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Putting
pen to paper by a wandering mind
By
Henry Holdenbottle
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My
dear Chandrika,
If
it isn't you again copiously scribbling what Marie Antoinette
might have called the 'purrfect billet doux' while prettily
fluttering her eyelids at Louis VI...or could it have been Louis
VII? Numbers tend to confuse old Dutch gentlemen like myself.
Mind,
you are doing it randomly and doing it well too. Not confusing
numbers, I mean writing letters. Why, I wonder have you suddenly
acquired a feverish urge to put down your vapid gibberings on
paper? I
mean to say, if that wasn't bad enough, you have to then embarrass
the postman by actually posting these doodles of yours hither and
thither in a catatonic dither. If there can be such a state of
physical convulsions. |
In
your harem scarem manner, I notice you have been sending out these
little love notes in no particular order. No sooner you rub under your
first chin with your left forefinger in thoughtful pose, wanting to
write to Ranil, your brain starts whirring, and off you go writing to
Tilak Mara as well or was it Karu?
One
is reminded of that time not many moons ago when you, in an alarming
frenzy that would have startled even the best secretaries, scribbled off
42 letters to the Cyanide pill. If my memory serves me, you offered him
all kinds of kavun and such, like full administration of the north and
east for a decade. No doubt, the chappie just in time remembered that it
is the Sinhalaya who is the kavun kanna yodaya, and declined your sweet
meat.
I
faintly recall that you even asked him to deploy his chief of police,
Sergeant Nallathambi and his crack team to manage law and order there.
But
lightly passing over these 42 letters, let us fondly remember the
occasional note, the little post, one was bound to receive from time to
time in the past. Terse notes from the Presidential abode regarding
matters of educational importance - such as donkey's hides and
certificates.
Yet,
this recent obsession with letter writing takes the cake. A note to Karu,
a post it to Tilak, a rather lengthy missive to Ranil and some drivel
about CWE being corrupt addressed to goodness knows whom. If you frolic
and gambol under those shady trees proudly standing around the
Presidential gardens instead, it will be time well spent.
I
mean to say darling, when you put pen to paper it is better if the
matter is of some importance and bears a slight resemblance to the
truth. Long ago when Latin was still dead but not buried, my form II
teacher, a grand old English fellow from Brighton, would often spring at
us a neat little phrase. 'Littera scripta manet' it went. Meaning as you
no doubt would know, having spent many a studious year in France that
the 'written letter abides.'
You
see dear, you may not want posterity to be advised of your confused
state of mind. But if you keep insisting on putting the evidence of this
confusion down on paper, well then I'm sorry I cannot help you,
sweetheart though you undoubtedly are.
Take
your letter to Karu. All it contains is a string of complaints about a
short black out or two. Is this not a case of the pot calling the kettle
black dear? Considering that we had four continuous days of black outs
when you and yours were handling these matters, one is not inclined to
see your letters in a constructive light. In fact if I remember right,
old uncle Hotgarden took the absence of light as a good omen and scooted
off to some lonely romantic spot and tied the bally knot. You must
surely remember eating all that wedding cake darling?
Of
course I can understand an occasional black-out being a tad irritating.
If you were, for instance just about to prick a pin to steady the pleats
in your Sari and the lights went out. Goodness knows where the pin will
prick in the confusion that follows, not that you would have minded a
little prick here and there. Neither would you like to have the old
chandelier flickering on you exactly at the moment when you settled down
to watch the last ball of a closely contested cricket match.
May
be Mallo can take up rooms at the Presidential palace and double up as
your secretary. Then again where would he find the time poor chap? He is
needed to swell the ranks of the JVP sponsored street demonstrations. A
grape from the vine whispered that the JVP were at it again. This time
demonstrating about saving the motherland. No doubt remembering how the
JVP types killed her sons and daughters in the past and ravaged her,
they mean to save her from themselves. Now that's the type of
demonstration I like to see.
In
this at least you seem wiser and older than Mallo. You recall the JVP
connection to your own hubby's demise and keep well out of it. I notice
even your leader of the opposition Mahinder did not join the party. Ah
well, I'm sure Mallo is used to having parties by himself.
I
mean to say dear, one flick of the memory to the past horrors of the red
types and one is compelled to utter a short stiff cry. Do we need these
chaps again? Seems to me some of these bloody paradisians have an
inexplicable homesickness for the mud. 'Nostalgie de la boue' as you
would say if you were today in the apartment you once occupied on the
left bank of the Seine.
In
the meantime you've been acting like a demented squirrel preparing for
hibernation. You've gone completely nuts with this writing mania. A
little nonsense about the CWE leasing out property on behalf of
newspapers. And according to your strange logic, if you are the chairman
of CWE your siblings suddenly become 'alleged' siblings.
As
I said the subject matter of your letters must resemble some truth. Come
come darling, do get your facts right. I know you might forget
sometimes, but together with being President comes responsibility. You
can't abdicate one without abdicating the other. Surely dear you can't
just accuse people of this and that under cover of immunity hoping
against hope and keeping your fingers tightly crossed that at least one
sentence of what you wrote may be correct and factual. Even the law of
probabilities will be against you.
Then
again having at least in your dreams been at Sorbonne you are one of
those results oriented people who don't let facts get in the way. Thus,
it is that I await 'a bouche ouverte' for your next missive to somebody.
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