago this would have launched a pretty interesting discussion where I would happily dish out the ‘gory details’ of the campus Rag, exaggerating here and there to get the reaction I want from my enchanted audience. Today the very idea of discussing the rag has the same effect as Piriton or Avil has on me when I’m having Catar. Seriously people there is more to campus life than what the late Nihal De Silva (with all due respect) fed us via the Ginirella Conspiracy. In a nutshell this blog hopes to contain ramblings of a ‘Kampuscella’ which will inform but mostly entertain. Hopefully (fingers crossed) someone will come across this and my pockets won’t be so empty anymore 