More Military-Fied Than The Burmese Junta, Dangerously Bloating Out Too!

So Aung San Suu Kyi is released from house arrest and having the crowd that listened to her as she spoke over her gate on University Road, swelling out to a multitude following her. Menika is thrilled no end at her release, even though still restrictive, since Menika was/is a faithful fan of this Iron Lady of the East ever since she returned to Burma to nurse her ailing mother and then got drawn into politics.
Instant follow-up is to consider our Sarath Fonseka — also a political prisoner (though this fact is hotly denied by stooges). Like a kid doing a written exercise, Menika drew two columns, named one ASSK and the other SF and enumerated similarities and dissimilarities between the Burmese lady and the Sri Lankan General. Major points that emerged are that both were unjustly incarcerated, but while ASSK at least lived most of her prison term in her own home and even had a foreign fool swimming across the lake and landing her in a real soup with the wicked stepfather Junta, our SF is incarcerated in a vile prison, exposing him to the danger of prison riots, a knife in his back, complete lack of amenities, poisoned food and pneumonia.
At least ASSK could eat what she liked and walk out in her garden to pick flowers for her hair, which kondemal Menika notes is graduating from one rose to an entire ring-o-roses. But our war hero stands in a queue for prison victuals and cannot even exercise which is essential for his gunshot ridden body. They are both very thin and almost gaunt in face, adding to their attractiveness in Menika’s admiring eye. ASSK is such an elite woman – delicate, refined and yet with steel in her. And our war hero who helped immensely to rid this country of terrorism gives heart spasms to his wife and other dames like Meniks who find him, h-m-m-m simply gorgeous and in great danger of his life. Their crimes? ASSK putting country before self and family; fighting for democracy; SF contesting an election and almost winning after three months of electioneering; but his was a crime – he contested royalty!
ASSK had most of the world rooting for her and recent growls from China  precipitated her release. SF has just a few championing his cause, dwindling by the day in direct proportion to the memory span of the Sri Lankan Sinhalese and the increase in power of you-know-who and the increasing swell of sycophancy – the last for slices from the royal table like cabinet and non cabinet posts and crumbs such as assignments abroad. Meniks won’t split coconuts, she never could get it to crack nice and clean when she used to go to Kataragama and had to repeat her mighty throw and finally got it splitting into unequal, jagged segments.
But her curses are potent. She does have a drop or two of Kuveni’s blood in her, and like that woman betrayed by the man she gifted herself and her throne to, Meniks has no respect for the male of the species – all ego and bombast. SF too has an ego, deflated now Menika is sure, but she cannot abide by injustice, so she uses her weapon – dark curses and the evil eye turned thataways. I am sure you readers know whichaways.
Mega is the in-word, the proportion of every thing and size of everyone of importance. Menika rolls the word on her tongue with jaws moving like the heifer she is, chewing the cud. But soon enough she spits the word out – thoo with a nodakin appended and Dingiri emerges from the pantry with arms akimbo. Mokkakda veradi? she questions mixing her scorn with equal measure of threatening hoity toityness. Menika, not liking the carving knife she holds at her hip, meekly says: Thoo kivwe maduruwekuta. To which Dingiri responds: Kema gana nam mung demma gedera yanawa. This wolf cry is often heard but still instills fear in Menika – how to manage without Dingiri?
‘Mega’ to Menika is a filthy word after the MegaStar show. Mega attaches itself to huge projects all over the land – coal plants, harbours, cricket stadiums, airports, highways and what-have-yous. Building construction is taken as the engine of growth. How to be this when most constructions employ Chinese labour? Our unemployed sit on their haunches and drool at all the jobs gone to the Chinaman.  The Cabinet of Ministers and the posse` of deputies is also very much MEGA.  Gone up to the 50s each and counting. You only need to jump colour and you get a plum of a ministry.
There is a mega joke in this selection too. Dr Mervyn de Silva from being media minister for a short while is now Minister of Public Relations, Tact and Social Concern. (‘Scuse me for not verifying exact title. The title I’ve given is wrong but Merve’s portfolio has to do with PR). Menika rolled on the ground when she read of the new ministry given our Morvin. Rolled in pain, shock, perturbation, delight or laughter — that’s for you to guess. She turned off the TV when she saw the barrels rolling down to receive their prizes for sycophancy – rice barrels, beer barrels, gas barrels even garbage and scum barrels.
There’s a geriatric ward too in the highest echelon of government, or should we call it the departure lounge – these Seniors kicked out of grace before they toe the bucket, to make room for young somersaulters. Menika simply cannot understand the indignities suffered for pottage and perks.  But it is no surprise, since pottage — whether cash or kind — wouldn’t be theirs out in the competitive world with no charisma, no looks and no education either!
Menika experienced the full force of a tornado – human this time, in the buxom shape of the dame who once in a while gives Menika a sort of conservation/renovation from head to toe – hair massage, facial, manicure, pedicure followed by body pummeling. Well, Rani gusts herself in, chest (42”) heaving (and that let me tell you is some heave!); tummy quivering and hips (50”) swaying fit to break away. She was in the tightest of jeans and T-Shirt, much to the censoring disdain of dignified Dingiri. “Aiyo, Nona, balanna vehcha vede. Duppath apata badata papuwata enna!”  Menika thought she had been stabbed by one of the chandiyas in her tenement area, some of whom she nurtures and keeps on a leash. The criminals in this case, however, were politicians. She did not blame the weather gods or the freak flood. She singled out politicos to whip with her murderous weapon of a tongue.
They come to get our votes, was the gist of what she said, and now when we need them, they do not sight their electorates. We made them win and when we lose our houses and almost our lives, they won’t soil their clean clothes by stepping into water to see to us. Meals given had gone rotten, and no compensation whatever. (I give the gist because her actual words were far too strong to transliterate and add here). And I agreed with her since this is the same tale told from all over Colombo, designated to be the most be-ati-ful city in Asia, or is it the world?