Anatomy Of A Failed People

By Vishwamithra1984 –November 2, 2016

“When good people in any country cease their vigilance and struggle, then evil men prevail.” ~Pearl S. Buck

The western sky is illuminated by the last gleaming of twilight. Along the shores, those who trekked miles to wet their fatigued feet with the salty waters of the Indian Ocean are having their final pleasure, thinking of the tales that they would one day tell their grandchildren how they spent a Sunday evening before retiring to their humble abodes, take time to stare a last peep at the distant horizon which is becoming increasingly hazy and faint. Before the darkening skies turn into night, before the endless space above becomes crowded with billions of millions of stars, serenading a full moon, men, women and children who make this earth worthy of its salt, hesitatingly bid adieu to another day under the sun- scorching and unmerciful yet an unrelenting giver of light.

With the dusk turning into night, Colombo, the commercial hub of this splendid land, comes to terms with the decreasing traffic under the neon lights of a carefree city, struggling to awake to a brand new night. The irksome honking of horns of the moving traffic disturbs the calmness that usually awaits the tired and weary. The indiscipline of the three-wheeler drivers drives a more careful motor trafficker crazy and more often than not, to road-rage, while making the pedestrians run for their life. The rampant traffic behavior displayed on Colombo roads explains why Sri Lanka is still going through adolescence of nationhood, bullies controlling the tempo and the helpless willingly showing their subservience to the powerful and mighty. A sad and repetitive saga of a nation pretending to be grown up while crawling its ways into adulthood.

The vendors who engaged in their usual vending along the Gale Face Green from dawn to dusk are gathering their paraphernalia to ready themselves to meet their loved ones whose eager waiting for the breadwinner’s weary trek back home, for any delay would naturally spell another delayed partaking of dinner. The gram vendor whose meager earnings could hardly feed a family of three is packing up his wherewithal to head back home while counting day’s earnings. He has to set apart some part of the day’s collection to warm himself at the illicit liquor seller’s boutique located close to his shack of a home. After a hard day’s work, almost all the time on his feet under an unmerciful sun at the Galle Face Green, how could anyone blame him for his meager indulgence? Yet priorities of each human being are being measured not in universal terms. Passing judgment on the gram seller is easy, but empathizing with his hard and unkind livelihood is another matter altogether.

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