You Should Learn How To Say It

So the Great Replacement Theorists had a bad day today, when we all woke up in our different time zones to the news that young Mr. Z. Mamdani had been elected Mayor of New York City. In contrast to them, I’m so happy about this that all my sentences are sounding poetic.

He first got my attention because his main competitor Mr. Cuomo seemed to find it difficult to pronounce his surname. He said, rhythmically like a rapper, ‘The name is Mamdani. M. A. M. D. A. N.I. You should learn how to say it.’ Having one’s name mispronounced is a micro aggressive discourtesy that all immigrants experience, and it’s at the heart of the multicultural culture that New Yorkers exemplify. If you meet me, and my name is unfamiliar, and my face is different, and my history is different from yours, if you want to get to know me, as I am, not as a stereotype, or a caricature, ask me: ‘How should I pronounce your name?’ It’s a first step. Extend to me some grace, and some respect, and some empathy. We can build a civilization on that.

Mamdani has been elected against every attempt to discredit and challenge his right to try to represent the citizens of the most famous City in the USA. As a recent citizen, naturalized in 2018, and born of immigrant parents on both sides, from South Asia and Africa, his electoral success threatens the white supremacist narrative which is being aggressively pursued by the current US administration.

Specifically, his election is triggering those who fear that Muslims are taking over leadership positions in Western countries, as part of a systematic and long planned global takeover in which long marginalized minority people in settler/colonising countries assert that ‘their time has come’. In fact, those very words were part of Mamdani’s campaign slogan. In his case, he successfully converted the ‘Our’ in ‘Our Time Has Come’ to include the majority of people whose vote he needed. They identified themselves with his campaign goals.

Ironically, he has appealed to the same demographic in NYC that Trump appealed to in the broader USA - the disenfranchised, and those who felt disillusioned and disempowered by traditional politics; those who felt they were being disinvited - not included - in the benefits and rewards of the glorious American Dream, and who could increasingly not afford to live in ‘the greatest City in the world’.

He has alchemical qualities - he has successfully transformed his perceived liabilities into assets: his youth and relative inexperience, his ethnic minority status in a majoritarian Anglo European trending social system, and his socialist principles in a country which worships capitalism, and in which social inequality is becoming rigid, in violation of the democratic values it proclaims.

He ran a positive campaign, believing New Yorkers deserved better representation. He contrasted strongly with Cuomo, who has several charges of sexual assault and harassment of women against him. Mamdani stated that if that was what ‘experience’ looked like, he did not want it. Nor did he want the experience of causing hardship and devastation to citizens through bad policies and choices, as Cuomo did during Covid. He said: ‘I did not do this and this and this - because I am not you, Mr. Cuomo’. It was a litany of accountability, to which hardened and cynical legacy political campaigners had not been subjected for years, if ever.

Instead of being driven around in sedans, behind shaded glass windows, Mamdani walked, escorted to his speech venues by crowds of supporters, ordinary citizens, revelling in populism which looked humane and attractive, for a change. Many societies in the world have been drifting towards unconcern, indifference and cruelty towards their most vulnerable citizens in recent years. Supremacist ideas, based in historical injustice and ignoble beliefs, have been resorted to by many, as a way of finding some sense of certainty in a time of disruption. If a sense of security means insulating oneself from others, and differentiating between those who have social capital and those who have not, that has been the chosen path. We see this in the dehumanization of ‘those who do not belong in our country/city/neighbourhood’, ‘who are not one of us’, ‘whose values are different from ours.’

I suggest it’s not race appeal that Mamdani embodies but gender empathy: a more equitable and effective courtesy towards women, who have been the great losers in politics in the past decades. It is frankly astonishing that men who have historically gone on record, both verbally and in their gross conduct, disrespecting women and girls, have had the brazen audacity to repeatedly present themselves for election. It is a disgrace to be represented politically by people who we would not feel safe with, whether inviting them to our own home or being invited to theirs. Mamdani represents a generation with progressive views, which does not reduce women to the status of tradwives, subordinates, objects or toys.

It has been a dangerous time. People have been manipulated into thinking their choices are limited, and that they should be grateful to occupy the margins of other people’s wealth and success, and become a designated underclass, devalued and dependent on the whims of those in power, their rights eroded. Performative politics has taken the stage, and the word ‘unprecedented’ has become a euphemism for the overthrow of democracy and decency, both in principle and in process. But let us remember the 5th of November. It’s a turning point.

And it’s a welcome change. Imagine if he is not a Trojan horse but a real and inclusive leader, whose focus is not on self enrichment but on building self worth, self respect, human dignity and community. We have not seen such a one for so long, we may find it hard to recognise when he does come. We may find it hard to pronounce or spell his name.

So we should learn how to say it.

