Mirror Magazine

 

This bunch is light years away from us
By Roo
Michael J. Fox. Remember how he went back to the past with the aid of a ramshackle old car and a nutty professor? I tried it. Didn't work. Why bother, you ask. I've reached the age when everything seems to have been (note the past tense) all nice and rosy when I was young.

No, I'm not bordering on middle age. It's just that I recently conducted a couple of "informal chats" with a bunch of "relatively" young mortals. They seem to think, talk and act differently to when I was their age. As a result of this I am quite afraid to face the future, which has fallen into their hands.

Confused? Well take the example of seven-year-old T. I spoke to her right after she had visited a month-old-baby boy. How was the kid, I asked. "Oh, he was so cute," she responded, "His mouth was shaped like a tiny butterfly." A sigh and a slight smile followed. She's dressed in a denim skirt and top. Her legs are crossed in the manner of a perfect lady. It's my cue to act stupefied. "A butterfly mouth?" I asked. "Yes," she nodded. "It's shaped like a butterfly." "Have you conducted a scientific analysis of the butterfly's mouth?" Fine, I am wicked. But I couldn't resist it. She left in a huff.

T also enjoys calling up adults. Her number one reason for calling people up at inopportune moments is to say; "But Ma asked me to call you. That's enough of talking; keep the phone down now, Ok?" Older relatives usually receive her "Oh-so-important-telephone-calls" on a regular basis, especially in the midst of vital meetings. "Hi, this is T here. How are you doing?" The only method in which one can guarantee a short conversation is to quickly say, "I heard that Patrick (one of her many Goldfish) is not feeling very well." "Oh yes, I have to see to him."

This "Maturity Bug" hits males of this age as well. I was unable to contact six-year old S due to unavoidable circumstances last week. "I have been very busy defending Planet Earth," he haughtily answers. From whom exactly? "Aliens." Where did they come from? "Didn't you know that they are already among us? Every bush, plain and tree is infested with them." Right.

Time for my new string of questions. "What kind of books do you like? "Action ones of course." Famous Five? Secret Seven? "Baby stuff. Only immature kids read those." Aladdin? "He should have known better than to visit a lonely cave." I seem to be running out of options. Asterix? "He went cuckoo after meeting that lady. Women are the main cause of destruction." The conversation has gone from being a polite conversation to a philosophical discussion. What exactly do you mean by that statement? "You women are all such a pain. There's this girl called R in my class, who never lets me be. Why can't women find better things to do?" Firstly R at the age of six cannot be a proper woman. Secondly who gave you the right to judge women? "C did." C happens to be all of nine-years-old. And who exactly does C think he is? "Michael Jordan."

That's it. That's why both S and C mutter "Jordan" and make circular movements with their arms all the time. "No," they frown. It's just that the latest computer game they've acquired shows little but Michael Jordan. "What kind of games do you play?" I ask smiling, meaning of course games played on a playground with others of the same age. "Well there's Space Quest, Driver, Mafia…" Hold on for a second, what about Lock and Key and Hopscotch? "What scotch? Nope, never heard of those." I turn off the computer. "Well if that's how you want it to be." They too make their exits. But rush back as soon as an action packed half an hour of cartoons turn up on TV.

Time now for P. Ten-years-old and she's already got the world twisted around her little finger. Her interview was conducted thus.

"May I speak to P please?"

"She may or may not be in, who's calling?"

"I'm calling from the Sunday Times, how may I contact her?"

"How do I know that you are really from the Sunday Times?"

The voice at the other end of the line was obviously P.

Me: "Does P have an aversion to journalists?"

"It's just that there are so many kidnappings taking place that P is very careful about whom she speaks to."

"Any idea as to where these ideas originated from?"

"Books." World Authority huh? "Beyond any reasonable doubt."

