Nothing else but...

I feel really bad about abandoning my digital child - this very blog. Nope, its not twitter, Facebook or Poken that has taken over my life, and it has nothing to do with a writer’s block either.
Most of all, I feel really bad because I have promised many, that I would keep this blog alive. 
But then again, I’m busy scrambling my gray matter these days – trying to remember what I learnt from the advertising greats like Jeremy Bullmore, Richard Fowler and Brian Searle-Tripp at Ogilvy, long, long time ago. I’m trying to put together a series of presentations so that I could train my team – unfortunately it is not such an easy task. The thing is, advertising has evolved to become the art of communication; the world is changing so fast today that even Facebook has become a “traditional” medium. I feel I am too ‘old’ to keep up with this marathon – sometimes all I want to do is to sit under a coconut tree on a beautiful Sri Lankan beach, sip a nice Old Reserve with Wild Elephant, put my legs up and enjoy the gorgeous sunset to the rhythm of the waves slashing against the white sands.
Instead, I spend most of my time in a land where restaurants have two entrances: one for the “Single men” and the other for the “families” and women. My time in this country has become such a regular affair that I cannot even call my blog “Life in Taprobane” anymore – it might as well be re-christened as “Life in-between Mecca and Medina” I suppose.
Not that I have a miserable life here - compared to most who live in Saudi Arabia.
I have access to alcohol - albeit a bottle costs nearly 300 US dollars. I see women in bikinis if I peep from my front window at home. I live in a heavily fortified “compound” that’s similar to what’s seen in the movie “the Kingdom.” Every time I come home, I stop at the first gate manned by private security as well as the Army. Various warnings including “No Photos” and “Turn off the Headlights” stare at my face until a security guard scans the vehicle and raises the barrier. I usually wave at the guy and zig-zag through a maze of concrete barricades along a barbed-wire fenced wall, to the main gate where a guard sitting behind a bullet-proof window recognises me and presses a few buttons to lower the steel barrier as I wait for the red light to turn green. There’s another gate that opens immediately after the barrier, then I weave through another concrete jungle, bump over the humps at every 50 yards and slowly get to my home sweet home where I have unrestricted internet access and a bottle of Vodka in the fridge.
Yes, the internet is censored to the public in the Kingdom and it is the “world outside the compound” that bothers me.
There is a notice on our office door proclaiming that “Women Work Here” – and it reminds me of the signs we often see at home: “Beware of the Dog.”
There are times that I find myself alone in an empty elevator, simple because some of the Saudi women refuse to enter because “there is a man inside.” I feel like a leper – but I know it is their loss, not mine. I KNOW they don’t get much opportunity to spend time with guys like me – so even a nano-second lost is a time gone to waste. For them. Besides, my breath could impregnate women – yes I have that gift – I guess that must be what those women are thinking.
The social barricades here are unimaginable and unbelievable, women who live in Sri Lanka have absolutely no idea how blessed are they to be born in such a beautiful country. According to the The World Economic Forum Gender Equality Survey, women in Sri Lanka are treated better than the Australians, Canadians and even the Americans. Sri Lanka ranks at the 16 place, Saudi Arabia of course somewhere at the very bottom, barely keeping up with Chad, Mali and Benin.
Women cannot drive in Saudi Arabia. Most women are at the mercy of their driver, even if they had to buy a Panadol for a headache (and, a woman needs a lot of those in this country!). They pay his salary, but the driver has the right to “pray” five times a day and the employer has to wait, no matter how important her needs are.
There are quite a few, well-educated Saudi women who are joining the mainstream employment. These are the progressive women who know how to remain ‘progressive’ within the cultural and social norms, but the society isn’t ready for this. We have a client who employees around ten to fifteen thousand people across the Kingdom, but their head office does not have a single toilet dedicated for women. But, on the surface, this organisation is one of the most modern, forward-thinking businesses in the country that encourages the young Saudi females to lead the change. This is a minor detail compared to the other frustrations women have to put-up everyday at their workplace. Saudi men DO NOT look at a woman’s eyes when they talk to her – even in meetings and I find that very irritating. If she is friendly, they mis-read her. If she keeps her distance, they think she is a bitch. Some of them completely ignore her, as if she doesn’t exist. The religious extremism is so deep-rooted in their minds, they act as if they don’t have mothers or sisters.
Saudi women are not allowed to be seen in public without a chaperone, they cannot travel without a male custodian, they are not allowed to represent themselves at a government office, in a police station or a Court without the male guardian. They cannot open a bank account for themselves on their own, even if they are employed and earning their own income. Rights of women, do not exist here.
The society segregates the men and the women, they are not allowed to mix and mingle. We don’t usually ask our Saudi colleagues about their fiancés or wives – asking about someone else’s wife is like having an affair with her it seems. But, however, the lingerie shops in the Kingdom are manned by men who are allowed to measure a woman’s cup-size and talk to her about her underwear at length  – because women are not allowed to work in shopping malls. Such is the beauty of this bowl of spaghetti of a country – they are all confused in their own religious laws and taboos.
The other day, while chit-chatting about life of a woman in this country, one of my Saudi female friends put it in proper perspective: for a Saudi man, a woman is nothing else but a pussy!
*2012 UPDATE: The government encourages Saudi women joining the retail trade and now there are women serving at lingerie shops, cosmetics stores, supermarkets and even some restaurants.

The Lung Ching Episode

Inspired by a good pot of Pu Erh tea a few weeks ago and followed by Sigma Delta’s suggestion, I embarked on a journey to discover the teas of the world at teayana – the tea lounge in Jeddah. I have tried a few teas on the menu since, including a rare variety: the Lung Ching or the Dragon Well teas.

As the story goes, a Chinese village was facing a severe drought in 250 AD and a Tao monk advised the villagers to pray to the dragon living in a nearby well to end the dry spell. The villagers obliged, the rains followed – and the village of “Lung Ching” or “Dragon Well” entered the history of tea. A monastery bearing that name stills stands next to the well to this day.

During the Qing dynasty, Emperor Qian Long had the opportunity to taste Lung Ching tea at the Wugong Temple and he was so impressed that he had eighteen of the tea trees at the temple designated as Imperial Tea, reserved for the Emperor himself.