Devika Brendon’s Novel ‘Aversion;’ Navigating Contemporary Sri Lanka, Seeking Calm in the Storm

Devika Brendon is an academic, teacher, reviewer and editor of English Literature whose first novel ‘Aversion’ was recently published. She is also a creative writer of poetry and prose, and her poems and short stories, and journalistic essays and articles, have been widely published in anthologies and journals in both print and digital media. In this exclusive e-mail interview with the Daily FT, Devika shares a wide array of thoughts, ranging from publishing her novel in multiple formats to her routine as an author.

What inspired the idea for your novel ‘Aversion’? 

The novel started in 2016/17 as a series of outbursts, which gradually became tempered into observations about contemporary Sri Lanka. Culture shock was part of it, as I had grown up in a different country; but I arrived – as it turned out – just at the start of a particularly challenging and turbulent time in the island’s history. So, the short pieces I jotted down were ways of venting and processing all the surges of response I was experiencing, to all the new complexities around me. But although they were standalone pieces, I began to see common patterns and threads tying them together.

I researched Dante’s three books, ‘The Inferno’, ‘Purgatorio’ and ‘Paradiso,’ explored Buddhist and Hindu mythology and spiritual beliefs and practices, and found Carl Muller’s novel ‘Colombo’ very inspiring. I was trying to work out how a person would navigate this world without becoming caught in the tumult of it. The artist who designed the cover captured this idea perfectly.

‘Aversion’ means several things. It means primarily the oppositional stance that many people feel compelled to take, especially these days, where interpersonal conflict is everywhere. We have hostility towards the society we live in, and the people we deal with. And we feel constantly triggered. Taking an instant dislike to someone, hating something on sight, snap judgments, quick dismissal of another’s dignity, rights and inherent humanity, are all examples of this. ‘Aversion’ is actually one of the ‘3 Poisons’ that afflict humanity, according to Buddhist doctrine. It can also be read as ‘A version’, meaning recognising that each human being has their own perspective, or version of reality, to which they are very committed. That recognition is the beginning of empathy, and compassion, the bridging virtues, which are the remedies for aversion, which sets us at odds with each other.

Can you share with us one of your favourite scenes/lines in your novel ‘Aversion.’

 Possibly my favourite scene in the novel occurs towards the end of the story, in Chapter 26, the long final chapter, in a subtitled section called ‘Firewall’. The protagonist, an investigative journalist called Clementine, remembers an incident in which her niece, whom she adores, aged four years old, had climbed onto a high windowsill, and suddenly thrown herself into her arms without any warning. The shock of that moment, and the sense of relief that she was there, and able to stand firm in that moment, led the character to make an emotional link with the tragic recent deaths of young people in Colombo, which were being reported in the papers at the end of 2024.

The motif of the lotus, national flower of Sri Lanka, was an important symbol in the book, in various key scenes, and I nearly removed these references after the death of the student [the suicide widely reported on media] at the Lotus Tower last year. It was really heartbreaking.

What made you publish ‘Aversion’ in multiple formats (i.e. print, e-book form and audio book)? 

‘Aversion’ is an experimental novel, in many ways. It’s pluralist in form, incorporating prose fiction, journalistic style opinion pieces, poetry, and diary jottings. And it seems to me to be a novel which has a certain soundscape to it: reading the sentences aloud adds textures and dimensions to the incidents and images. It’s also an intergenerational book, in that people of all ages seem to find it interesting. The older readers and traditionalist book lovers like the printed form; but many people like to read in digital format on their tablets or phones, so we did an e-book version and released it on the Kobo site; and I did some voice recordings of the first and last chapters, which people really loved. So, we are looking into doing an audio version too.

As you write both poetry and fiction, do you find yourself going back and forth between the two genres? 

During lockdown, I wrote a lot of poetry. It was such a hugely disrupted period: everything felt unanchored and unmoored, and the lyrical intensity of poetry was easier to formulate, to capture discontinuous moments in time. For prose writing, particularly a novel, I found it challenging to develop sequential rhythms and continuing character arcs and storylines. I have written several short stories and even a play, but never a full novel, prior to this. And it’s a very didactic novel in some ways, and the characters needed to mediate that for the reader.

To me, the difference between writing poetry and prose is the difference between a fireworks explosion and the slow, subtle unfolding of a lily. One needs pressure. The other needs time.

Do you have a writing/editing routine?

 My writing routine is now very satisfying. I spend the first half of the day intaking information from various sources, cogitating, pondering, and then flowing into writing. I don’t take calls or get into chats in that early part of the day. Or I try not to. It’s an introspective period. Whatever appointments I have, I try to set for the early afternoon. Then in the evening, I come out of my shell, and am more social and outgoing. But I try to get to sleep early. I love sunrises, and like to see them. I have friends in different time zones, so that means someone somewhere is usually up for a chat at any time. I very much revel in the interconnectedness of our digital, technologised world!

Finally, what are your future plans as an author? 