After much deliberation she agreed to speak for "Just five minutes. I'm so busy these days. There's music, swimming and dancing to go for." I meet her. That's a lovely pair of jeans you have on. "There was also a glitzy belt that came with it. It was a bit "flashy" so I chucked it out." Who chooses your clothing? "I do, of course." "I wouldn't dare choose for her," P's mother mumbles from nearby. And your inspiration comes from? "Shakira." Who? "Are you that outdated? The singer." Your favourite band? "Creed."

My 'Arms are Wide Open' in agony.

Five-year-old identical twins Z and V are much the same. What do you both want to be when you grow up? No response. Z is thumping away on the piano. Do you want to be a composer? "Like, duh." Do you go for classes? She replies in what I have now come to realize is the standard haughty response of all mortals of that age. "No, I do my own thing."

A kindergarten teacher narrated the following to me. A is three-and-a-half-years-old. On the first day of pre-school he seemed saddened by the proceedings. The teacher kindly inquired as to what was wrong. "Though I seem like this, my mind is made of rock," he stated, not appreciative of any sympathy. When the interval propped up she offered to feed him. "I am not a small kid anymore. I know very well how to feed myself."

These kids are the epitome of "coolness". I've either got to change my language or questioning methodologies in order to get through to them. My conclusion? Wonder if there's a potion that one can take to go back a couple of years…


A gentle glint, a secret sparkle…
By Ishani Ranasinghe
Valentine's Day is about love and showing someone special that you care. And for those who want that traditional gift of jewellery, Swarna Mahal Jewellers has unveiled a new Valentine Collection.

Their ladies' collection includes chains, rings, earrings and they've also introduced hip chains and anklets for the fashion-conscious. There's also a range of dainty diamond sets with a matching pendant, earrings and ring. "We also have put out the export quality collection, which is the gem studded rings in white gold and yellow gold," says Sales Manager, Swarna Mahal, Jerome Van Sanden.

"We often have ladies coming in looking for something for their husbands or boyfriends," so in response, there's a Gents collection for Valentine's Day, which includes cuff links, collar bars, tie pins, lapel pins etc. Customers can also design their own jewellery with the help of the jewellery designer at the store. "This has been very popular as each day there are people wanting something made that is unique," Mr. Van Sanden says.
Pix by Ishara S. Kodikara


Colourful Strokes
An exhibition of paintings titled, "Colourful Strokes" will be declared open at the Lionel Wendt Art Gallery on February 14 at 6.30p.m. It will be open to the public from 9.00a.m. to 7.30p.m. on the 15th.

The eight artists are between the ages of four to ten and are students of Lyceum International school.

Each one of them have their individual topics. The one hundred and eleven paintings on display will be proof af their hard work, put together in an atmosphere of fun and laughter.

They have chosen to use their talent to help those who are less fortunate than them. The proceeds of the exhibition are to be donated to the Hope Cancer Hospital.

HSBC's children's savings account is proud to be associated with this exhibition of paintings.


Short Story - By Aditha Dissanayake
Still in love with you
Jinasena did not like the silence that greeted him when he opened the door. He heard the sound of the TV from upstairs and knew Kusum would be seated in front of it. She did not come down to greet him. She never did. Those who had come running to him the moment they heard him park the car, had been the children, all three of them. When they were small they had clung to his legs searching his pockets for sweets, but even after they had outgrown the stage of toffees and chocolates they had continued to come down to greet him. They would simply hang around the sitting room and watch him place the car keys and his briefcase on the dinning table, and get back to whatever they had been doing, when he began to climb the stairs, unbuttoning his shirt as he went.

The first to leave had been Nuwan. He lived in Battaramulla now with his wife and three-month-old baby. Dihan was in America, still unmarried but with no intentions of coming back. Until two days ago, Dilushi had been with them. But she too had got married and was now on her honeymoon.

Jinasena had a wash and came to sit beside Kusum. He realized that seeing Kusum seated in front of the TV for more than half an hour was a rare sight.

