8th of September 2010 marks the new era. The end of Sri Lanka as we know it and a new beginning. An era of limitless power and political overhaul. The birth of the 18th amendment with a majority of 141 votes. 161 against a mere 20! Even the numbers don’t seem quite right next to each other!
I speak to friends with animation trying to make sense to be answered back with “I am sorry I didn’t have time to read what is in the 18th amendment!” or “I don’t do politics”.
I wake up to a protest for the 18th Amendment! I wonder whether these people even know what the 18th Amendment entails… Or be these people like in all other protests being packed in and brought to perform their duty. ( the question is rhetoric. Of course we all know the answer to this!)
I yearn to ask these protesters what they scream for, but of course I am no way near them. Surely for my better health.
In the evening there is a meagre crowd holding candles at the peaceful vigil expressing their resentment towards the Amendment. There is more police around it than those who are actually participating. I tell them that there are not many people, to be answered that it is an improvement from the previous experiences. So does that mean we are finally making sense to people??
Ever so faithful “dialog sms news” arrives on the phones of those who have subscribed announcing the result of the vote. 160 for and 20 against! People not much surprised at the outcome. They knew it was coming. But fail to hide the bafflement at the one digit missing when contrasting the numbers.
Arrival of another sms, announcement of a mistake in the information transmitted. The guy next to me finds it amusing, adds “ I am sure some more people would have jumped.” ( if you are Sri Lankan you know the meaning of “jumped”. But for the enlightenment of others, it would be a reference to those politicians who change from the opposition to the governing party.)
With all his smirking, he did manage to make sense. After all it was all quite predictable.
At office I hear explosions. My thought :the war being over, where from such sounds emanate?
My boss explains “sound of celebrations”.
I nod, busy cutting paper articles on the Amendment.
I need to keep them, carefully pasted on a scrapbook.
When and if I ever live to have grandchildren, I will show the date on the articles to them and tell, “Look kids! This was the day the Sri Lankans got the best of their stupidity! The day they all marked the beginning of an end!”

She remembers no time she be in bed early
“Early” being late, later than midnight.
Eyes closed, yet the mind never at peace.
Frustration rippling over her
As she at her laptop
Types away
Types mundane ranting of nothingness
Thoughts of men and women
Hopes and emotions
Depression and sadism
Frustration and inspiration
All a cinema reel

With hope for a day
Where her sleep awaits
Without alcohol…

Far be such day…

What have I become?
What have we become?
What have we, as a nation become?

A room half filled with spectators.
A group of all ages, a father with his daughter in international school uniform, some others with recording devices, cameras, microphones. The rest with laptops, notebooks and pens.

A minister walks in.
With him a panel to whom his statement is destined.
A chairman who explains to him the procedure.
He prefers talking in his mother tongue, has brought his own translator. But not a translation into English availed.
Chairman says protocol needs English and so be it decided.
A grey-haired man, with spectacles to take up the task : translate into English.

The submission commences. 18 pages, to be translated.
The speaker needs 1 hour for his statement.

The translator translates. Falters, stops, breathes, construes sentences. Translates.

Speaker seems not content, continues nevertheless.

“You speak beautifully, but could you make the sentences shorter please?” a panellist requests,  in his mother tongue.

The speaker continues. Long sentences, short paragraphs, long paragraphs.
The translator struggles, tries to keep at pace.
The public looks on. Try to make sense of what be told.

Speaker speaks out. He is not happy with the translator.
The poetic quality of his statement be not in the translation.

The translator tired, translates his complain. The inability of he who translates, bound by duty, translated by him to the public.
Public sympathises.

Tea time.
Tired, thirsty, tested, all seek a break.

A lady approaches the speaker at break. “ Can’t you speak in English?” she asks.
The speaker refuses.

And so continues the loss of poetic quality the rest of the session.