 I have absolutely loved writing this book, and I have several more in draft, all in different genres. While ‘Aversion’ is a medley of genres, the others are more clearcut. The second one, ‘His Sometime Daughter’, is set in ancient Britain, and is a revisionist historical tale; the third, ‘Largesse,’ has a plus size heroine dealing with a narrowing world, and is set in 1990s Australia; ‘Hard to Love’ is a full blown romance story set in Iceland; and ‘Black Death’ is a thriller set in London and the cut throat world of real estate. I’ve decided to let the stories show me the way, and take me where they want me to go!

‘Aversion’ is available for sale in Sri Lanka.

There are physical printed copies of Aversion available, several of them signed by the author, at the office of Jam Fruit Tree Publications, Colombo 3 (https://thejamfruittree.com/). Purchases made online can be delivered locally.


To purchase the e-book, please visit the following link:

https://www.kobo.com/ww/en/ebook/aversion-2

The audio version of ‘Aversion’ will be available soon.

Devika Brendon’s Aversion

Devika Brendon’s Aversion is a fearless literary debut that defies genre and convention. A longtime academic, teacher and editor of English Literature, Brendon steps into fiction with the same sharp empathy and intellectual rigor that have long defined her work. Blending satire, magical realism, poetry, journalism and diary, Aversion follows a disillusioned investigative journalist navigating a fractured Sri Lanka, one far removed from the postcard paradise often portrayed abroad. With each fragmented chapter, Brendon’s protagonist confronts both public disorder and private turmoil, slowly moving from cynicism to clarity. The novel’s nonlinear structure mirrors the disjointed nature of life in a nation caught between collapse and hope. Aversion is more than a critique. It is a reckoning, a meditation on survival, and ultimately, a plea for empathy. In this conversation, Brendon opens up about her writing process, inspirations, and how fiction can challenge complacency and illuminate truth.

“Aversion” began as a series of outbursts. How did those raw expressions evolve into a structured narrative?

Each of the 26 chapters centres on an incident or issue, whether in the news, in public or in a personal setting. The protagonist, an investigative reporter, experiences frustration or bewilderment as she observes these moments. Her role demands constant observation and reporting, but the people she encounters, including social workers, activists and citizens committed to change, gradually challenge her initial aversion. The narrative began to take shape when these secondary characters started having real conversations with her. The book became what is known as a récit, a narrative built from recollection and anecdote. As the story progresses, the protagonist also begins to write poetry and explore her thoughts in more fluid ways. The structure is discontinuous, designed to reflect how life feels in contemporary Sri Lanka, chaotic, intense and fragmented. Drafting added polish, but I wanted to preserve the rawness because sometimes the gloss can obscure the truth.

You draw on Dante, Buddhist and Hindu mythologies, and even Carl Muller’s work. What connects these diverse influences?

The common thread is the journey, each individual navigating their own path through complexity. The title Aversion touches on a key source of suffering, our instinct to avoid pain and uncomfortable truths. In Sri Lanka, as elsewhere, people often mask reality with smooth surfaces. But I wanted to explore what lies beneath, what we don’t say, don’t face or can’t bear. We are interconnected. Our actions and inactions affect others. The book’s sharpest satire targets those who act not just with ignorance but with deliberate callousness. There’s a quote I love: “God lives in the way you don’t look away.” It resonates deeply. It is hard to stay engaged with suffering and cruelty because we are all exhausted. But the best people I know stay connected. They try. That spirit fuels the novel’s moral spine.

You weave together fiction, journalism, poetry and diary. What were the freedoms and the challenges of this hybrid form?

It is definitely a medley. Writing in this form felt like a liberation. It allowed me to portray a protagonist whose growth unfolds in many tones, serious, tender, chaotic, witty. But yes, it might challenge readers expecting a conventional single-tone novel. Aversion is more mosaic than monolith. It is made of coloured fragments, and you need imagination and awareness to piece them together. The hybrid form mirrors real life. We don’t live in one genre. We oscillate between roles, professional, personal, poetic, political.

How do you balance introspection with outward engagement, both in your writing and your daily life?

It is always a struggle, but a necessary one. Extremes don’t help. We must find a rhythm between private reflection and public action. I try to pace myself, to maintain checks and balances. Mindful action is ideal, though spontaneity gives us life. You have to come out of your shell. One doesn’t want to remain a beautiful dreamer forever. Progress, both personal and collective, requires real-world engagement. In that sense, Aversion is also a record of learning to balance these aspects.

Your next books include historical fiction, romance, thrillers and even a children’s series. What drives this genre fluidity?

