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Addressing sarong johnnies and ayammas

By Henry Holdenbottle

Dear Satty,

I write to you dear girl having carefully gotten off my moral high horse and having hastily shed my layers of prejudice. Ergo I cannot but help make some passing comment on your style of addressing the nation. I say at the outset that I stop short at making any kind of remark on your fashion of addressing envelopes, correspondence or your mind. Surely, that remarkable piece of equipment you carry on the top of your snout, is forever addressing itself to all kinds of unsavoury subjects in an unwieldy sort of way. Woe betides me if I ever interfere with that well-oiled machinery.

But, I am as comfortable as a two year old in a pile of autumn leaves, with taking the liberty to pass comment on how you address the nation. The nation taken to include, the last time I checked, m'self, the wife and kids apart from 20 million other sarong johnnies.

So there you are. And here I am, I mean to say what. Once again you have given the poverty stricken hungry masses something to masticate about. "Rata kanna ona nang UNP ekata chande denna. Namuth deela passai mata anda anda enna epa beranna kiyala." This is what you said. Your golden tongue never ceases to spew out the money. If I have admired you on any matter more than I have admired you on your ability to appease a largely ignorant audience of ayammas, it is your unfettered ability to articulate your mind. Then again come to think of it, with a mind like that, who can't articulate what is going through the bally thing.

But surely this must be the most unique bit of advice (qualified though it is, by a stern warning) ever uttered by a head of state. My dear old girl, let me tell you one thing. If you keep raising the prices of essential commodities like you are doing, all I can say is "Badagini nang, rata kanna thamai wennai."

The producers of these well-orchestrated interviews you hold for the benefit of the proletariat intrigue me dear. What is their role in this staged performance? Though I might add, you do have what we thespians like to call, comic relief in the form of ill times, verbal ejaculations such as "methana thibuna file eka ko?" Or "file ekka ge-enna" etcetera, etcetera. These producers seem to me to be dum dums.

Nor I venture to observe, have you been, in the days of your callow youth, a little girlie poo inclined to excel at arithmetic. Not too much up on the three 'R's I notice. Bold as you are to attempt to convert dollars into rupees in a matter of seconds, it ill becomes a head of state to rattle off some false figures as if you were a disturbed rattlesnake in John Wayne's boot. This type of thing will no doubt appeal to the ayammas who watched you at the kopi kade, but it does nothing for your sense of honesty. But then again, honesty will get you nowhere in Sri Lanka. It's all about hoodwinking the masses and hobnobbing with some arsss.. I mean influential big wigs. This tactic will get you everywhere.

Blabbing like a hen that has laid a thousand eggs on telly might get you votes, but it won't get me any answers. What is confusing my addled frontal lobe is this Douglas Devananda episode. A teenie weenie yellow polka dotted.. no not bikini, birdie, tells me that the dear old Doug had proudly admitted to a journo in this rag of being in touch with Karuna, and to back up his story with concrete evidence even got him, on the phone in Batticaloa.

Yes indeed! It sure seems as if Doug being in government and all, is very much in touch with the K bird. So does this mean you know all about Karuna too? If you do then shame on you. If you don't then have a quiet word with your government chappies darling and tell them that if the right hand is doing something the left hand should know. But most of all, the bally head must be kept informed.

What intrigues me even further is that 18 of these Karuna sympathisers, kernel Karuna he likes to call himself... or may be he meant Colonel... were apprehended at some temple in Hingurakgoda carrying on their person - hidden in the thigh and on the hip - several offensive weapons, not to mention various samples of this that and other, including all kinds of terrorist like paraphernalia. 

And what happens? Released on bail the whole lot of them. Obviously the PTA means nothing to you. Fie to you and your bally justice system dearie. We all know the little stunt you were trying to pull to get a majority in parliament. Have a few green chappies remanded on false charges and bingo, you are suddenly looking big and beautiful in parliament. Not that you don't look anything else but, at all times.

Talking of injustice and all that sorta things reminded me of that dashing young chief of the Hulftsdorp hill. If that man is not getting sucked into one thing he is getting sucked into another thing. Now then, what did that charming wench who once penned a line or two for this rag, call him? Durian.. no, no that's a fruit and a pretty stinky one at that (not that some of the happenings on the hill don't smell a mile)... ah yes I know, Dorian, yerss, the Dorian Grey of Hulfsdorp.

Nice on the outside a bit murky on the inside - that's our Chief Jay. Not a chappie that would be referred to as a great white soul if you know what I mean. Not sloshing about inside with the milk of human kindness, but looking every bit like he has been bathing himself in milk, like a male Cleopatra. So when I heard these wild allegations of a randy nature just the other day, I could hardly believe it. You could have blown me down with a feather. I felt as heady as a seaman full off rum.

Not that my ears haven't been coming loose at the roots trying to learn the latest goss. Wild oats, I mean horses couldn't drag me away from a good gossip session. You know what I think it is, whether these allegations are true or false is of no consequence. Jealousy. That's what it is. Everybody is jealous because the dear old Cee Jay looks comely with his pants... whether up or down is immaterial.

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