Politics

Stirring the pot for a five minute slot

By Henry
Holdenbottle

Dear Chandrika

You never fail to amaze me dear. Here was I just the other day complaining about tedium and boredom, about a little bit o’ this but never a little bit o’ that and about the same old thing... when you do it again, you sly old thing. Stir the pot, I mean. Rock the boat. Upset the apple cart, shake the pear tree and spill the milk for good measure.

You see my dear. It is becoming increasingly clear to me that your sense of responsibility is down in the doldrums. Among the sixes and sevens. Maybe even nonexistent. I don’t know why you act this strange way. As if you have had kos ata curry for dinner or something, but it sure gives my dull life a hell of a boost. And if it is something you ate that is making you act this way, do change the chef dear. A change is as good as a holiday.

I mean to say dear, when Ranil traipsed in to this lofty post, many of your nearest and dearest advised you thus: “Leave the running of the country to him,” they whispered in your flapping ear. “You do the international circuit. Flitter hither and thither speechifying on this and that,” they winked knowingly. “Don’t burn your manicured fingers on internal affairs,” they warned.

Did you listen? No. And the upshot of it all: A perfectly healthy peace process gone quite as awry as Yvonne Gulamhussein’s coiffure on a particularly bad hair day. A meek and mild World Bank getting less meek and mild each day and a rather belligerent JVP getting blood thirstier by the minute. As I say, stirring the pot. Inciting the mob. That seems to be a family specialty. I recall some such thing happening somewhere in 1956 as well.

I hate to say this, but if all else fails darling, I shall be compelled to repeat those harsh words that the distraught Hamlet spewed out at a dismayed Ophelia: “Get thee to a nunnery,” is what I would be compelled to say to you dear. At least it will be a place where you can do no more damage. Preferably one of those silent orders you hear so little about.

No one knows better than I that the grass is always greener on the other side. That of course is only until you get to the other side, at which point you find, that grass is, I mean to say, after all, only grass.

I refer to this only because I glean from the local rags that you have now been fighting tooth and nail to give a bit of a speech at the UN general assembly. And this from a girl who only 18 months ago turned up her rather generously built nose at any such international speeches in New York or anywhere else for that matter, preferring instead to mess about at home giving talks in Anuradhapura and Kollonawa.

After poor Kofi has gone over the programme and schedules a 1000 times, and secretaries have run to and fro from one office to another finalising details, off you go again writing letters. This time insisting that you give all the speeches and not Ranil. Darling, all this bickering does not look good for paradise in the eyes of these bally furriners.

I know that jostling about is quite your usual style but to say that you need to speak on the peace process based on the fact that you started it all is not quite logical. Neither is it the gentlemanly thing to do. Not quite playing the straight bat dear. Good thing the UN organisers were willing to diplomatically tell Tyronne to “roll over Beethovan” what? And that, only for a five-minute slot to talk about AIDS.

There is so much you can talk about on this subject really. When you mention deficiency please don’t forget to tell the general assembly in those five minutes that you politico chaps are deficient in many ways.

When you make your third point and turn to immuno... immunity, do give them a small idea about the abundance of immunity that you enjoy. So much so that you can defame anybody or say anything at the drop of a hatpin with no legal cost to you.

When you turn to syndromes don’t forget to mention the many syndromes afflicting the JVP.

It fascinates me dear that you should fight to deliver a speech about the peace process only on the basis that you started it. Think about it. By your own argument only Da Vinci will ever be able to talk about the Mona Lisa and any comment on the light bulb can be made only by old man Edison himself.

If all one can talk on is about things one has started, by that same token all your speeches will only contain subject matter dealing with procrastination, defamation, chaos, disorder, pique, bad governance and a little bit of French wine. You see. What’s sauce for the goose is anathema for the gander.

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