Stories that come from an unseen force
A former English teacher who served in remote government schools for over two decades and journalist for more than 25 years, Ajith Perakum Jayasinghe brings his experiences to his storytelling. He is also a social entrepreneur and activist committed to justice, equality and democratic reform.
A published novelist, poet, translator, award-winning short story writer and blogger, writing mainly in Sinhala, his latest novel Arunodakaruwo (Dawnbreakers) was longlisted for the 2024 Vidarshana Literary Awards, where he also won the award for the Best Short Story Collection in the competition.
The present collection of short stories was spontaneously formed first in his mind and later shaped into words. He has often felt that the stories are not entirely his; “They are given to us, the storytellers, by God or some unseen force beyond our understanding”. Some were composed in English, and others were subsequently rewritten or translated from Sinhala into English.
Many were inspired by everyday encounters – moments from ordinary life that quietly reveal the extraordinary. Ajith says he is “grateful to my work life, simple and unadorned, and to the countless experiences, both rare and common, collected over my six decades of life.”
| Extract from Suduru Aba, a short story from the collection Nowhere No Return | |
| Loku Aiya truly seemed like a wonderful man.“At parties, he drinks,” Suba said happily. “And he even drags me to dance with him.”At Lokusuriya and Suba’s wedding, the bride and groom danced together. Neither of them had much rhythm, but it didn’t matter. Meanwhile, I had downed three or four hard liquor shots and joined our group of friends in dancing like maniacs. After the wedding, when Suba left for work, she looked radiant, like a goddess of beauty, glowing from her hair to her toes. I couldn’t help but feel a little envious. After that, I returned to my usual routine of taking the 7 AM train. Suba now commuted on the Samudradevi train from Induruwa. As I boarded my train, hers would pull into the opposite platform and leave before mine. In the early days, I would lean out of the window, looking through the frames of passing windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of her face. Sometimes, Suba would spot me and wave. One day, she wasn’t there. “Ada niwaduda?” (Are you off today?) I sent her a WhatsApp message and waited. She read it immediately and started typing. “Na. Loku Aiya kiwwa podi lamayek wage hasirenna epa kiyala (No. Loku Aiya said not to act like a little kid waving at friends).” I leaned my head out of the window and looked around. Suba wasn’t anywhere to be seen. “Poddak muna pennapan,” (Show me your face for a moment,) I texted. The train whistled. Suba didn’t pop her head out or wave. Her train left. I realized then that we were growing distant again. After that, whenever Samudradevi was on the opposite platform, I stopped looking in its direction. “Anu, me paththa balananko (Anu, look this way),” a WhatsApp message popped up one day as Samudradevi stopped at the station. I had been scrolling through Facebook. When I looked up, Suba’s carriage had stopped exactly where I was. She was smiling wide, her eyes sparkling as she looked right at me. A gentle tremor stirred in my chest—a sweet ache. For a few moments, we just smiled at each other, speaking volumes with our eyes. “Ko ban Loku Aiya? (Where’s Loku Aiya?)” I typed a message, still looking at her. Suba glanced at her phone, then tapped someone standing near her. It was Lokusuriya. He immediately leaned out of the window and shouted, “Anurangi! You don’t come with us anymore, do you?” I smiled, though his call felt a bit odd. I knew Suba must have felt the same. She would have been embarrassed. But Lokusuriya wasn’t one to mind such things. Suba sent me a heart emoji. I sent back a heart sticker. Suba replied with a smiley. The Samudradevi train let out a whistle and began to move. |
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