19 January 2012

The 2000 rupee thank you note. Please change traffic ticket laws.

In summary, December hols, in SL drove to Kataragama. Got caught on speed gun doing 91 on a 70 stretch of Galle Road. Two cops on motobike. Wary smile. Theirs confident. I am informed of my lapse and my license asked for. Cop holds it firmly, the battle is won.
So ticket of 1,500 looms. The fact that they will keep my license in the Tangalle Police and I have to pay ticket at post office and then go claim the license from the Tangalle Police looms much bigger. Especially since I am on holiday for two weeks and it’s a Sunday.
No time or patience to argue, they are right, I was speeding. Wished the law were changed where they didn’t have to keep my license. Either I pay a spot fine, or they retain my details and issue me a ticket returning my license. Everywhere else I have got caught speeding, this has been the case. In England, just a photo of your car and your traffic infringement arrives by post.
I request that we reach agreement with satisfaction of all parties. I am informed that this kind of arrangement is completely up to me. I open wallet. Only bloody 2000 rupee notes reside in it. So one parts my company.
My license is returned. I say my goodbyes and proceed.
I am to blame more than they. But the law must change. When we know that thank you notes cannot be exchanged for said license we will be encouraged to practice far more honesty. The Police so mad that they will immediately be more diligent for they no longer can hold retaining the license over us the people.
I honestly would have paid the ticket, but to go through the hassle of going back to Tangalle and postponing my return to blighty was well worth the thank you note.
The rest of my holiday I ensured to have 500 rupee thank you notes always available in my wallet. Didn’t speed either.

Jesus has come...

Jesus has come

The rains will stop
The sun blaze overhead
Even the hardest
Those who trek on mother earth
Flinch when their feet touch the tarred road
When finally everything green is no more
Then the serpents of eternity shall come

Winters long
Ice more than inches cover the road
Your crops wither right down to their roots
Black stumps, barely visible
No light, no will
When the hardest dare not head out
Then the serpents of eternity shall come

Not the child born from a sexless marriage
Not the harbinger of all-good
Not the one who gave so much
For you
For he is no more
But for the serpents of eternity
They are no figments of your imagination
See them slither amongst you

Mothers from hunger shall feast on their children
Fathers fornicate with the filthiest of dogs
Parents sell body parts to live
Man and animal both defecate
In the kingdoms of Gods
Now mere edifices
Where the serpents of eternity slither

Tell me
Jesus has come
The Mexican one
How far from truth or dare…
Do you live?
When will you wake up?

That’s my cock in your mouth.

11 January 2012


“When I go from hence, let this be my parting word, that what I have seen is unsurpassable.

I have tasted of the hidden honey of this lotus that expands on the ocean of light, and thus I am blessed—let this be my parting word.

In this playhouse of infinite forms I have had my play and here have I caught sight of him who is formless.

My whole body and my limbs have thrilled with his touch who is beyond touch; and if the end comes here, let it come—let this be my parting word.”

“I both saw the thunderstorm and the single red rose drenched in rain. I saw your rivers flow swiftly as my days flew by.

You may look but never touch said she as I looked in wonder. Her scents overwhelm me. I need her forever more.

She tickles me as she gently dissolves through my feet. I am as aroused as her. I am battered and blown. Burnt to golden brown. But yet again I set out from shore. Into her welcoming warmth.

The single elephant stands majestically. Bathed in the headlight as he waits to cross. The night is silent for but for the two of us. We study each other. Me distance for quick escape. He if I am close enough to charge at.

The warriors 'cry' their words of victory. They spilled their blood so I can walk free. A flower grows in memory, deep in the recess of my heart.

I yearn for evermore. I read the words of a master, the wordsmith. The sorrow that I am never he, and she ever is mine.

I love her not of love, I love her for she is my life itself.”

Dhammika Dharmawardhane, the Invisible Migrant