Lung Ching is amongst the rare, connoisseur green teas on offer at teayana. Other exotic teas in the menu include the Japanese Gyokuro, Chinese Hunan Oolong, Zheijang Yin Luo No, Tai Mu along, Formosa Jade Oolong from Taiwan and teayana’s own Jasmine Pearl tea.

“This is China’s most famous tea and simply the best of the Lung Ching variety. It has more than a thousand years of recorded history and was mentioned in the first ever tea book (Cha Ching) by Lu Yu during the Tang Dynasty.

The exquisite, fat but narrow emerald green tea leaves have a shiny appearance after being carefully hand fried in a large wok. The tea leaves easily sink to the bottom of the cup during infusion and a pleasant aroma arises which is refreshingly light with a hint of fruit and nut combined. The aftertaste is almost instantaneous, filling your mouth with a sweetness reminiscent of grape fruit. It may be enjoyed plain from morning to late afternoon and is best without milk.”

reads The Book of Tea at teayana.

Overwhelmed by the stories, recommendations and an undeniable charm of the stories, I order a pot of Lung Ching.

The tea arrives with a mini-hourglass that would indicate the perfect brewing time. I watch the fine grains of coloured sand seep through like a tiny waterfall, as the hot water in the pot slowly begins to turn to the colour of the morning sun.

After three minutes, I am ready to taste the exotic, light golden colour tea brewed from “fried” tea leaves. Never in my wildest dreams that I imagined tea would be brewed from ‘fried’ leaves!

The last few grains of sand seep through the narrow neck in the hour-glass as I eagerly wait to taste the tea. I resist myself from snatching a sachet of sugar on impulse, sometimes it’s hard to let go of the nasty habits of drinking tea Sri Lankan style.

I hold the cup with both hands and enjoy the warmth for a moment. As I take a deep breath, the Lung Ching fragrance titillates my senses. The aroma is gentle and inviting. I take the first sip and let it penetrate my taste buds. I love the first sip, and struggle to find words to describe the taste.

Grass.

Yes, Lung Ching tastes like green tea with a hint of grass. But, in a very good way.

---

Camellia sinensis or the tea plant grows taller than 10 meters (33ft) typically, if left untrimmed. The No 1 “King Tree” found in the mountainous region of Pu Erh, China, is 2,700 years old, 25.6 metres (85 ft) tall, with a root diameter of 1.2 m (4 ft). These ancient tea trees are protected and the leaves are not allowed to be picked. Sri Lanka’s tallest tea tree can be found in Dambetenna Estate, Haputale and it is around 18 metres (60 ft) in height.

360° View: Sri Lanka, Lebanon and Saudi Arabia

Amaya Lake. Sometime in 2007. End of the break, time to leave.


Watching the Sunrise, somewhere in the Lebanese mountains. 2009. My good pal Fadi caught in the frame.


Saudi Arabia, 2008. Watching the sunset from a mountain top.


2006. Kaudulla, Sri Lanka. Elephant watching has just begun. Mahesh and Ranga with Arham – the amateur film crew. ;) I have combined the frames to create a huge image – almost 16 meters in length @ 72dpi.


270° View from a mountain top, somewhere in Buttala jungle, Sri Lanka. 2006.


Combining frames to create a single image kinda takes away the WOW factor, me thinks. And yes, these were shot without a tripod, hence the zig-zag look.

Abha...

Sunday, April 26th.

The stunning beauty that is Abha... and admiring her at sunset.

More to follow.

Hidden Treasures of Galle

Sri Lanka is known for its record number of holidays. We might be at the top of the list of countries with the most number of holidays, but we do not have the habit of taking month-long vacations like the West. There are no summer holidays – there’s summer all year, and there is no winter or spring-breaks.

However, almost every month has a “long” weekend: a full-moon day immediately before or after the weekend. Or some other holiday – religious, national or international, falling next to a weekend. And we are known for our quick, long weekend trips.

The country is dotted with an amazing collection of unique places to stay – from beach resorts to bungalows to jungle retreats, if one desires to step out of the norm and discover something new. We actually do not need a month-long vacation to rejuvenate ourselves, a quick break, a couple of days in an idyllic setting is all that’s needed.

Even though on the ‘premium’ side, Kahandakanda is one such place, just 15 odd kilometres away from Galle, along a narrow winding road that leads inland, away from the beach that we’d like to usually stay. Skip the beach, take the narrow road, and get lost in the greenery and find yourself at Kahandakanda – a getaway for the ones who seek to escape from the hustle and bustle; it’s an indulgence that’s hard to forget.

And... We Are Back!

As I was flying back to my prison, I had my last gin and tonic just before the SriLankan A320 entered the Saudi airspace. I held the disposable plastic cup in my hand for a brief moment, and gulped down the contents promptly, stretched myself to relieve my benumbed nether regions and prayed to God that there won’t be any hassle at the Saudi Customs. Not because a considerable amount of my blood cells have been displaced by a great volume of alcohol – thanks to my liquid diet over the last 5-6 days – I was seriously worried about the two books on Buddhism hidden amongst the other reading material in my back-pack. Detecting the books on Buddhism could lead to alcohol, and vice versa – both of which are banned in the Holy Land of the Moslems. Saudi authorities are known to be one of the worst (if not the worst) in the entire world, one must be unfortunate enough to experience them first-hand to understand the true meaning of this statement.

A knew a British couple who lived in Jeddah a while ago. Their latest addition to the family was born in the Kingdom and the couple decided to head back to England for the Christmas holidays. They were stopped at the airport and not allowed to leave, because the baby’s birth certificate claimed he’s a Christian, just like the parents. Naturally.

Technically, and according to tradition, NO non-Moslem is born in the Holy land of the Moslems.

The parents had two options. Change the kid’s religion – which could take as long as “Inshah Allah” takes, or call the British Embassy for assistance. They resorted to the latter and managed to head home just in time for the annual family gathering, albeit the hassle and delay at the airport over silly technicalities.

Then there was this other friend of mine who was followed around the block by the religious Police in an unmarked car, as he went jogging along, one fine Friday morning. He was stopped, taken in, and detained for 24 hours – for “wasting time and not getting ready to get to the mosque for Friday prayers on time.”

These, and many other horror stories were flashing before me as I stood there at the long queue at the Customs. I was thanking my gin and tonic intake for preparing me for a possible good night’s sleep on a cold cement bench somewhere, should the unthinkable happen.

