diem I received was not enough to enter a homeless shelter and obtain a bowl of soup. I always returned in debt.
‘You must ask your Loku Aiya.’
My cigarette over, I pour myself the last drink of the day. I have no desire to talk to my eldest brother.
‘Now why are you drinking? How many times have they offered? If we say for Garfield’s education, they will give.’
I shake my head. ‘You know what Loku Aiya said about me, no?’
Sheila says nothing.
‘No need of borrowing from anyone, I will give.’ I squeeze her arm. ‘Write down the amount and give. I will somehow get it.’
That night, the three of us eat at the table, though we keep the TV on. Sri Lanka, invited to make up the numbers at the 95/96 World Series, look about to beat Australia and perhaps even book a place in the final.
Garfield doesn’t say a word, but his face has something resembling a smile. Sheila is happy and has cooked kiribath, the only dish she can make better than anyone else in the world. I’m having my third last drink of the day.
And even though I have no idea how I am to raise nine lakhs, I decide to put off worrying till tomorrow. Another day, another bottle. Procrastination is as much a group activity as watching cricket.
Old School Tie
School cricket is what feeds the Sri Lankan national side. We have no counties or Sheffields or shields and earlier, had no academies or strong first-class tournaments. Before the 1990s, two schools in particular fed Sri Lankan cricket, fed Sri Lankan politics and fed themselves from the fat of the land.
All of our male prime ministers and presidents have been from Royal College, Colombo, or St Thomas’ College, Mount Lavinia, except for the Rt Honourable Mr StopGap in the 1960s and His Excellency Mr BenevolentDictator in the 1980s.
It’s funny how legacies are passed on. They say in a mixed marriage children are beautiful. This is true if you get a pleasing combination of white features and black complexion. Not so, if vice versa. With age, I have realised that we are doomed to be parodies of our parents and that if there are virtues and vices to inherit, we will get a fraction of the former and a multiplication of the latter.
Nations are prey to my genetic Murphy’s Law. Ideally, we Sri Lankans should have retained our friendly, childlike nature and combined it with the inventiveness of our colonisers. Instead, we inherit Portuguese lethargy, Dutch hedonism and British snobbery. We inherit the power lust of our conquerors, but none of their vision.
The old school tie is one such trait. Ari tells me that its influence is on the wane. ‘Look at our World Cup squad. Ananda, Nalanda, Richmond, Mahinda, St Servatius, St Sebastian’s. One Josephian. Royal–Thora no show. Same with all the top jobs.’
The unwritten school hierarchy is as follows. The top table is occupied by Royal, STC, St Joseph’s, St Peter’s, Ananda, Nalanda, Trinity. The next table would seat Thurstan, Isipathana, St Sebastian’s, Prince of Wales, DS, Wesley and Bens.
‘So this means the cream is rising to the top and replacing the cherries.’
‘Nonsense,’ says Ari. ‘The cherries have all gone to London, Washington and Sydney. The dregs at the bottom are rising to the top.’
‘I wouldn’t call Sanath and Kalu dregs, my friend.’
‘Maybe so. But I tell you, Wije, they are intentionally keeping us Thomians out. The Ananda–Nalanda brigade. Payback for the Brown Sahib treatment.’
Legend has it that when teenager Arjuna Ranatunga, an Ananda boy, first arrived at the Sinhalese Sports Club and addressed stalwart F.C. de Saram, a proud Royalist, the latter smirked, ‘It speaks English, does it?’
Ari is an old Thomian who played for College in the 1940s and secretly believes that because he went to one of the Royal-Tho-Jo-Pete, he is somewhat less of a savage. I grew up in Kurunegala and attended Maliyadeva College. The old school tie bullshit neither benefits nor impresses me.
Like my
‘You must ask your Loku Aiya.’
My cigarette over, I pour myself the last drink of the day. I have no desire to talk to my eldest brother.
‘Now why are you drinking? How many times have they offered? If we say for Garfield’s education, they will give.’
I shake my head. ‘You know what Loku Aiya said about me, no?’
Sheila says nothing.
‘No need of borrowing from anyone, I will give.’ I squeeze her arm. ‘Write down the amount and give. I will somehow get it.’
That night, the three of us eat at the table, though we keep the TV on. Sri Lanka, invited to make up the numbers at the 95/96 World Series, look about to beat Australia and perhaps even book a place in the final.
Garfield doesn’t say a word, but his face has something resembling a smile. Sheila is happy and has cooked kiribath, the only dish she can make better than anyone else in the world. I’m having my third last drink of the day.
And even though I have no idea how I am to raise nine lakhs, I decide to put off worrying till tomorrow. Another day, another bottle. Procrastination is as much a group activity as watching cricket.
Old School Tie
School cricket is what feeds the Sri Lankan national side. We have no counties or Sheffields or shields and earlier, had no academies or strong first-class tournaments. Before the 1990s, two schools in particular fed Sri Lankan cricket, fed Sri Lankan politics and fed themselves from the fat of the land.
All of our male prime ministers and presidents have been from Royal College, Colombo, or St Thomas’ College, Mount Lavinia, except for the Rt Honourable Mr StopGap in the 1960s and His Excellency Mr BenevolentDictator in the 1980s.
It’s funny how legacies are passed on. They say in a mixed marriage children are beautiful. This is true if you get a pleasing combination of white features and black complexion. Not so, if vice versa. With age, I have realised that we are doomed to be parodies of our parents and that if there are virtues and vices to inherit, we will get a fraction of the former and a multiplication of the latter.
Nations are prey to my genetic Murphy’s Law. Ideally, we Sri Lankans should have retained our friendly, childlike nature and combined it with the inventiveness of our colonisers. Instead, we inherit Portuguese lethargy, Dutch hedonism and British snobbery. We inherit the power lust of our conquerors, but none of their vision.
The old school tie is one such trait. Ari tells me that its influence is on the wane. ‘Look at our World Cup squad. Ananda, Nalanda, Richmond, Mahinda, St Servatius, St Sebastian’s. One Josephian. Royal–Thora no show. Same with all the top jobs.’
The unwritten school hierarchy is as follows. The top table is occupied by Royal, STC, St Joseph’s, St Peter’s, Ananda, Nalanda, Trinity. The next table would seat Thurstan, Isipathana, St Sebastian’s, Prince of Wales, DS, Wesley and Bens.
‘So this means the cream is rising to the top and replacing the cherries.’
‘Nonsense,’ says Ari. ‘The cherries have all gone to London, Washington and Sydney. The dregs at the bottom are rising to the top.’
‘I wouldn’t call Sanath and Kalu dregs, my friend.’
‘Maybe so. But I tell you, Wije, they are intentionally keeping us Thomians out. The Ananda–Nalanda brigade. Payback for the Brown Sahib treatment.’
Legend has it that when teenager Arjuna Ranatunga, an Ananda boy, first arrived at the Sinhalese Sports Club and addressed stalwart F.C. de Saram, a proud Royalist, the latter smirked, ‘It speaks English, does it?’
Ari is an old Thomian who played for College in the 1940s and secretly believes that because he went to one of the Royal-Tho-Jo-Pete, he is somewhat less of a savage. I grew up in Kurunegala and attended Maliyadeva College. The old school tie bullshit neither benefits nor impresses me.
Like my
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