Need an Escape.

January 21st, 2012

Almost an year. I lost me somewhere in my fight for the survival. I could not write.  There are things at the bottom of the heart to be spelled out. They just tap tap and tap to break free. Yet I could not  write. I always fight for me and for others around me. Being compassionate is my quality. I was there for everyone when ever they needed me. But somehow some where around the orbit, I am left out of the circle once I was exploited. Nowadays, whenever a phone rings, I just go like ” who needs me now.” the willingness to answer the phone just fade away. Even the curiosity to look who called is just not there anymore.   Everybody is pretending. 2011 is the worst year of my life. Sadly, many masks were torn. I always taught my kids to be compassionate, to be there for any one in need and to love everyone. Not anymore.  I am scared they might be exploited by the very utter selfish next generation. I fear how would they survive the brutal truth there is not any genuine love left.

I just need an escape. To a middle of nowhere. A place of isolation. Just the bright sun ,the cool  breeze, magnificent  mountains, lonely trees, and just me in a hammock. I just need an escape.

Tribute to My Sisters and Brothers

November 26th, 2010

karthikai-poo To get rid of the stress of the day, I just lazily lie down on the bed. The red lily at my windowsill draws my attention. Two flowers on a long stem with just four long lean leaves. Beautiful! Admiring the beauty of the red lily, brings in the memory of the so called November Flowers Karthikai Pookkal or Gloriosa Superba. My unborn nation’s national flower.

While my long ride to work through the potholed roads, the only pasture I used to see was the nearby jungles, paddy fields , tall lonely Palmyra tree, shrubs and the intertwined November Flowers. The red flowers decorated the bush like a Christmas where butter flies flew around like angels. The way back to home dust and dark was illuminated by the light worms. My kids learnt the colours, parts of tree, nature, poem, math and anything they can grab at that age on the passing trees , bushes , flowers and birds. My daughter ate her meals singing Two Little Ticky Birds. My son learnt his numbers on the passing trees. Even though they still love the nature and have the knowhow to enjoy it, the internet shrank the world giving everything handy as a candy. How lucky they are. From the rutted roads to the carpeted roads, they arrived safely.

Yes. Safely. Safety provided by the thousands of brothers and sisters who left their homes just like that, just to save our lives. Being in a country, where every seconds need money to survive, even random act of kindness could be perceived dangerous, and people do know the man only as a material not any more as human , it is very difficult to understand such selfless acts. Even I wonder after all those years, how was it possible? For others?? No wonder they are perceived dangerous.

Thank you siss and bros. I know you are no longer there. Most of you could have died at the genocide which was conducted systematically under the observation of the whole world. The world could have forgotten you. You might not have a home any more. You might have lost your identities, name and addresses. You would not have even got a decent cemetery address, because you were killed by brutes that never know the decency to how to treat a corpse. You could have left to decay, smell bad and eaten by those dogs and maggots. But even on your dead bed you served the world, fed the homeless dogs and the innocent maggots. Some where there your souls are still awaits not resting in peace to know that your people finally got their freedom.

Rest in peace siss and bros! while you were alive you suffered a lot. The lean bodies carried heavy loads, your soft hearts carried burdens of your colleagues. Working in the community, talking to your mothers and sisters I learnt how some of you were tortured, how some of you were killed. Captured at the front you never came back respectfully. I remember a mother crying, her daughter’s genital parts were inserted by an unexploded shell. I heard a mother saying, how she could not love her baby because she never knew which soldier was the father of the baby. When her village being seized at a dawn, she was captured by the soldiers. The nights followed by the arrest, she was forced to serve each soldier in order of their ranks. After long three hell of years her unwanted pregnancy brought her to an army hospital then to a civil hospital and then she escaped from there. First thing she did , joined with people who can help her revenge the soldiers. She said, “I do not know their faces because they came in the dark. So I am going to revenge whoever happen to be in my path.” One day I saw her in the newspaper, did and dead. But our people who have the decency to love an enemy’s baby sheltered the baby. They did not kill as they put our babies in the boiling tar.

Kantha! I remember you from my school days. I was volunteering at the District Hospital to take care of the war victims. You were tied to a bed. You were injured. A bullet went through your head. You were unconscious and you were about to die. The doctors wanted to give you a peace full death. But you were shouting unconsciously to let you go and fight. Western would say it is a medical miracle. But I know that witnessing all the brutal tortures, rapes and murders of your siblings gave you strength to fight while dying. Our people know, there is no other miracle other than you and your comrades.