My bones were cold, and I felt frozen in time. I felt the longest minute in my life as I waited for my turn.

Five minutes later, I discovered God.

I mean, I discovered that he exists. Somewhere. Somewhere, where he could watch me, and watch over me.

For a brief but essential moment, he was looking down on me. No hassle, no harassment at the Customs and and He let me out in a flash. I almost regretted the fact that I didn’t copy some naughty movies to my iPod, or tuck-in some Playboy magazines, but then again, that would have been pushing my luck, just a tad too much.

I think even the Almighty himself agrees that there is no punishment worse than having to spend time in Saudi Arabia. This country is not exactly the most desirable place on earth – and He must have spared me from the tiny trouble at the Customs. He must have been looking at the big picture and spared the details, since I am paying for my sins already.

I’m sure He must have watched me with a cheeky grin on his gracious face as I walked out of the terminal unhindered by the authorities – to my own prison, at my own will...

God or not, I was out – unharmed and untouched, and in one piece.

So here I am, back after the Big Match. And the Stag Night. And the Cabaret. And the Russian Lesbo act. And... and, and... lots of things that are “haram” in the land of the two Holy Mosques.

Here I am, miles and miles away from home, away from my Paradise isle. Here I am, back in my virtual life in Taprobane.

Much has happened in my absence, much to be read and much to be digested and deliberated. There is the Part 3 and beyond of the “Advertising in Sri Lanka” that needs to be written – all in due time, since time is all I’d have in abundance in the days to come.

It’s March, It’s the Big Match Season!

The Big Match is around the corner. I’m excited, as if I am in Grade 7. There is something magically attractive about this whole affair. It’s not the Stag Night or the final scoreboard that matters – it’s the whole feeling, it’s the whole package that makes one want to cross the seven seas to get there.

My flights are booked, tickets bought, transport arranged. It so happens that I arrive in Colombo on the first day of the match – giving me just enough time to enjoy the rush-hour traffic jam; leaving me with very little time for the ritualistic three S’s in the morning – shower, shave (and of course you know the first one), before dashing off to the grounds.

March, is a significant month in my calendar for two reasons. One, the match. Two, it’s the month of my unofficial anniversary. Things hit a new note between yours truly and the love of his life on the first day of the big-match a few years ago; and this year, the two shall meet one another for the first time: I have decided to take the Mrs to the match.

Apparently, the only sort of “pre-nup” we have is about the match it seems, as she recollects. I had wanted to ensure that I have safe passage to Colombo every March, no matter which corner of the world we would be living in. Yes, for the rest of my life. And she did agree.

I guess that was smart, and I was lucky, to have that sorted out before it ever became an issue to anyone. No woman in her rightful mind would deprive her man of the joy of this wonderful camaraderie of ‘Royal’ life. Aah, the long-lost friends, their adventures with the feminine kind, the wonderful stories, the memories of yesteryear... all cheered and toasted with an ample supply of food and drink – the match is a lot more than just a match.

Enough said. The big match is the Big Match. For everything else, there’s MasterCard.

Celebrating Valentine’s, Saudi Style

Due to circumstances beyond my control, I had to spend the Valentine’s Day alone. In Jeddah. A beautiful city by the Red Sea.

Worked till almost midnight, picked up a value meal from McDonald’s on the way back to my apartment.

People do the most romantic things on the Valentine’s Day.

One of my Saudi friends went home early – to cook a romantic meal for his wife. He painstakingly created a lovely little card during the day, and was so-o-o looking forward to the evening.

Then there is this other Saudi friend. Affluent and Western educated. He went home last evening and his wife was nagging him because it was ‘that day’ of the year. Since there was nothing romantic visible in the horizon, she at least wanted a present.

She wanted something really nice.

So he though for a while and promised her that he would go out and get her something that she would like very much.

When he was narrating this, I was imagining the Cartier’s and Prada’s. Jeddah’s high street is a discount warfare these days. Discounts up to 50% at Armani and up to 70% at some other boutiques... any man could easily go bankrupt with such attractions, easily.

And he went out and bought her a Vacuum Cleaner.

He says she was talking about buying one, last week.

So, Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

Four years ago, I returned to Colombo and started working in a relatively close-knit company. The owner of the company knew if the tea-boy farted. The internal politics were that extreme.

On the first day of work, I summoned my team and asked them what were their aspirations in life. All but five had any idea of their tomorrow. One wanted to be a restaurant manager, one wanted to be a creative director, another wanted to be a happily married housewife. The other two also had ambitions of similar nature.

Fifteen out of twenty didn’t know what the heck they wanted in life. They were just drifters. Educated, and salaried. They were content with the way things were, they were happy going to work and coming home, day after day. They didn’t think of anything beyond.

I was shocked. I was shocked at their complacency, I was shocked that they didn’t have any goals set in their careers.

Perhaps, they never had to. According to a recent global survey, my Paradise is one of the happiest places on earth, where people live happily ever-after. Some of them must have been genuinely happy with their monotonous life, the others of course knew where to kiss, in order to get by.

People rarely got fired in that company. Most companies in Sri Lanka don’t fire people easily.

I was brought-in, to make a difference. As promised, I brought that company a refreshing change. I shook the dust off the old establishment and gave them a fresh outlook. I improved their creative product and gave them the confidence to compete. I shouted, and screamed, and persuaded them to excel in their work.

Barely a year later, I was fired.

Telling the owner to f–off a few days earlier must have expedited the outcome.

Nevertheless, it was the best thing that ever happened to me that year. It couldn’t have come at a worse time, but it made me realise my true potential.

It gave me wings.

In the previous Big Red Agency where I worked in Dubai for over 13 years, one would get fired for not having any initiative. Being complacent and aimless in their career was an open invitation to get fired. An average employee did not last longer than two to three years.

Things were that simple, and that difficult.

In Paradise, however, things happen the other way around. Float along aimlessly with the typical islander attitude, and you are as settled as a rock on the seashore.

Australian MBA and Migrating?

“Bogus Colleges in UK to be Screen Out” read a recent news article.

There is this 23 year old who has an MBA and she worked with me in her first ever proper job. When I heard that she never worked before, I couldn’t help but wonder how could she be a “Master” in Business Administration, when she has NEVER set foot in a business organisation before!

