A large turtle laying eggs on a shore at Tangalle, two ireful elephants bashing their skulls together just a few feet away that we could hear their craniums collide, shark infested waters and the famed chocolate rotti from the No.1 Rotti shop at Hikka.

Walk to the beach

Yeah, that was some holiday! But this post is more about food. Particularly, popular Lankan food that I am ashamed to say I had never tried till last weekend.

Starting off with that chocolate rotti. It wasn’t just eyeballed, it was tucked away where it rightfully belonged- in my tummy. I’d heard endless praising of the Hikka Rotti shop and I was determined to pop in and let my palate be the judge of these rottis that had been deemed food of the gods.

Rotti Heaven

On our way back from Tangalle, we stopped over at the No. 1 Rotti shop for a rather late lunch. Having wolfed down a prawn and cheese rotti followed by a chocolate and banana rotti topped with chocolate ice cream, I must say these rottis aren’t the typical stuff you get here in Colombo. I’d imagined something more parata-like, but while they’re fairly similar to paratas, these rottis aren’t as heavy and they’re a bit on the crispy side.

Light, crispy, moist and with ‘fillings’ of just about everything imaginable, you can bet I’m a fan!

Midnight Milo

We reached home around 7pm, but sister-2 and I had to drive back to Wellawatta at 10:30pm to pick up sister-1, from a friend’s place at 12am. So sis 2 and I drove along Wellawata in search of something to do… or eat (honestly, there’s no better way to kill time than tickling your taste buds with mouth watering delectables). Cruising along the road, we were once again struck with the stark realisation that Sri Lanka has no nightlife. The good people of Sri Lanka are paid a visit by the Sandman at 9pm.

All the shops were closed. All except for Pillawoos. A glimmer of light in the dusky street, we were drawn to it like fireflies to a light bulb. Parked outside the only drive-in restaurant in Colombo (correct me if I’m wrong), a friendly looking bloke dressed in shirt and sarong, moseyed over to our car and asked us for our order. We weren’t particularly hungry, so we asked for two iced Milos. Now, I’ve never really tried their Ice Milo before but from what I’d heard it was suppose to be unparalleled! It surpasses the homemade stuff your mum makes, or so I’d been told.

Taking a sip from the large glass of chocolate milk with what looked like a miniature iceberg floating on the top, I’d say it was only just alright. Call me what you will but that’s what I think of it!

It was however, expertly made teh-tarik style. Teh-tarik is how Malaysian street tea is made. ‘Tarik’ means to pull and of course ‘teh’ means tea, so it roughly translates into ‘pulled tea’. Prepared in this fashion you don’t find any malty chocolate bits in the drink.

Of course it doesn’t take you an hour and a half to drink a glass of milk, so once we were done we drove up to sister-1’s friend’s house, pushed the seats back and slept in the car. We were exhausted! It had been a long drive back from Tangalle!

Food aside, the only damper about the holiday is that I managed to get a funny sunburn. I wore my huge heavy duty sunglasses the whole time which has left my entire face burnt brown except for two large circles around my eyes…

I look like this now…

“How about we play around with DNA and actually create a superhuman being”?

Yes, it’s been contemplated widely, but then it’s never been possible with ‘ethics’ cropping its officious little head and turning the idea to stone. So I’ve been trying to think up an ethical way to bring superheroes out of the pages of comic books and have them walk/fly/crawl among us.

The way I see it, gene manipulation is the only way to go. Unlike the half-baked theory we’ve read in comic books in which most superheroes were either blessed/ cursed with their extraordinary powers after being exposed to radiation by some means.

Take Marvel’s friendly neighbourhood Spiderman who got his arachnid powers when a radioactive spider gored its pincers into his hand or Daredevil who was sauced with nuclear waste. Back here in the real world, mutations of this sort aren’t likely in the least.

Chances of radioactivity altering your entire genetic make-up instantly giving you the ability to shoot sticky webbing through your wrist, scale walls with protrusible hairs made up of steel-like keratin or gaining ‘spider-senses’, are as likely as you seeing Punisher pirouetting in a pink tutu (apologises for any mild trauma that description might have caused). And in the case of Daredevil, if you were deluged in nuclear waste, the reaction with your cells will have you sooner floating to heaven than kicking Kingpin butt with the use of your echolocation powers.