Vasanthy! When I left the country you were wheel chaired. Paralyzed to the hip, unaware of the soiling, always smiling, and still wanted to do something to the community, you were there.

Thamil! you were just fifteen when I joined as a teacher at your school. Long eight years after I heard that you injured on your abdomen and your upper skin of the abdomen was kept open for a month because they did not want it to be opened again and again to get rid of your infection. When I visited you after a month I thought I was seeing a ghost. Such a thin layer of a human body slept on the bed. . Why did you suffer this? How did you learn to tolerate the suffering? For you? For your people? For your village, which was long ago looted?

It is not sufficient to say thank you to you. Even saying a thank you could degrade the sacrifices you made.

Novembers always come! The dead Gloriosa Superba rises through the cracks of the earth. Grow tall, intertwined on the trees. Blossom! I hopefully wait to go home one day and see the flowers once my country is a haven and full of Gloriosa Superba.

White Sandy Beaches

October 6th, 2010

Have you heard ?

No more war!

The international airport shines

So you can see your face on the floor.

Camps, prisons,schools and temples

Houseful with the impaired, sick, homeless people.

Do you care? Why should I?

East  coasts are full of luxury hotels.

Sexual Orientation is not a problem.

Everybody will be served.

White , sandy beaches of the north coast.

Yummy, cheap ,tasty lobsters and shrimps.

Some kind hearted refugees from abroad

Investing for hotels in the peninsula.

Jaffna town is full of  pavement stalls.

Isn’t it cool?

Our friends,

Who killed our kids for three decades, own them.

Rush! Offseason tickets are cheap.

Have fun!

By the Side of Indian Ocean

May 13th, 2010

Wave 1

I had been there many times. With  friends, with my family and also with my staff.  The full moon days glisten the white sandy beach. The long waves rush to the shore threatening, splashing water on the beach and on our faces.The inner end of the beach is marched and guarded by the short coconut trees. The far end of the sea is guarded by the navy boats. Sometimes the bullets launched form the gun boats bring us back to the present. Come on , are  you kidding? How can you enjoy the life while we are here? they bang. Born in an island, lived in a peninsula with sandy beaches in one hour drive( or is it half an hour? I never know. All my life the passengers were stopped at all the checkpoints which delayed the journey. The long ignored roads were full of  damages. So I never know how long would it take to a nearest beach) we never learnt to swim. Such a sad culture. Fully clothed we just stood at the banks to just to wet our lower bodies. Even the wetness showing the figure of your bodies is a taboo.  We go to the beach on a full moon day sit at the beach enjoy the breeze.

When I worked with MSF we used to go to the beach as a team. We even had a barbecue on Mullai beach one day. We do not know how to enjoy the life, partially the culture, partially the decades long  war forbid us from enjoying the nature, life and naturally living the life. So some of us learnt to enjoy the life from the expatriates, who always be a Roman when they are in Rome, even if the Rome is burning to ashes. But by all means it suited to us and we needed that because our country was burning for years by war , and we did not know how to play a fiddle amidst.

So the beach loved by everyone spread along the east coast with magnificent beauty. The creepers carpeted the beach with greeny greeny leaves and violet flowers. The creeper named “adampan” is always a metaphor for the unity of the Tamils. The old saying from our culture ,”even if it is the adampan creeper, if  united it is  valiant.” They told this many decades to fight the suppression, to have their freedoms. If it is true, the white sandy beach would not have been filled with black bent heads ,broken promises,and shattered dreams. Or were we really united at all?

To be continued..

Hearts to be Healed

April 2nd, 2010

“The war has been ended”

They declared

(Ooph! silent! do not ask

When, how and Why)

Happiness!

Peace!!

Let them both long last!

Three decades of war

Stole their sleep away

Both the killers and the victims

Heavy eyelids can rest in peace now.

Unwanted deaths….

Sacrifices the youngsters made…

The lost eye of the next door kid…..

The father of the seven kids

With his amputated leg,

The girl still goes to school

A blank face

Happiness hunted away

by a group of brutals

On that cold dark brutal night.

Everyone , everything forgotten.

Victims- known for their hospitality

Enemies known for their brutality

Celebrated their harmony.

Period.

Still a murmur

With the  dusk seeping into the day

an unknown terror seeps into too.

Nook and corners are filled with fear.

Last night,

a bomb exploded spreading

shrapnels in to thousand hearts,

Screamed my daughter in her dream.