The islanders of Paradise are crazy about their higher education. Almost everyone I know in the Paradise has a professional qualification – a CIM, CIMA, BA, BSc, BCS, MBBS, MBA or an XYZ. We think it makes our life easier if we have those big capital letters at the end of our name, especially if they came from the US, UK or Australia.

Well, they certainly help: to secure a job in Sri Lanka.

Once we find a job here, we are very likely to get caught in the system, get married or get buried under a career. Marriage and kids could kill the aspirations and dreams; family, house, car, loans etc could easily tie one down for good, clipping the wings. Without realising, one would be reaching the 40’s, making it harder for one to chase the American Dream or its British or Aussie equivalent.

The current state of affairs and the global financial crisis has got everyone looking for greener pastures, resulting in a mini ‘exodus’ and considerable brain-drain.

This post is meant for those who are thinking of escaping – specifically to Australia – chasing their dream:

• The Aussie economy is not doing well, just like most other countries. Its a great time to transfer your funds – the dollar has depreciated around 30%; but not a good time for job-hunting in the kangaroo land.
  
• A professional qualification – even from Monash – does not guarantee a job. Australia, like most countries, have a labour force of average qualifications; you might be “over qualified” for the job, if you have too many capital letters at the end of the name.
  
• Experience counts. Even more so than the paper qualifications. No one cares about the Sri Lankan experience, unless you happen to have gathered it at a multinational organisation, or an international bank.
  
• Be a specialist. Portray a focus in your career. Jack of all trades is not a ‘qualification’ – master of something, is.
  
• If one doesn’t possess the ‘local’ experience, it would be hard to find a ‘suitable’ job. Its impossible to gain local experience if one doesn’t have a local job. Catch 22?
  
• Its easy to find a job at waiting tables. My advise: don’t, unless you are 18.
  The early Sri Lankan migrants with their capital letters have done that and spoilt the market for the rest of the intellectuals – please don’t feed the trend.
  
• Aussies are scared if you have too many qualifications. They feel threatened, or they think you would leave for better prospects. Makes it much harder for the migrants with a wealth of experience to find a position on par with what they deserve.
  
• Even though the migration process is extremely well managed and well executed, CentreLink cannot do much for you. Its the headhunters (employment agencies) that find placements, and most headhunters have no idea what the actual job description entails. In summary, don’t expect much from headhunters or CentreLink.
  
• Have a focussed, but simple resumé that’s easy to digest. Something like, “Wijitha – the bus driver.”
  “So what did you do, Mr Wijitha?”
  “Well, I drove a bus, for 3 years.”
  End of conversation. Everybody understands. “Wijitha – Head of Creative - Activation” is far too complicated for the average recruitment specialist’s mind.
  
• Most job applications are made online; if your profile fits the excel sheet at the headhunters, you will be called for an interview. If not, you wander in the limboland. Very few has the common courtesy to respond to your emails.
  
• Be ready to do what Indians do all over the world: to downgrade your CV and customise to fit. Leave out all what’s unnecessary, make the CV fit the vacancy you see and you are on the fast-track to employment. Starting a step below is sometimes better than not starting at all.
  
• Try to find a job before you pack your bags. Line up a few interviews or prospects through your friends, family or associates. Fellow islanders from Paradise look out for one another (most of the time), they would be more fruitful than the headhunters, for sure.
  
• Its easier to find, and most jobs are available, at the entry level. Best is to migrate as early in your life as possible – so that starting at the bottom of the ladder is not a step (or a few steps) down. Ideal age, 20+. You are willing to start at the bottom and prove yourself, plus you have no excess baggage. No wives or kids, only virtual women in your bed.
  
• Professional Migration sounds romantic, but that’s where it stops. Securing a job through international placement agencies before arriving in Australia is a good thing, but its almost impossible with a silly lankan passport, whilst in silly lanka.
  
• Don’t wait until you are a senior manager to migrate. Its almost impossible to break in at the senior level for a Sri Lankan who has no international experience.
• There are some areas where there is potential: shipping, finance and IT for example. But remember, it’s not only you aiming for the job – there are Indians, Philipinos, Chinese and people from all over the world eying the same seat.
  

Bottom line: migration these days is not a dream come true. Its more like a dream with a nightmare in the middle. Expect a lot of hard work and effort once you arrive in Australia, things aren’t as easy as they used to be. Besides, the laws are getting tougher and tougher, the processing is getting tighter and tighter – its becoming increasingly difficult to migrate these days.

That said, there are also a few great attractions that Australia offers. A fabulously laid-back lifestyle that fits our “islander” attitude (in comparison to the rest of the West), the kangaroo passport and great schools for the kids. Most of all, its worth paying 1/3 or more of your income as taxes – the social care system will keep you alive when you are old and lonely, and too weak to fetch a glass of water for yourself.

Life-cycle of Banda and the Mexican Fisherman

Banda is born in a beautiful village in the paradise, in a traditional home overlooking the paddy-fields and the mountains in the distance.

Banda attends school in the nearby town.

He comes to Colombo for higher education.

A few years later, he finds himself in the West, chasing the “American” dream or its equivalent.

A yuppie, with a great job, caught-up in the rat-race.

Passport. Family. House. Car. Kids.

And the time passes by. Kids grow up and they leave home as Banda retires.

He’s tired of the hustle and bustle and comes back home to Sri Lanka seeking serendipity in his old-age.

And decides to spend a quiet, retired life, away from it all.

Banda spends his hard-earned dollars to buy a plot of land in a beautiful village and builds a traditional house, overlooking the paddy-fields and the mountains in the distance.

‘Mrs. Claus is a right fine Woman’ aka ‘Booze or Fags’ Part ii

She knows I feel weary from lugging my sack,
So, bless her – she fetches that famous blue pack,
An’ says to me: “Santa – just fill up your briar,
An’ set yourself down in this chair by the fire!”

...reads an old Edgeworth tobacco advertisement from the bygone era.

Believe it or not, tobacco was promoted as the ideal Christmas Gift, their spokesperson being none other than the man in the red suit, himself. Some of the cigarettes, like Old Golds claimed that they were “less irritating, or easier on the throat, or contains less nicotine...” and that “conclusion was established on evidence by the United States Government.”