That rules out radioactivity mutating cells to give people abilities that defy nature. Which leaves us with GENE MANIPULATION!

Now the legendary method of genetic engineering requires identifying and isolating the gene you want switched- using restriction enzymes, and then filling the vacant spot with the new gene. Sounds simple? Far from it. And then there’s rejection of the new gene to worry about… But it’s been proved to work in the making of a Frankenstein chicken! Alright, not exactly “Frankenstein” although I’d like the bolt of lightning scenario, it’s a lot more dramatic. But the chicken did have its moment, as scientists waited with bated breath, purple in the face and about to pass out– for a tweet. No, it wasn’t a geeky chicken that was ’social network’ savvy, it was a chicken with the vocal chords of a quail.

What’s brilliant about this method is that the switch is made at a very early embryonic stage. So all we need is a few eggs and sperm (of which there’s plenty), have them fertilized and allow the embryos to develop in a laboratory. Of course this is a bit of a trial and error method and we’re going to have quite a few anomalous and abominable looking animals before we create a chimp that can defy gravity and whiz through the air…

And this is the bit where I can’t seem to think of a way around that hulking nemesis ‘ethics’. Standing rigid with folded arms in our way it’s going to be tough but just think, “what if”? What if we had our very own clone army with super powers?

Of course there are more obstacles that stand in our way. The next problem hurled at us, is what will these superpowers be?

Sadly, choice is limited. Taking into consideration the forces in the laws of physics that keep our good planet Earth from floating  aimlessly through the vast expanse of the cosmos, we are restricted to certain superpowers.

Here’s why (for convenience of reference let’s name our superhero Bandu), Bandu won’t be able to have Flash’s power to travel faster than the speed of light because E=m0/-1√v/c2!

According to a concept proposed by none other than the wire haired physicist, Einstein:

If an object is already travelling near the speed of light, it can’t move much faster, no matter how much energy it absorbs. Its momentum and energy continue to increase, but its speed approaches a constant value—the speed of light. This means that in relativity the momentum of an object cannot be a constant times the velocity, nor is the kinetic energy given by 1⁄2mv2.

So Bandu will just keep getting heavier as he runs a nice groove around the planet, deeper and deeper, until he finally hits magma! And Bandu is toast.

But what we can do is add on specific genes from other animals. Gills are a bit complex… but we could try. Webbed feet? Organutan arms? Think of the possibilities…

So if you’ve got any suggestions as to how this can be achieved ethically do feel free to share your ideas. I’ll be sure to credit you in my acceptance speech when I’m awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

Disclaimer: No animals were harmed in the writing of this post. Mosquitoes, on the other hand, were shown no mercy.

The government has finally gotten a whiff of what’s been cooking on the internet, and even though it’s trussed up in more important matters such as the GSP+, it’s managed to detangle a hand to wag a finger at bloggers.

Irresponsible websites which resort to distorting facts to create a rift between the government and ‘other’ parties would be black listed and publicized through the provisions available through the state media, the government information department said today quoting a Minister- dailymirror.lk reports.

The more stringent measures taken against Tissainayagam, than a mere blacklisting of his website, is evidence enough to show that the government has all the power to manipulate the law and slam you with 20 years of R.I for pointing out the faults of the ruling body.

New media has never been a threat to the government before what with development in Sri Lanka being at a fetal stage. You’d think websites and blogging shouldn’t really bother the government when considering anyone wanting to reach the masses would place the internet at the bottom of their list of ‘means of mass communication’.

So now that they’re keeping an eye on the internet, what should we expect next? Tapping of phone conversations? Perhaps the millions of people who will be unemployed once the EU withdraws the GSP+ can be recruited to monitor phone conversations.

If more websites or blogs are closed down we might just find ourselves relieving North Korea of being ranked the lowest on the ‘press freedom rank’ next year. Ranked by Reporters Sans Frontières (RSF), Sri Lanka has been place 162 out of 175 countries on the list, this year.

In 2005– before the current regime came into power, RSF had positioned Sri Lanka at 115 out of 167 countries. Now you don’t have to be a math whiz to notice that globally we’ve fallen in ranks over the past few years.

Not only have we dropped in ranks over the past few years but would you believe this year we’ve been sandwiched between Palestinian Regions and Saudi Arabia. Oh but that’s not the worst of it. No, the worst is that Pakistan is ahead of us placed in the 159 spot. That’s a bit of a damper considering I’d always thought of Pakistan as a country we could look at when things got bad down here and say “heck, at least we’re better off than them”!