A supersonic walked on four legs,

previous day in my husband’s dream.

The other day,

Corpses rose from their pyres

Headless, Limbless

In my dream.

Traumatized hearts

Still flutter to survive.

Those who over there!

On your path to heal the world,

Just look at that tear drop

Just below the Indian continent,

Waiting to be cared, healed.

That’s life

August 11th, 2009

Simply said.

That’s life.

My thirteen year old said

“”Appa, it did not hurt when I danced.

But it hurts now”

My eight year old said

” That’s life acca” to his sister.

“Things hurt after we did it”

How simple!

Why we adults donot get it?

Before we leap deep.

Long live humanity burried in the safety zone

May 19th, 2009

My senses took along leave.
Sitting at the computer
Looking at the websites
My senses took a long leave.
Back to reality,
We don’t bear to have a kitten suffer
We don’t bear to have a puppy starve
But, what are they?
After all human kids.
Practically with a brown skin.
Let them suffer
Let them starve
Let them die.
It is not Somalia or Ethiopia
For a kid to be eaten by a haunting vulture
At least the dying kids have
So called terrorist hands
That can burry them decently.
How lucky the kids are!
They are injured in a safety zone;
They are dead in a safety zone;
They are burried in a safety zone too.
Long live humanity!!!!

Concrete Forest.

March 29th, 2009

744px-spitting_off_tall_buildings

Walking down the concrete pavement
I wonder
How remarkable these concrete facilities called ‘HOMES’
Tall, short, lean and stout
Differ in style,
Differ in value
Of course the status differs too.
Walking down the concrete pavement
I wonder,
How amazing these passing metal creatures called ‘CARS’.
Array of colour,
Variety of styles,
Variety of shapes,
Diversity of status indeed.
Walking down the concrete pavement
I wonder
How amazing these celluloid puppets called ‘HUMANS’
Variety of colour
Range in sizes
Diversity in types
Not to mention the vast range of status.
They dance
They sing
They talk
They hug
All in different stages
All with different masks.
The string they are tied to
Is held with one hand
Called “MATERIALISM”
Walking down the concrete pavement
I search around the concrete forest
For a thing called”HUMANITY.”

Give me a shout back if you ever see it.

Hello there ! did you say million dollars

No problem.  I will go for it.

Humanity Waits…For What?

March 13th, 2009

Lend Me Your Years

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wonder with aching heart.
Are those pictures true?
Are those horror leaking pictures
On the websites and newspapers
Of my people back home
And their beautiful coastal villages, true?
The beautiful memories of bright, white beaches
Blurred with the ruined images of villages and shores.
The pleasant memories of those innocent peoples
With a warm welcoming smile
Of those pretty little houses
Along the long white beaches
Surrounded by the green coconut palms and trees
Blurred with the reality.
They might be killed.
They might be injured.
The innocent faces might be turned into deformed features.
The tiny kids, by age and malnutrition, might be dead
Or have lost their limbs.
“Not a single kid should be killed by poverty”
The greatest thought hangs in their air
Unattended.
In the tarpaulin huts
Surrounded by the heat, dust and germs
The fire of hunger burning their stomachs
The fire of fear, hopelessness,
And sorrow hurting their hearts
My people accused of being a Tamil:
Accused of seeking freedom:
Accused of yearning for their rights
Are being punished.
Human rights, Humanities,
The religions of the world
Those preaches love for the foe
Just waits!!!!
Just waits!!!!!!
For what??
Until they be killed??????

Just Want to Hear

January 28th, 2009

Past midnight….
My eyes close exhausted
After a long fight to embrace sleep.
The last thought of that moment
“How are they doing?”
Dawn…….
Lids opened lazily
After a long fight to be closed
Bearing the burden of the dreams
Bad dreams of course
The thought of that moment
“How are they doing?”
Heart misses a beat
Exhausted
Beating like a drum whole day.
Mind freezes a moment
Totally blank.
What to think?
What is there to think indeed?
The unknown answer to my query
Creeps in to the mind and body.
Numbness……
Thoughtlessness…….
I just want to hear,
They are ok.
They are still alive.
They still have something to eat.
They can still hear despite the bangs of the shells and bombs.
They can walk with their own legs.
They can eat with their own hands.
They can still see but unfortunately the cruelty
Wide spread in front of them.
I just want to hear
My friends…….
And their kids…Ami,Kaja,Ara, Arthi,Athirai and Arooran
And all the other people are fine
Despite being a Srilankan Tamil.