“Quickest way to a Man’s heart” reads the headline in a 1940’s White Owl Cigar ad that shows a pretty bimbo on Santa’s lap. “He’ll purr like a kitten when he tastes their rich Havana flavour... watch him beam with joy at their mellow mildness...” reads the body copy.

In addition to advertising, smoking was promoted by the medical community in the beginning – often recommended to pregnant women as well as patients with hypertension, to calm their nerves. From health, to fashion, to bonding, to taste – tobacco ads promoted smoking as THE thing to do in the good old days, and these claims were sometimes backed by ‘scientific evidence.’

A few decades later, most of those who ran such ads lost millions in law suits – and the tables turned.

Smoking is harmful to your health. And we know it. And yes, there is scientific evidence – more credible than the US Govt data above.

Going back to the question where this rambling began, is smoking socially acceptable?

My answer, Nope. Smoking is not socially acceptable, heavy or not. But, that’s doesn’t mean I’m against smoking.

A cigarette is your best friend. Specially when you are blue. I have watched cigarettes burn away – one millimeter by millimeter in the longest, darkest nights of my life. Trust me when I say this: A cigarette IS your best friend, no one could’ve taken its place.

A cigarette is all you need. In the crazy, demanding world of advertising, sometimes all you need is a smoke to stimulate your gray cells and find that illusive ‘idea’ that’s been hovering around you. Viola! A Breakthrough.

A cigarette is an ice breaker. How many times have I, and of course many thousands of others all over the world, piggy-backed on a cigarette to approach a pretty lass and break in to a conversation? Tough life for non-smokers – a chewing gum doesn’t work the same.

A cigarette is the ultimate. There’s this story about a Russian chick who drank for the first time, ended up in some bloke’s bed and lost her virginity. She wakes up in the morning and comes to her senses, quite shocked at herself, reaches for the bloke’s cigarettes in disbelief, and lights one up. Realising what she has done, she suddenly screams: “Oh my God, oh my God, if my mother only knows that I’m smoking a cigarette..!”

A cigarette demands respect. Yours truly – a father of two – still doesn’t light up a cigarette in front of his mother.

A cigarette keeps you warm inside. Have you ever been stuck in the middle of nowhere, freezing? A coffee is a good substitute, but you cannot have a coffee in your pocket; plus you can’t have them one after the other.

A cigarette is fashionable. Just ask anyone who smokes. Or look at the brands that sell “slims” or “100’s” – or the “tips” and accessories that go in to any woman’s or man’s wardrobe. Or look at the success of “Zippo” – it says it all.

A cigarette is a great leveller. I have turned many a volatile situation in my favour by simply offering a cigarette.

A cigarette is worth a lot more than its value in rupees. Ask the guys who get parking spots in my building.

A cigarette is for everyone. It knows no gender, race, age, disability or anything of that sort that divides and discriminates the human race.

A cigarette is for every where. You could take a cigarette for a walk, to the park, or to the beach, have it in the car, out of the car – just about anywhere. You can’t take your tea, or the booze along the same way, could you?

A cigarette takes away the tension. No wonder it was recommended to pregnant women.

A cigar or a pipe makes you look intelligent. There is an aura of intelligence that emanates from the smoke – especially if it is a black and white family portrait.

A cigar makes you look very sexy. I’m thinking female, blonde, blue eyes, Martini, black stilettos. Get the picture?

Cigarette is the best invention of the mankind. Totally useless, completely hazardous to one’s health but sells in millions everyday all over the world, even without a word of advertising – amidst various bans and counter-promotive measures. Now, top that, Einstein.

Smoking, is an art. Just like the Wines, Whiskeys, Coffees, Cheese and the lot, the art of smoking is to be mastered. The islanders only know the taste of local virginia flavour, but there’s a fine tobacco for every mood, taste, and the occasion. From cigarettes to cigars to pipe-blends and rolio’s; the art of smoking can only be mastered by trying out the various blends and origins – not by reading in the books. There’s hardly any tobacconists in our town, what a pity.

Tobacco is part of our heritage. Rothman’s, one of the oldest British brands ventured in to the international arena starting from Ceylon at the beginning of the century. They opened a factory in Ceylon in 1935; which was unfortunately shut in two years due to shortage of staff. Today, we export “Thanshers” cigars to few select countries – that’s the only remaining legacy of the tobacco industry.

From the distant tribes of Africa, to the Arabs who smoke “shiisha” or the hubbley-bubbley, smoking is a communal affair. We love company, and the company is brought to life by the booze and the smokes, largely. As long as the company enjoys a smoke, I do not see anything wrong with someone smoking – heavily or otherwise. Only rule, remember the smoke travels and affects people around you, unlike alcohol.

Having said that, here’s my epilogue: Smoke, if you must, at your own will and at your own risk. Try not to be an addict, because smoking kills – 27,000 in my island and a staggering 5.4 million throughout the world, every year.

Images from“Not a Cough in a Carload” online exhibit curated by Dr. Robert Jackler, Stanford University. Permission Pending.

In Response to ‘Booze or Fags?’

“What’s more acceptable and tolerable? Being a heavy drinker, a heavy smoker, a bit of both or a teetotaler?”

Mathawaada asks in a recent post.

As the quote suggests, the islanders are a bit “heavy” on their drinking and smoking, and they do not seem to know their limits. We gather around a table by the beach-side and order a bottle. Heck, there’s only two of us, but we still start with a bottle. Then we call our friends to join in. And we order another bottle, and another... until they close shop or the till the sunrise warms our cold butts.

There is no way one could spend an entertaining evening with his buddies drinking plain tea and eating kimbula banis in this paradise. One plain-tea (and a cigarette perhaps); and there will be the waiter slapping the bill on the table and hovering around, worse than the flies that usually occupy the said “hotel” table.

We have an almost zero coffee culture, no hang-out joints and there are no nice Virgins in Colombo for hours and hours of tête-à-tête. Nice Virgin Stores, with lounges, I mean. The rare chill-out joints would be ‘giving the look’ once they see that the time we spent justifies the coffee(s) we bought. Even the Galle Face Promenade has lost its glory, it isn’t a nice hangout anymore.

Where could people like us spend some quality time in peace with the gang?