Sunday evening 8pm, I got on a bus at Bamba and promptly planted myself on the only seat available. More people filed in after me and when it was considerably packed with people standing in the aisle, the bus groaned awake and rumbled up the road.

Less than five minutes later, typical of Sri Lankan public transport, the bus hauled in at another halt to allow more people to squeeze in. A few people scrambled in and weaved through sea of bodies. Just as the new commuters had become one with the mass inside the bus, packed like a can of SPAM, starting from the entrance the sea of people parted neatly to make a clear path for the last incomer. Half expecting to see Moses emerge, I was a bit disappointed when instead a petite woman strolled in with an air of nonchalance about her. At first glance my mind alerted “Oooooh a prostitute.”

I’ve never actually seen a sex worker before but from what I’ve been told and what I’ve read in books, she had all the signs of a prostitute. She was wearing a short, worn out, blue cotton dress printed with a huge floral pattern, the straps of her bra were hanging off her shoulders, and around her waist she had a tattered white belt that didn’t really serve any purpose considering she was wearing a dress.

She had also accessorised with lots of cheap jewellery- a thick bracelet of pink beads and dangling earrings of red and green beads. But what was strange was the bottom bits of plastic bottle caps that she had attached to her hair-band that held her mangled, frizzy brunette hair in a bundle. Although the most telling sign might have been the bright magenta lipstick that was smeared on her lips, either that or the fact that people were leaning way from her in such a way you’d think she were a leper.

What got me thinking twice about her being a prostitute was that she looked extremely old. Her dark skin was dry and wrinkled. Even her cheeks had heavy furrows of wrinkles that sagged down to her chin. I’d say she was in her 50’s, if I had to guess. But then again, maybe she’s much younger because being a sex worker must zap the life out of you.

She stationed herself beside the seat in front of me just as the bus grunted and began to move. The mother and daughter seated there were squirming in their seat and crouching away from her as if she had an invisible force field around her that repelled them.

I couldn’t help feeling bad that people were behaving the way they were. It’s just not right. So what if she is a sex worker? Who are we to judge her? She’s obviously got it tough as it is, she doesn’t need people reacting merely to her presence as if she were something foul that the cat had dragged in.

Just imagine being in her shoes. Imagine making a living of allowing men have their way with you and then whenever you step out into the street people scurry away from you or/and stare at you from a safe distance. Even the bus conductor used a rough tone with her. Treated like a pariah, being a prostitute must be the worst and most lonely way to earn a living.

As much as I wanted to observe her a bit more (I found the strange old woman to be quite fascinating), I didn’t want to add to the general discomfort she must have been feeling while all eyes were on her, I averted my sight onto the passing buildings across the road. Although I think she seemed rather accustomed to how the people around her were reacting. Like I said earlier, she had an air of nonchalance about her. She didn’t really care. She seemed forcedly oblivious to how people were reacting towards her. To me it looked as if she’d programmed herself to tune out everything around her. In fact she didn’t show any emotion whatsoever, it was like she was on autopilot.

But then about 10 minutes later, everyone had gotten over the initial shock of being in the bus with a sex worker and returned to spacing out, with the glazed zombie look in their eyes as they waited to reach home. All except for the pair crouched in the seat beside her. At this point the daughter, who was seated by the shutter had her arm around her mother, pulling her away from the little woman who was so tired, her head was bobbing as she was falling asleep while on her feet.

At the next bus halt the person beside me vacated his spot and shimmied his way off the bus. I shifted to the side and the little old woman slid into the space beside me and rested her head on the window. She smelt musty. I can’t quite describe the smell. But the best I can say is that it was a sort of stuffy, old, musty smell that hung around her.

I got a few curious looks, people seemed surprised that I didn’t mind her sitting next to me. But then I guess they were all just too tired and soon got bored of the whole thing. Except of course for the mother and daughter seated in front of me. They would repeatedly turn around like wind-up toys to gape at her and look at me with wide-eyed disbelief like I had done something scandalous.

I guess the whole experience for me was a wee bit of an eye-opener to the harsh reality of the world.

Besides that I’ve always been a bit disappointed that I’ve never had any eventful bus rides. So this easily makes it as the most interesting bus katha I have to share- the strange old hooker.

