the pot for a five minute slot
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
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
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,
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
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
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
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.
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.