The only place that welcomes anyone with open arms is a joint that sells alcohol. So we get there and start with a bottle – by default. The moment one has had his first sip, he is in a dilemma. If one is going to get caught drunk, it might as well be worth it, right? So why stop at a quick drink, why not go all the way? Same result: expect trouble from the cops (if one is driving) and trouble from the home-front, both alike, in equal doses.

Besides, hendello’s, fish fingers and the seafood rice are a class apart from kimbula banis, anyway.

It’s nothing else but our social “standards and norms,” our habits and attitudes that contribute to a culture that drinks by the bottle. We don’t allow small shots at home, so we tend to go for large bottles out of home. People don’t order a “round of drinks” in Paradise, and we seem to think that only sissies drink by the glass.

So one drinks by the bottle and he gets drunk. He gets drunk, and he is a menace. Period.

Drinking isn’t bad. Its just the “style” of drinking in paradise that elevates it to a problem. Put that in advertising lingo, consumption of alcohol isn’t a bad concept; it’s the execution that sucks.

People all over the world have a glass of alcohol before, during, or after many a meal. It could be the beer that accompanies the chips, or the wine that compliments the bread and the cheese. Or the mug of “Kvaas” that sits in the middle of the communist soup kitchen. The French consume cheese by the truckloads and still have no cholesterol problems like us, and they owe it to the wines. Yes, there is scientific evidence.

The Black Label Centenary Edition even had the nutritional information printed on the bottle – making it one of the healthiest drinks in the world – in comparison with most beverages that are deemed harmless. See the irony?

Anything beyond moderation (heavy) is a menace, not only alcohol.

One could drive a car after having a glass of wine or a beer in countries that have understood the meaning of the word “moderation.” We, the islanders of paradise who practice and preach Buddhism that’s build on moderation, has no clue what it means; and get pissed-drunk and end up in trouble. Day after day. To the point where our good women wouldn’t marry a man who “drinks and smokes” – even occasionally.

Blame yourself, not the alcohol. Alcohol isn’t a cure for boredom, a solver of problems or a diet. Alcohol isn’t a career – and don’t make one out of it either. My appreciation of alcohol can be found in an earlier post here, if one is looking for some entertaining read.

So, going back – my simple answer the original question: no one tolerates a “heavy” drinker. Not even his own mother. And “heavy” drinking is NOT socially acceptable – not even in a colony of drunks.

On the other hand, drinking in moderation is quite acceptable, and it is quite ok for a “lady” to have a drink or two too. There is a whole culture – an art, almost – based on consumption of alcohol, extending from choosing the wine to fit the menu, to how to hold the glass. A drinking etiquette for the ladies and gents – to drink in a civilised manner.

Knowing your whiskeys and wines are an art; so is the cocktail culture. If you know how to serenade your lover in an elegant style with a fine bottle of French wine, you are a Winner. If you know your way around fixing shots and have mastered the artistry of having them (including the one where the shot is placed in a woman’s cleavage and lifting her up to gulp it), you are a friggin’ champion..!

So, here I raise my glass to the fine art of drinking.

Cheers!!!

PS: My two cents on smoking to follow. Soon.

Ho, ho, ho..!

It’s Christmas eve and I’m all alone in my apartment, in a country where Christmas doesn’t exist. I look out of the window, and see the streets – just like any other day.

No Christmas lights, no decor and it looks like April – or any other regular month of the year. Nothing special, except for the many Christmas movies playing on almost every satellite channel. It’s Christmas, everywhere else... but not here.

This year, there is no tree in my living room but there’s a Santa’s hat on my Facebook portrait.

At the office, we were talking about Christmas in various parts of the world where we come from and how we spent it last year.

I was home. And there was a tree. And there were presents. And there were my happy bunnies.

Things have changed ever since. Tonight, I’m gonna “watch” Christmas. Alone.

Tomorrow, we will roast a halal-slaughtered lamb and celebrate “Christmas” in Arabic style, in the desert, with all my multi-cultural friends. Yes, Christmas, Arabic Style. And I’m a Buddhist.

As for the booze, I’m gonna catch-up when I arrive in my paradise isle in 10 days...

Well, merry Christmas everyone!

I want to go to Heaven one day, Unroasted.

There was a fire in the Lucky Plaza building.

I was once at a Fire Drill at the Colombo Hilton, a good 15 years ago. The alarm went off, and the Fire Department arrived at the scene in around five minutes. Quite impressive timing, for us, the silly lankans. Everything went according to the plan and the only thing remaining to complete the drill was to rescue a trapped “victim” from one of the Executive Floors.

The Fire Brigade ladder starts reaching up, and up, and up... till it stretches to the max. The ladder couldn’t reach beyond the 6th floor, and the “victim” was another good 5 floors away.

Houston, We Have a Problem!

We had a hearty laugh and walked away, thanking our stars that it was only a drill.

The Colombo skyline has changed much ever since. The World Trade Centre dominates the Echelon Square, majestically rising above both the Hilton and the Bank of Ceylon. There is another cluster of high-rises around the former Oberoi. The horizon behind the Beira Lake is fast changing too, from the Hilton Residence to the many high-rises in the making. From the sea-side to Battaramulla, there are many residential and commercial towers dotted around the landscape.

We are not big on International Standards in Fire Safety and Prevention. Many high-rises in Colombo have their own construction snags still unresolved and buried under paperwork. My apartment building has no emergency stairway; the two stairways are inside the building and not accessible from outside in an emergency. It has a sprinkler system and hydrants in place, but I have never seen them being tested in the three years that I lived there. Most buildings do not have smoke detectors or sprinklers, even though the apartments are sold at prices on par with the West.

Not to mention our ignorance and habits. We love to park our vehicles, keep garbage bins and potted plants blocking “the empty” fire points. We hate brushed-metal and aluminum; we love teak and mahogany. Expensive wood decorate our humble residences, from the entrance to the bed-post – lacquered and well-varnished! We don’t throw old newspapers and magazines; we collect them. We store plastic bags and containers, even though there’s nothing to store in them. We keep gas cylinders in the kitchen, with another new-cylinder by the side as a back-up!

What if, I mean what if, there is a massive fire in one of those high-rises?

Our Colombo Municipal Council Fire Brigade has no equipment to reach the highest floor of the tallest building in the city. Leave aside the highest floor of the tallest building, I wonder if they could still reach beyond the 6th floor of the Colombo Hilton.

