It is strange, I survived the Late 1960s and Early 1970.
It was the worst period in our life.
I never thought I would end up in the University and later in the United Kingdom.
There were three others who entered University before me and two were for arts and one for engineering from my village.
The engineering guy was almost a mentor and was the national boxing champion.
I was treated not like a child but like an adult.
I had to do all the odd jobs.
But only one job I volunteered.
That is to fetch water from the well and fill up the barrel.
There was a locked well belonging to one of our relatives.
I get the keys for the padlock and I get a fare share of water for myself.
Only one or two others were allowed to share the water.
Pipe born water was non existent.
Of course the buckets have to be kept well away, on granite slab.
I was well instructed to keep the place clean.
Cholera was endemic, then.
Boiled cool water to drink was the standard. I think I carried a plastic water bottle with a shoulder strap to school.
Only a few had a plastic water bottle.
Kadala Archchi at the school door step, provided us a delicious Aggala at tea time.
My mother used to make milk and dhosi toffees.
Cheese sandwich was the standard and Bowryll jam and butter were plenty.
Only one small bucket for pulling water up and one large for fetching water home.
Jack and. Jill went up the hill type of story.
I clean myself first and collect water and carry home to fill the barrel.
8 to 10 buckets a day depending on the previous day's use.
I did not want to see my sisters' carrying water on the main road. That I considered inhumane.
Rest of the work included going to the cooperative store to collect provisions, that included rice, dhal, sprats and Karala.
Rs.10/= was enough for a weeks provisions.
Rice was 25 cents a measure and one was Free from our Dudley Senanayake.
My charge was Rs.1.50 for the facial cream.
It's name was Pond's Cold Cream.
I hated alighting the crowded (returning home) bus.
Walked carrying the heavy load, often laying the load on a bullock cart.
Going to the breakary for bread (fresh half a pound for myself) was the normal routine.
Milk was the only item home delivered very early in the morning.
Mendis buns 5 cents a piece were delivered on head, in the evening.
They were delicious butter buns.
I still still wonder how I managed in my school work.
Most of the other children did not work as hard as me.
Teachers in the Catholic school were very pleasant except only one.
I left this school, since Science Stream was non existent.
City college was the worst and only things I learned there were vulgar slangs.
I did not learn a single Dhammpada verse there.
Instead of taking the bus home I used to walk back and save the money to buy half a hundu of Chick Peas.
We did not have a place to play.
Tar road was the only vacant place.
The bus driver used to wait till we finish an over of soft ball cricket.
The entire village was well knit except a few bad eggs.
Pathirana Family in the third mile post was the terror gang.
That was called the Pathagama with the caste based vernacular.
We were in Udagama or the second mile post.
I witnessed a blue murder and two other stabbings on my way back at around 6PM. We were not allowed after 6PM.
Mr. Farmer who was the British High Commission driver was man without words.
His keep or may be wife was the devilled tongue of the village, always out to ponce on someone.
The the gang of dogs behaved better.
Because of this woman, I was not allowed to keep a dog.
Her next door neighbor was Mr. Ferdinado who was keeping an underage girl as a keep.
He was very good making hot air balloons.
There was an annual ceremony. This exited my interest in physics.
Wesak were known for celebrations but pandols were rare except for Wedding. There were several wedding and I was never taken to any, that itself is a simple story.
In my first visit to a wedding, I ate the entire Arsmi (had not tasted it before) and the punishment was never to take me again.
I hated wedding ceremonies.
They are not for kids but for adults.
I have seen a fair share of divorces and domestic violences in my time.
Nobody touched or nicked me even for a joke. I have had manhandled all who crossed my path including my elder brother.
They feared me.
There was this guy who was an orphan.
He had taken a bet to manhandle. I was under 7.
He tried and failed.
I pulled his sarong down and with his one hand he could not handle me. I pulled him across the road with all my might.
Pulled him down on the drain and killed his balls. He did not last a day in my village and he disappeared.
A similar incident in the city school and the subsequent chain of events ended up in Kandy Police but no convictions but warnings.
Nobody touched me in the University and that is a different but a criminal story.
Homosexuallity was not as prevalent as today but a sideroom next to the boutique was kept for prostitutes and homosexuals. Only a few was allowed but a Muslim guy who was a homosexual (may be rented) owned it.
Coming back to first hand witness stories, I knew the victims and the assailants but kept mum on my father's instigation.
Chief Justice Mr. Thalgodapitiya had his house between second mile post and third mile post.
Just as good!
I saw my uncle toppling and crashing his car right in front of the Chief Justice's house.
He probably pressed the faulty break in front of this house.
Politics were caustic with two opposing parties.
I hated both political parties.
JVP was non existent.
Ceylon was no better, then.
We left this neighborhood (when I entered the University), never to return when I was just 19.
Passed 'O' Level at 16 and I was allowed to start 'A' Level pending results. Not two years but 3 solid years in 'A' Level at London 'A' standard.
The saying was London 'A' was easier.
Teachers were as bad as today but I worked on my own with the School Inspector helping me all along (that itself is a separate story).
No Tuition Masters, then.
I did not have any regard to Monks as Teachers in our school.
We chased one called Neluwe Nagitha within a month.
We decided to give him a thundering knock on his head during the Morning Assembly. One guy from our class was chosen everyday for the delivery.
What I did to a collection of monks who came to a Pirith Ceremony in our house was classic but I refrain from expending. The Maha Nayaka told my mum they would never come again.
This is in addition to an encounter with a guy called Silaratana with No Sila.
He was very scared of me. This is all under 16 years.
If I see a saffron guy escorting a young guy he is dished out similarly with some direct verbal abuse, till lately.
Coronavirus virus pandemic ended those encounters.
Mahamewna guy and Kiribathgoda Batthara Mulla are only two of public manifestations good in distorting Dhamma.
Me writing books on Dhamma should be not considered an aberration. They are well researched pieces.
I survived.
My stamina stood good.
