Tag Archives: Father

The Day One of My Life

It was 2nd of July 1985. Exact date which comes middle of a year. A day which you can count exactly 182 days forward and backward to complete a single year. This is the day my story starts. At half past twelve young men in early thirties anxiously drive a Ford Capri passing old Araliya tree opposite to the Kaluthara clock tower. The speed was noticeable for many people as everyone curiously take a second look on flying black bird.

“Are you afraid” the one driving Ford Capri asked worried guy seated next.

He remains silent as a dead man.

If you want to find a victim of thoughts, the one continually surrounded by happiness mixed with fear, fear warped with hope, expectation distilled with un-expectation, losing varied with gaining, uncertainty diverse with certainty. Yes, you would have found him sitting next to the driver.

That guy is thinking.

He thinks once, twice, thrice and many million times, but fail to stop his mind swings from fear to happiness. When you look at him outside, he looks like a pride steady young man. There was no one to question authenticity of his silence as his friend decided to refrain from talking until they reach destination.

When they both enter the Ford Capri to the hospital, rain starts falling down.

Two young men without an umbrella start sprinting towards the number 23 room with all strength wishing blessing to someone crying out in pain.

 “Don’t worry brother she will be ok” The guy in clean shirt shouted while running- Friend.

The worried man starts wishing deeply all known unknown angels to bless her. When tiny little raindrops falling from heaven, he thought he or she might be special. He waited, His friend waited, one hour, two hour and it drags to three hours. He walked along the corridors, counted hospital steps and think. Time was slower than him. He had to wait more. Finally he started praying again looking at walls covered with advertising boards sponsored by pharmaceutical companies.  His friend stood other side of dirty wall with a clean shirt, just like trying to suggest merits of his education in a commotion.

The meal missing anxious looking man finally hears clock bell rings five times.

It was a call from heaven!  A cry. A painful one, Hopeful one, miserable one, and pleasurable one, a whisper of a little boy making the first breath. Few minutes father starts breathing slowly and steadily just like transcending breathing lessons to new born baby laying few meters away separated by a wall, He knew all his determination and energy will travel beyond any boundaries .

Suddenly little boy starts to breath steadily and rhythmically….. He starts to cry loud with a smile ….

The doctors and nurses in the room starts laughing and calling sweat words of happiness.

Two friends hugged each other like never before and people congratulate the reveled man.

At five past twenty the door was open. Nurse invited him to come.

It took second to realize, he walked to the door and looked at his love of life caring someone special.


It was me. Naked, holding my mother tidily curiously looking at a strange smiling man approaching us. His smile was unmatched for any object that can describe love; his face delighted with all the happiness in this world.

It was precise moment of happiness beyond anything in this world.

I knew he was my father; he said “This is my life”

I don’t know I can smile or not. But for the first time in my life I want to make a smile to him. He later said I stopped crying once he saw me.

This is how I started.

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A Fathers Love

I saw him few months back in a homecoming party amid dazzling friends circled a woody oak table with a lavish Red Label whiskey almighty teasing us from the center. The first thing I saw was dead sharp eyes of  a man in his mid-thirties focusing on a digital camera to capture his little kid next to him. The angel produced a grand stand picture of a Father and son separate through an expensive whiskey bottle.  It was artistic . The interlaces  authentic view would pleasing than Thisara Perara hammering Robin Peterson nonchalantly over long on during a lost dead game in  Kandy. Pointless beauty vs rational beauty.  My mind spark from a picture of Whiskey  separating father and son.

It is hard to say whiskey separate Father and son or does the opposite. The illusionist picture would be solid authentic arguable material  like  an Indian actress Sherlyn Chopra Playboy appearance. It was hard to think she agreed to appear Playboy with no wardrobe and fire to the fuel by publicly praising youthfulness, energetic , freshness of Playboy girls. It made most Indians flattered as they struggle to digest fast food item bought from Texas highway. Will there be Indian woman wearing only cowboy hat in a front cover page to  spark youthfulness ?  For conventional South Asian this would be a dream which seems happening daylight for  Americans.  For me wearing nothing and earning six digits perk is staggeringly arguable than Aladdin lamp Ghost  in Arabian Nights.  Who cares? May be I should not argue how economy affects brain cells, its  a matter for scientists .

My heart says go and speak to the gentlemen sitting next to us. But I couldn’t buy my instinct without opening the whiskey. The sweat smell of golden liquid distilled from fermented grains mash is far more appealing. Solid material to do a case study on craving vs wisdom when selecting right thing for a man. Finally alcoholic beverage served with ice cube, soda and slices of green apple. It would be just like Legend  Winston Churchill’s sipping Red Label mix with Soda just before taking mission critical decisions some where Britain , then it was matted for Great Britain , now  it was matter to understand illusionist picture.  Even though second one looks horrible reason. I took the first drink looking at the father sitting next table. I’m ready to talk now.

 I walked up to the father and start a friendly conversation to serve my  inquisitiveness.  The father seems very humble , probably working class from government sector.He speaks slowly , tightly. Every word he speak seems  match  his dress and even with his hair cut. Finally I was able to get his name, He introduced him self as “Justin”, a cleaning labor for a Colombo cleaning office. Suddenly little fellow (kid) started speaking in English. I puzzled.  A kid speaking English is nothing  for Colombo suburb, but it was for a son of cleaning office labor. Unless you born with extraordinary skill and luck to beat the shackle, this Kid would be rare as Gem. In fact Kid was a Gem ,  Justin’s wife “seetha” working in Italy as housewife while Justin taking care of the kid. Justin want his son to taught in  best international school in country.  Its even amazing when you know Justin working every day cleaning floors of blue chip companies, while his son playing with children of those company CEO’s. The courage of this father is unmatched for anything.  Humble smile he carries throughout the conversation was simply beautiful and heartwarming.  If you can summed up disparity between Soda and Whiskey or love and anger and mix both you find Justin‘s face. It was filled with life. If challenges, Faith , love, determination mixed in a  “kottu Rotti ” Justin would be the ideal  fine dish recipe that all Colombo restaurant are looking for.  It was worth conversation to have. Some people live harsh lives to make their kids live in comfort.  Undoubtedly one of the most extraordinary people I ever met in my life.

I returned to my seat, I still can see half served Red Label front with father and son laughing out for something. Unlike previous arguable picture, I see something brazen. a limitless love of a father to a little kid through the golden liquid of Red Label whiskey is artistic, realistic. Sometime whiskey is liquid sunshine , rays of energy to live life.

Justin working every day cleaning floors of blue chip companies, while his son having company of children of those CEO’s.

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