me darling, I thought you knew. I thought you knew that highway
histrionics like highway robbery tends to lose its romanticism
after a while. As much as the clipperty-clop of the highwayman
riding down a ribbon of moonlight will be devoid of charm, if he
were in the process, to strip one of all one possesses as one rode
down that lonely ribbon of moonlight oneself, so would a few
hundred paid PA die- hards shouting slogans be devoid of any
mean to say dear, a lunch packet and a pint of something will
bring out a couple of hundred curiosities to shout a few slogans
on your behalf, but nothing serious will come out of it all you
might even add a few ghee balls, and gulab jamuus in keeping with the
festivities but I suspect, to no avail. These street politics tend to
lose their attractiveness pretty darn soon and political casuistry is a
tactic, if tactic is the word I want, as old as Methuselah and as dead
as the Dodo.
surprised me thus, that having been the butt of many of these staged
bits of political play-acting yourself during the time you held the
reigns (some say you still hold them), that you would have the good
sense and indeed the imagination to try something new.
does not need to mimick the UNP in everything. It is at best a tiresome
habit and a change as they say is as good as a holiday.
no doubt was foremost in the mind of your buddy V. Puthrasigamani who
abandoned your ranks and toddled over to the TNA over what he termed
your consummate skill to kill a good party.
whether the chair he was sitting on was pinching him or something I
don't know, but the chair on the other side seemed for the moment at
least far more inviting. The grass is always greener darling, always
in effect, the blot on your escutcheon called you the killjoy of the
century. And can you blame the poor poop? I ask you. Can you blame him?
No sooner had our Hindu brothers tucked in their vettis and our pottu
sporting sisters ransacked each others flower beds in order to
reconstitute them on their individual heads, than you go and do
everything in your power to spoil the show.
the aroma of thala thel savouries could waft on to the streets, you felt
that a few hundred unsavoury PA die hards should. And they should do so
by making all kinds of unwarranted noises about the peace process. I
tell you dear, at this moment, you are as popular among those Hindu
revellers as King Herod at an Israeli mother's union meeting held at the
local synagogue in Bethlehem.
you like it if people started protesting in droves at the Town Hall
during Vesak dear? Surely, you seem to be marching down the same road
that those turbaned chappies, bearded to the eyebrows were
marching down. Now what were their names? Germs or gems. Oh yes,
I know, Jemaa'h Islamiya. If you must know, those chaps thought it fit
to bomb people in churches right in the middle of them singing 'O Come
All Ye Faithful.' Whether the singing was off key I'm not saying and I
don't care. I don't care what anyone says, I feel it is absolutely wrong
to bomb an honest Christian especially when he is belting out with
gusto, a carol as popular as O Come All Ye.
I may as well tell you that if at the time you had happened to wish me a
Merry Christmas, I would have looked you in the eye with a great deal of
solemnity, as I certainly would look you in the eye now, and tell you
that much would depend on what you mean by the adjective Merry.
Puthrasigamani, no doubt miffed that his festival of lights is being
turned by you into a 'festival of fights' has in desperation refused to
remain in a party which as he says "deliberately violates the
fundamental rights of the minority people - it is my religion and my
people that are being harassed due to this kind of unwarranted
is just not cricket darling. Just not cricket. And to then give the
excuse that the festival of lights is celebrated in the night and
therefore it is alright to carry on your protestations in the morning is
really turning the knife dear. Turning the knife.
Ivasuva athi thamai!