…squirrel.

We’ve had pets before. For a week or so at the most. They usually run away or die or are eaten by a snake. So you can guess I’ve never been an ‘animal’ person.

Or so I thought… It turns out I’m pretty good with animals. The amazing revelation was made when I was introduced to Tsunade (yes, I’m a Naruto fan!). My bro found the baby squirrel in the house and for the past three days he and I have been feeding and taking care of  her.

She’s a fury bundle of joy! She’s got silky soft fur and she’s so damn cute!

The best part is, she can be scampering around in her box but the moment I pick her up and place her on my hand, she falls asleep.

On the first day she would first curl up into a ball in the palm of my hand and doze off. A day or two later, she would just clonk off sprawled along my wrist or anywhere I place her.

Of course, as my mom was quick to point out, we don’t really have the time for pets, so today the gardener took her away.

I’ll miss her. But I don’t feel bad… we really don’t have time for pets.

What not to do when going on a Trek (through hell ).

DON’T wear sneakers!

Don’t be deceived by the image. These shoes aren’t designed for rough terrain. They’re no different from Sam Vimes’s cardboard sole shoes. Yeah sure, Sam likes it that way ’cause he can tell where he is just by feeling the cobblestones on the street, but when you’re legging it through a trail, and a rough one at that, the last thing you want is to feel the ground!

With sneakers on you’ll first feel EVEY single stone. A bit later each stone will feel like a sudden spark of electricity shooting up your foot. If you press on, eventually, your foot becomes numb. Yup, sneakers are a definite no-no! If you’ve got nothing else when taking on a trek, go buy yourself a proper pair of trekking shoes.

Do eat and get plenty of rest before your trek

You need to be charged up for it. ’nuff said.

Do take water and food along with you.

If you think you’ve got enough food and water, you haven’t. Take more. And then some…

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Do’s and Don’ts aside, I got a fair share of cuts, scratches, leech bites and bruises.

Got a cut on my wrist trying to fish for some mackerel… out of a tin can.  Yeah, alright that may not seem very ‘rough n’ tough’, but when there’s nothing else but can of jack mackerel, and 10 people share it right out of the can… THAT’S… ok, pure desperation caused by hunger. Heck, if we didn’t have that tin can we would have resorted to cannibalism and eaten each other by night fall.

The leeches weren’t too fond of me though. I had only two of the little blood suckers bite me. One at my ankle and the other on my clavicle (shoulder blade). St.Fallen and Little_Boy_Blue on the other hand… The leeches were drawn to them… possibly the effect of the weed in their blood

Here’s how leeches suck blood:

A blood sucking leech attaches itself to the skin of its victim using its suckers. It makes a small wound in the surface of its hosts skin using three serrated jaws just inside its mouth. It then releases saliva into the wound, which contains the anti-clotting agent called hirudin. This keeps the blood flowing freely. The saliva also contains a substance that blocks nerve transmission from the pain sensors in the skin, so that the victim does not notice its bites.

It may sound like something out of a horror flick but it’s fine. You don’t feel it. You’ve got nothing to worry about ’cause the only superficial blood vessels are your veins. So at the very most you’ll just have a bit of a scar for a few days.

And here’s the bruise I got after a buffalo pulled a Zinedine on me…

The picture was taken this morning, it’s turned a ripe shade of deep purple now.

It was a crazy trek but the guys were awesome. All the rest of you girls should join them on their next adventure. You’ll be in safe hands I can vouch for that.

As for me, I’ll be sitting out the next one. My parents weren’t too pleased that I hadn’t kept them up to date every second of the day about where I was and whether I was still alive. So I’m going to have to wait for this to fizzle out before I can go anywhere with friends again

Makuluwo was my first caricature so I played it safe and stuck more or less to a proper profile instead of exaggerating her features in true caricature style. This time around I thought I’d be a bit more adventurous and well… here’s PapareBoy

At the risk of blogger anonymity being at stake… but I don’t really think anyone who hasn’t met him before will be able to recognise him after having seen this.

So, while I’m polishing my caricature skills by drawing Kottu.org bloggers, if you are on my Facebook Friends list, you might just be my next victim!