Given the large number of high-rises mushrooming in and around Colombo, isn’t it time we had a well equipped Fire Brigade that’s up-to-date and capable of addressing the need? Ideally, with an air-rescue wing, if they were to keep up with the man’s desire to reach the skies...

We all love the high-life, closer to the clouds. But I’m sure we would love to reach the heaven one day, but in good shape – unroasted.

Right?

Dubai Kids discovering Sri Lanka

My son was six, and my daughter was three – too small to remember her previous visits – when we left Dubai for good. We arrived at the airport early in the morning and drove to my sister’s place in Colombo suburbs. It was a pleasant morning – the sun shining and the birds chirping... as usual.

The car enters the house, the doors open, and kids jump out. Elisha starts running around the garden screaming in sheer delight: “jungle... jungle... we are in a jungle...!”

She was shocked and pleasantly surprised by the lush green, and the beauty that is Sri Lanka.

As time went by, they began to see the ‘real’ world. Discovering, exploring, au naturalé.

And they gradually realised that:

• mangoes didn’t actually grow in supermarkets in boxes. They grew in trees – throwing a stick or a stone to pluck some is a whole lot of fun.

• however colourful they may be, plasticine or modelling clay is not fun. The mud patch by the paddy-field is the real deal.

• even though they are big, one can actually feed a cow, they don’t bite or chase kids.

• the wrinkled, toothless and fragile creatures are not monsters from cartoons, they are actually sweet old people – just like their grand parents.

• the big-grey animals browsing the paddy fields are buffaloes, not elephants.

• baby elephants at Pinnawela would not fit in to a shopping bag they took from home.

• the dirty and exhausted-looking kids on the street are not retuning from a game of football. That IS the natural look of a homeless child.

• being a poor kid living on the street is sad. Not getting a new toy every month, isn’t.

• not every stone that shines is a gem and exchanging their toys for these “gems” is not a very good idea.

• the “river of gems” (menik ganga) is flowing with water, not gems.

• its fun to eat with fingers.

• you can build a “spider hotel” with some strings in the bush, but spiders still prefer their natural habitats.

• the rain is not a once-a-year affair.

• lizards cannot survive for long in a plastic bucket under the bed.

• geckos climb walls, but crocodiles don’t climb trees.

• mice are like people, they follow their footpath. Just like Ratatouille.

• language is no barrier when it comes to having a good time with other kids – it doesn’t really matter if you are Sinhala, Tamil, Muslim or multi-racial.

• Pokemon cards have no value for kids in Bandarawela.

• one could feed the monkeys without actually putting them in a cage.

• Sinhala-Hindu new year traditions are so much fun, especially if the money is good.

• it’s good to have a large family, specially if there are many cousins to play with.

• Thomas the Tank Engine is not a fairy-tale, trains do exist and not everyone travels in a car.

There’s an aura of surrealism that surrounds Dubai; making it a materialistic-heaven for those who are driven by their dreams. Dubai is attractive; but it’s a bubble that warps one’s perception of the real world. No poor or the aged, no sick people in the vicinity – pretty much like Prince Siddhartha’s life before the Great Departure. Too clean, too organised, too good to be true. Compared to Dubai, our island paradise is more conducive to children and their upbringing, no amount of money could change that I suppose.

So, this is Christmas!

Lady Divine takes a look back at her 2008 and Sach the one follows. He tags me, and inspires me to go public with my recap on 2008.

So here goes:

• Completed three years of separation from Gestapo.

• Got my SL driving licence suspended for a month. Yep, suspended, for abusing a stupid cop.

• Registered a business enterprise in my name. But never managed to get it going the way I wanted.

• Designed a house by the riverside for my pretty neighbour.

• Put my arm around Ranil W and lectured him on how to run his affairs. I was drunk.

• Drove to Kataragama every weekend for almost three months.

• Experienced a Hollywood-style car-chase and a rescue, when my son was almost kidnapped by Gestapo (my ex) on his way back from school. Six hours, three police stations, one Army Check point, three Vehicles. Lived the adrenalin rush to the max.; and I won.

• Got the divorce. My cousin gives his two cents to G and tells her not to f*around in OUR country.

• Got stuck in the longest ever traffic jam – driving an old cab with a bad clutch for over three hours. It felt like forever and my ankle has never endured such agony.

• Fed the crows from my balcony every day. The hobby lasted until Prima Bread went up in price.

• Agreed to let go of the kids for their own benefit, while keeping the right for custody.
  Experienced the epitome of sadness and emptiness in my entire life.

• Moved to Sydney, Australia.

• Felt very sad to leave the gang behind, and felt sad to leave SL for the first time.

• Saw parts of the vast expanse the aboriginal girls covered in the “Rabbit-Proof Fence” in my own two eyes.

• Met some of my prep-school friends, after sooooo many years and wondered how did they become fat, ugly, “uncles.”

• Travelled a lot. Inside and outside the Paradise isle.

• Took up an offer with Drive/Dentsu, and relocated to Saudi Arabia.

• I was in love. Still am.

• Decided to get married, again. Next year. Yes, to the pretty neighbour above.

• Wore a borrowed-sarong in public in for the first time, to appear in the Tissa Courts to bail-out my prospective brother-in-law who was caught with 5 grams of herbs.

• Switched my loyalty from BBC to CNN.

• Ate at the biggest Pizza-Hut outlet in the World.

• Did an amazing trip to Vavuniya.

• Made many new friends, online and offline. Amongst them, some Saudi females.

• Saw women in Bikini’s in Jeddah.
  

And I’m still intact. I know 2009 is gonna be the greatest year in my life!

Sex Sells

Nothing could be as boring as a man’s underwear. Unlike the feminine variety, men’s undies are considered a mere a basic requirement, without any frills or fancies. It’s a necessity which we’d like to do without occasionally, underneath a Barefoot sarong. Aaah... the joy of free-wheeling, aka air-conditioning the assets.

A pal of mine also mastered a clever(?) way to make them last longer between washes, by wearing them inside out. Thank god he doesn’t wear them from the head like the sarong.

As everything evolves, there has been a bit of excitement in this department too, up to the point where there are G-Strings for men. I guess the silks, laces, ribbons and bows would take a while – but I wouldn’t be surprised if they are already there with the gay marriages being legal et al.

