“She probably can’t afford…”*
“She probably can’t afford a home in Colombo”
You mean me?
Yes, I can’t afford a home in Colombo.
But my family did. For generations,
about 4 to be exact
They afforded homes in Colombo 7, 8
All of them. Gifts from parents, siblings, endowments
All that jazz
Some may foolishly call this aristocracy
To own land, money and some purported ideal of a name
What is in a name? What is in a legacy?
Nothing much really. Pure nostalgia and romance.
Good for a Mills & Boon or Danielle Steele.
But back to present times.
I am very happy I no longer live in Colombo.
It’s been denigrated to ‘C7’
By the likes of you who don’t know where the hell you come from
Or where the hell you’re gonna go
Yet you tout an address, a name, fame as something worthy
Sad, really.
I prefer my present hole, away from the perverse Cinnamon Gardens cops
The kudu karayas who mug people in daylight
Who steal gas cylinders, laptops & heirloom jewels
Who are never caught
But hey, the address matters no?
Especially when you’re a nobody trying to be a somebody
You will follow the circle of life and eventually come to where I am
A realisation in the fallacy of touted & spouted crap
From insecure people trying to put ‘aristocracy’ on their lap
*Wrote this poem as a response to sentiments expressed that I probably cannot afford a home in Colombo, I am not from Colombo etc. when I called out Colombo in a Facebook post, for their apathy during these times in Sri Lanka, where classism is reigning over basic humanity and decency.