Usually the moment she sat down one of the kids would come asking her to find something they had misplaced. "Amma have you seen the library book I brought home yesterday? Amma where is my blue shirt? Amma do you know where I kept my glasses?" But today she had all the time in the world to sit and watch her numerous teledramas - uninterrupted. "What's for dinner?" he asked her. "Rice. I forgot only the two of us are here now and kept the usual amount in the morning."

Jinasena decided to make himself a cup of tea. While the kettle boiled he opened the tin of biscuits. Usually he found only crumbs in it. But today it was filled to the top with milk toffees and ginger biscuits. "There is dodol in the fridge," said Kusum from upstairs. But Jinasena did not feel like eating any of the sweets. He knew if the children had been there, the tin would have been empty. Dihan was the one who consumed most of the sweets and dodol had been his favorite.

Jinasena searched the cassettes on a side table and found an old cassette of Amaradeva. He placed it inside the cassette player, and took his cup of tea to the front verandah. Soon Kusum joined him. They sat on the white cane chairs listening to the strains of Hanthane kandu muduna sisara, in companionable silence. After a while, Kusum began to hum the songs to herself. Jinasena stopped listening to the music from the cassette player and began to listen to Kusum. He recalled her singing to him in the early days of their marriage. He remembered one particular evening in a rest house in Badulla, where they had spent a weekend together. He had urged Kusum to sing to him and was pleasantly surprised at the soft gentle way she had sung Nanda Malini's Sannaliyane. He looked at the face of his wife, now seated beside him. Silver strands ran through her hair. There were wrinkles on her hands. But to Jinasena she looked even more beautiful than when he had stared at her in much the same way, that evening in Badulla. All of a sudden he felt as though the intervening years with the children had never been there. He threw an arm around her and drew her to him. He was alone once more with Kusum, the way he had been at the very beginning of their life together.

On Friday he threw two railway tickets on to Kusum's lap. "We are going to Badulla tomorrow," he said. "Do you remember that rest house we were at during the first Christmas, after we got married?" Kusum nodded her head. A misty, faraway look came into her eyes. She said with a smile on her lips "Yes. I forgot to wear my wedding ring and the proprietor thought we were two lovers who had run away from home." Jinasena laughed at the memory. "And his wife felt so sorry for you. She was convinced I was a good-for-nothing, who will abandon you the moment we got back to Colombo."

The Observation car of the Udarata Menike on Saturday morning was filled with one large family travelling to Badulla. Jinasena and Kusum found themselves the only outsiders among a group of forty-something parents and their offspring representing almost every age up to sixteen. Jinasena and Kususm felt sorry for the harassed parents for they too had gone through the ordeal every school vacation. The family made themselves at home in the compartment, opened bags and distributed sweets and having singsongs. They offered whatever they ate to Jinasena and Kusum too.

By the time the train reached Polhengoda, however, most of the early enthusiasm had waned and some of the children had begun to doze. The four teenaged girls in the group left their seats and stood at the entrance to the compartment. They wore high-heels, figure hugging T-shirts and trousers with flared edges. Jinasena smiled to himself remembering how he too had worn trousers like that in the 1960s.

The wind carried the words of the girls to where Kusum and Jinasena sat. Not knowing she was being heard, one girl asked the others "Did you notice that old couple? They don't look married." Someone giggled. "How can you say that?" asked another. "Well, married people don't talk the way they talk. Did you see how he pointed out interesting places we passed to her. Look at our own Ammas and Thaththas. They just sit next to each other looking glum and wrapped up in their own thoughts." "That's true. My father and mother are always cross with each other. Perhaps those two are lovers. Perhaps they are married to other people and are going on an illicit holiday to Badulla..."

The train entered a tunnel just then and the noise drowned the girl's words. Jinasena made use of the temporary darkness and placed his hand on Kusum's. He touched the thin band of gold on her finger - the wedding ring he had given her twenty-nine years ago.


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