From the traditional G-String (amudey) to the classic “luncket” with a buckle and a coin pocket in the ‘70’s, to the male-thong, the Paradise isle too has evolved; and now, we boys too could make a fashion statement in the bedroom, finally. But, we still don’t think of our undies are sexy; we still don’t call them “intimate apparels” and they are a far cry from the ones that the fairer-sex wears – not even close to their sexy little numbers that make us skip a beat...

Having said that, I didn’t think a men’s underwear ad could be exciting and sexy until I saw this campaign from a Danish Ad Agency for JBS. Titled “sniff” the 2007 Campaign comes from &Co, Copenhagen. Not surprisingly, their follow-up campaign in 2008 didn’t look this brilliant, except of course, for the sexy model who decorated the page.

Here’s the campaign for your entertainment. My advice, let your imagination take over:

Being a Single-dad in Colombo

An alarmingly high percentage of my friends are divorced and the rate seems to be going up. Having been a single-father raising two kids in Colombo, I have learnt a bit about life-at-large for a single-dad the hard way.

Here are some 15 Useful Points to Ponder before you decide to untie the knot if you plan to live in Colombo after divorce:

1. Get divorced, don’t take the kids. Your kids will think you are an arse, and the estranged ex will think you are worse. Trust me its better to let go of the kids and watch your heart fall to pieces than to fight a system that doesn’t support single-fathers.

2. Rent an apartment, not a house. Never tell the landlord you are divorced when renting. Ideally, take along one of your best female friends and let them assume that you are a happy family. Better yet, take your mother along.

3. Image is important: You are not divorced; its just that your wife is overseas. When you take off to Kandalama or Hikkaduwa for the Sinhala Hindu New Year, tell everyone you are going overseas for a quick trip. That way, the elusive wife doesn’t have to show up for another good year.

4. Never attend the kids’ PTA meetings alone. Its torture, torment and bad memories from our school days, all put together in a two-hour slot that feels like eternity. Again, take your best female friend – she will enjoy the rumours later, and you will enjoy the attention.

5. You can’t keep a maid if there are no women living in the household. If there are women living in the household, you don’t need a maid. That’s Catch 22 personified for you.

6. Start an affair. The society will think that you are less-likely to rape their wives and sisters and you will be classified “Safe to be With.” If not, you’ll have to pretend that you are gay. The choice is yours.

7. You don’t attract women if you walk around with two gorgeous kids. There are no proper parks in Colombo where pretty females go jogging – that only happens in Hollywood, in the movies.

8. Have dinner early, ideally pickup something on your way home. Late dinner means driving all the way to Pilawoos; and pumping gas for 500 rupees when the meal costs much less. Better yet, pick up some food and a six-pack of Beer so that you could have beer and forget the food – and still be within budget.

9. Learn to cook, it will certainly help. You could start with the “bites” that go with the beer. See 8 above.

10. There are no “Single’s Soups” or any “Single-Serve” heat ‘n eat stuff on Keells shelves. Except for some cheap, tasteless alternative.

11. Maintain a healthy lifestyle. Get someone to sleep-over and party like a rock-star after the kids go to sleep. Friday night is the best, because you don’t have to do the breakfast and snack boxes for the kids the next morning.

12. Greet the traffic cop at the gate when dropping the kids off to school. He might be the same guy stopping you on Havelock Road when you are driving back from Zanzibar at 2.00 in the morning, well marinated.

13. Be generous. Let the kids spend the weekend at your mother’s, sister’s or the friends.’ And, you could spend the weekend in someone else’s house.

14. Cops might knock on your door at 3.00 am on their regular rounds and wonder where the woman of the house is, when they see the kids. Improvise and have fun, they must be idiots to ask silly questions.

15. Il Gelato has a great range of Ice Cream. Kids will love it, and so will you. Incidentally, pretty women love ice cream too.

Last, but not least: If you are a married male with kids, contemplating divorce – don’t. There must be a way to fix things, unless you are married to a Gestapo.

Remembering Aimless Sex and Senseless Murder

There are some remarkable differences between the animals and the human race. Amongst them, are two things humans do without a purpose or a reason: they indulge in aimless sex and commit senseless murder. Humans are the only species to kill their own, without a justifiable cause.

Since there are many interesting blogsites that talk about the former, I shall stick to the latter.

Today, November the 11th, is the 90th anniversary of the end of the World War I. Known as the Remembrance Day in the Commonwealth, and Armistice Day in many other countries – the day is named after the armistice signed between the Allied Forces and Germany in France, where over 40,000 men were sent to death wave after wave in just one day. The day is still remembered by all those who felt the loss of nearly 20 million lives in that war. For the rest of us, it’s a special day to remember the War Veterans world over.

Be it the Poppy Flower, or the local rendition – sooriya mal – the natives of this island paradise too remember their fallen men and women on this special day. It is also a moment to remember the innocent, unarmed civilians who have lost their lives in LTTE ethnic cleansing, genocide and terror attacks – starting from Kent Farm and Dollar Farm, to recent bus-bombs all over the country.

This is a day for me to remember all those brave men in the front-line, including some of my dear friends, who gave their lives to protect the integrity of this nation. This is a moment to appreciate the sacrifices the military is making to relieve the nation from the grip of senseless terror and their relentless effort to get rid of the 25 year old menace that has crippled our economy, ruined our nation and destroyed our future.

This post also pays a special tribute to my best, and the dearest friend in the Air Force and my college-mates who are currently serving in the Navy and the Army. Its a special time to cherish the many moments we have shared and the many memories we have built in some of the most interesting and not-so-civil places in the country. It is also a moment to reflect on my life, wondering if I truly regret the decision I took to walk away from a prospective military life.

This country desperately needs to see an end to the War and LTTE’s barbaric atrocities. As the Sri Lankan forces condemn terrorists to an imminent defeat, the country could finally breathe a sigh of relief and feel the sweet smell of success in the air. For once, the government has not fallen prey to the “ceasefire-calls” from the terrorists that usually end in catastrophic military carnage. Lasting peace may not be as near, but eliminating LTTE terrorism would certainly pave the way for a long-term solution through political dialogue.

While we offer our support and encouragement to those who are in the battle front, we also offer prayers for those brave men and women whose guns have gone silent in the name of my motherland: may your souls rest in peace.