Colombo Confessions is all about having a laugh. I’ve had the misfortune of associating with a wide cross-section of Colombo denizens. This column is a look at the lighter (sometimes) side of Lankans in the capital of Sri Lanka.
Greetings Colombites, my musings today are spawned by a fantastic Spanish series on Netflix called Elite. I wonder if it’s something that you’ve seen. Besides the fact that there is quite a bit of skin and plenty of drama (which, of course, is why I am a fan), there are quite a few intricate plots and subplots that show how terrible human nature can be. The children in the drama truly are a reflection of their own parents. Every season seems like a real violation of children’s rights. A few notable examples of healthy parenting are a mother who deals in coke and indulges in the same evil as her daughter; and then a father who basically sells off his daughter to a rich man (and courts his money) to save his winery. To be honest, it all sounds a bit like a good old-fashioned Lankan arranged marriage to me, if you replace the winery with a coconut estate. I actually have stories from my extended family that are much the same, if not much more salacious.
I myself was whored around on numerous occasions in my younger days like a purebred labrador in pursuit of a perfect govigama marriage to a rich home-schooled (read, homely) girl. But the truth is that I was more girl than all the prospective girls I was exhibited to. And frankly, all I could think was while the poor girls used to parade around serving me one cup of tea after the other, was that I would have looked prettier in their sarees (no doubt they were dressed enticingly to create some warmth in my loins). The extent to which those machinations backfired is a story for another day. In the end, I managed to save them, and myself, from a typical fake marriage that would have sent us into the arms of drugs or even murder. At least, I hope I saved them. I’m not sure where or who they ended up with exactly.
Some, I know, have gone on to make marriages of such discord they could make a royal blush (and I mean proper royals, not these birthday party types), but what can you do except realise that all these definitions of success, à la marriage and obeisance to religion, are social and human constructs in much need of being left alone to gather dust. It truly is pointless in bowing down to the fake constructs of our time. Rather ensure that you set yourself free. Remember memento mori. Marcus Aurelius threw a truth bomb that keeps exploding every single decade and generation. The conclusion is that nothing really matters, and that we will all die. So instead of being a slave to some ideology, rather cater to the flesh. Oscar Wilde should be someone we all aspire to. Death is inevitable, and so fulfilling your human desires makes more sense than ever. In other words, dig in and bring out that Epicurean in you.
Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, forget Netflix and Amazon Prime. Colombo’s “Elite” has plenty more drama and dysfunction in their homes than you could ever hope to see on the silver screen. The downside is it’s not as sexy when it’s happening in your own backyard. I find that drama is best digested with an afternoon tea where you slather your bread with some good ole butter, and of course, someone to spill the tea.
(Rohitha Perera is a writer, blogger, and content marketer from Colombo, Sri Lanka. He used to be an editor at a lifestyle magazine, and now works in the IT industry)
The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect those of this publication.
Greetings Colombites, my musings today are spawned by a fantastic Spanish series on Netflix called Elite. I wonder if it’s something that you’ve seen. Besides the fact that there is quite a bit of skin and plenty of drama (which, of course, is why I am a fan), there are quite a few intricate plots and subplots that show how terrible human nature can be. The children in the drama truly are a reflection of their own parents. Every season seems like a real violation of children’s rights. A few notable examples of healthy parenting are a mother who deals in coke and indulges in the same evil as her daughter; and then a father who basically sells off his daughter to a rich man (and courts his money) to save his winery. To be honest, it all sounds a bit like a good old-fashioned Lankan arranged marriage to me, if you replace the winery with a coconut estate. I actually have stories from my extended family that are much the same, if not much more salacious.
I myself was whored around on numerous occasions in my younger days like a purebred labrador in pursuit of a perfect govigama marriage to a rich home-schooled (read, homely) girl. But the truth is that I was more girl than all the prospective girls I was exhibited to. And frankly, all I could think was while the poor girls used to parade around serving me one cup of tea after the other, was that I would have looked prettier in their sarees (no doubt they were dressed enticingly to create some warmth in my loins). The extent to which those machinations backfired is a story for another day. In the end, I managed to save them, and myself, from a typical fake marriage that would have sent us into the arms of drugs or even murder. At least, I hope I saved them. I’m not sure where or who they ended up with exactly.
Some, I know, have gone on to make marriages of such discord they could make a royal blush (and I mean proper royals, not these birthday party types), but what can you do except realise that all these definitions of success, à la marriage and obeisance to religion, are social and human constructs in much need of being left alone to gather dust. It truly is pointless in bowing down to the fake constructs of our time. Rather ensure that you set yourself free. Remember memento mori. Marcus Aurelius threw a truth bomb that keeps exploding every single decade and generation. The conclusion is that nothing really matters, and that we will all die. So instead of being a slave to some ideology, rather cater to the flesh. Oscar Wilde should be someone we all aspire to. Death is inevitable, and so fulfilling your human desires makes more sense than ever. In other words, dig in and bring out that Epicurean in you.
Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, forget Netflix and Amazon Prime. Colombo’s “Elite” has plenty more drama and dysfunction in their homes than you could ever hope to see on the silver screen. The downside is it’s not as sexy when it’s happening in your own backyard. I find that drama is best digested with an afternoon tea where you slather your bread with some good ole butter, and of course, someone to spill the tea.
(Rohitha Perera is a writer, blogger, and content marketer from Colombo, Sri Lanka. He used to be an editor at a lifestyle magazine, and now works in the IT industry)
The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect those of this publication.