I don’t really know why I have sci-fi dreams, I haven’t watched a sci-fi movie in… a very long time! Well, here’s what I dreamt last night…

I took another bite of my bar of Snickers while shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “Not much longer”, I managed through a mouthful of chocolate, malt and peanuts to a friend beside me. He nodded with nervous concurrence. We were among a horde of others clumped together at an open field, gazing into the vast expanse of the sky. Just then the curtain of grey altocumulus clouds began to disperse. The time had come.

The clouds wafted slowly, first revealing two blue grey moons, perfectly aligned. They scattered further to reveal another two and then two more. The sea of people surrounding us began to stir as they pulled out hand-held telescopes and cameras and zoomed focus into the lunar spectacle. The atmosphere was eerily somber though. 14 celestial bodies perfectly aligned were in plain view but there wasn’t a single utter of amazement.

Within minutes rich plum dusk seeped across the heavens making the 14 moons more prominent. Little sparks of electricity shooting from one moon to another were now visible. With a heavy sigh I swallowed the last of my bar of snickers. The prophecy was real. The elimination of the human race by a mighty alien force had been set in motion.

Okay, done rolling your eyes? I know it sounds silly but this isn’t some story I’m making this up as I go along. I’m just relating what I dreamt!

But fine, I’ll just write the rest of it in points, leaving out the details.

My friend and I return to his home, where the other to of our gang are already waiting for us. The friend I went with and one of the other two, are geniuses. They start doing the complex math needed to put into action my plan to defeat the alien force. Yeah, I’m the leading the team . The other friend, like me, is a flying ace. The two super brains, had built us space pods.

Silencing an argument on quantum physics, a holographic image pops up of the alien force that was preparing to destroy us, out of something that looked somewhat like a DVD player. They looked very human (probably why they felt Earth would be the best planet to occupy). And one of them was actually kinda hot.

Anyhow, while I and the other flying ace wait for the genius-duo to sort out the math I strum my guitar (This could be ‘cause I actually miss playing my guitar. I’ve been too busy.) while at a Tai restaurant ordering Tom Yam soup.

And that was when I woke up. Anti-climax eh? But like I said, that’s just how the dream went. It was actually very detailed and lots more happened but it’s just too crazy… like Tom Yam soup! Why? Why Tom Yam?

This isn’t the first time I’ve had a sci-fi dream though. There was one about a rebel AI microchip. Of course not all my elaborate dreams are Sci-fi. There was the dream about a warlock and how I got a wizard from another dimension to defeat her. Or the one where I escape after being captured by gremlins… And lots more!

I do have ordinary dreams too. Just the other day I dreamt that I was driving somewhere in my sister’s car in the middle of the night and the brakes gave away.

Anyone else have these crazy complex dreams, like my sci-fi dream?

Getting Back at Makuluwo for the Urban Dictionary blog title post.

A caricature of her as a bunny wabbit (as Elmer Fudd would say). On a positive note, Maks, you’re the first person I’ve drawn a more detailed caricature of…

Caricatures require a bit more work than portraits ’cause you have to distort the face while retaining distinctive features so there’s still some resemblance.

And this isn’t perfect… I kinda started out wanting a clean line art sketch but somehow I ended up pencil shading. So now it’s a cross between the two and doesn’t quite look like her, the Kottu Makuluwo, but heck!

Maks The Wabbit

…with a Nikon D50

The Ents I

Margosa (better known as Kohomba), Margosa again and Guava

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Strange Yellow Flower

I haven’t got a clue as to what this flower is…

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The Ents II

Burnt Bamboo, stump of Indian Willow (I) and Coconut

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Leaves

Bamboo, Cadju and Coconut

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Out from the Ugly

Yet another plant in bloom in the garden and I haven’t an inkling as to what it is

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Dead Leaf (Cadju Tree)

Once a massive tree with sturdy sprawling branches that supported a tree house and held a quire rope swing, the Cadju tree was cut down a few weeks ago. In its 20 or so years it’d gotten diseased… Its trunk was rotting from the inside.

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Indian Willow

The stump of Indian Willow (II). Both trees were cut down recently, they were towering at about 40 ft.

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Coconut Fiber

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Sludge Monster (In the making)

The neighbour’s stuck bits of glass bottles along the top of the wall at the back of the garden. The neck of this bottle-bit seems to have collected stuff over time that has turned into disgusting goop. Will probably mutate into a sludge monster and eat us in our sleep…