I am an explorer by nature. I grew up reading across genres with enormous pleasure. Now I want to try expressing my own stories in those fields. The next book is historical fiction, set in King Lear’s Britain, and draws on trauma recovery and interpersonal dynamics. Another is set in the Australia where I grew up. Then there is a love story that travels between Ireland and Iceland, its heroine is named Lara, because her parents loved Dr. Zhivago. I am also working on a satirical thriller set in London’s ruthless property market and adapting a children’s story I wrote years ago into a series. Until now, I have mainly written short stories and poetry. Now I am deeply interested in character development. I want to create people who feel alive, not just like caricatures. The joy is in watching them evolve, how they speak, what they wear, what they will 
do next.

You’ve mentioned the difference between writing short stories and novels. Could you expand on that?

Short stories are like condensed crystals. Every word carries weight. Novels are different. They offer a larger canvas. You have space to let characters unfold and let the story breathe. In a novel, you can explore inner change over time. That’s what fascinated me in Aversion, watching the protagonist move from anger to awareness. The pace and process of change became central to the story.

What has the audience response been like? Have reactions surprised you?

The responses have been deeply moving. Many readers have told me the book jolted them in a good way.
Some highlights:
“Full of dark humor… a wake-up call 
to everyone lulled by the island breeze.”
“It slapped me a few times because 
I saw myself in it and that’s what good 
writing does.”
“It invites confrontation, ‘come at me, bro’ energy, and that’s kind of badass.”
“A very honest portrayal of the dark core of SL beyond the gloss and shine shared 
on SM.”
These reactions reassure me that the novel’s confrontation with truth, however messy or uncomfortable, resonates.

Finally, what do you hope Aversion leaves readers with?

I hope it leaves readers with compassion, with courage and with a willingness to look more deeply at the world, at others and at themselves. Aversion does not pretend to have neat solutions. But it insists on presence, on engagement and on being awake. That is the first step toward healing. And maybe even joy.

Aversion is more than a novel. It is an artistic reckoning. In blending truth with fiction, satire with sincerity, Devika Brendon has created a work that dares readers to see beyond illusion and inertia. It asks difficult questions and offers no easy answers. But in doing so, it illuminates something essential, the power of attention, of honesty and of narrative itself.

Aversion: Navigating A Nation’s Tumultuous Tides

Devika Brendon grew up in a rich literary environment. Her parents shared a deep love for literature, and her late mother, Yasmine Gooneratne, was a renowned Sri Lankan writer and academic. When she and her brother were young, Devika’s mother used to read epic-stirring adventure tales to them, which really got their imagination engaged. “In our house, every room had bookshelves and it was a problem every time we had to move. It was obvious that my parents loved words, and loved literature, and therefore I was also immersed in it,” said Devika. When she was about seven years old, Devika started trying to write by herself. Not many people were doing that at her age, so it was something that her teachers really promoted and encouraged. Today, Devika Brendon is the author of Aversion published by The Jam Fruit Tree Publications. Her poetry, and short stories have been widely published in Australia, India, and Sri Lanka, but this debut novel of hers holds special significance, drawing deeply from the author’s meaningful experiences in Sri Lanka over the past eight years.

“Every single thing in the novel is based on something that actually either happened to me, or that someone trustworthy has told me, or is something that I witnessed happening to other people,” said the author. The protagonist is an investigative reporter who spends her entire time going out and looking at things through the eye of investigative criticism or scrutiny. Her character arrives in Sri Lanka for work, and in the beginning she is seen to be overwhelmed by the chaos. At the beginning of the story, Devika wanted her to be a confronting, hostile and extremely unappealing person. “A journalist is supposed to be unbiased and objective, and any journalist would tell you that this is extremely difficult to do. But it’s part of your training to go past your first emotive response. To step back, look at the big picture, look at the historical context, look at the economic context, and look at all the factors that are happening to the people,” says Devika. ‘Therefore at the beginning, what’s really interesting is that the protagonist is trained that way. But when she comes here, the reality of Sri Lanka throws her and she responds like a child.’

But gradually and slowly, the protagonist begins to engage with people who are doing good work and consciously trying to uplift society. She learns to admire and befriend them. She begins to see beneath the surface of things and starts looking at the causes of why people might be reacting the way they do. She has to set aside her own emotive filter and develop empathy and compassion instead of contempt and judgment. “It takes a while for an interaction to occur, whether it’s between people or between a person and a country. So it takes her a while to start interacting with the country, because she was in a very hostile and defensive position at the beginning. I wanted the readers to be put off by her and then to stay to see her transformation,” says the author.

On a simple level, Devika wanted to see whether anybody feels the way she did. Her intention was to get people to start thinking how Sri Lanka might look, to someone who just met it. Not someone who’s been living here forever and has glossed over it. “That’s where my perspective comes in because I’m an outsider. When I came here, I had culture shock, and I was looking at everything askance, and I was hoping this diasporic perspective would be useful. I’m not an expat, I never intended to return, but I found the whole experience to be very interesting and very revelatory. I also discovered aspects of myself that I never discovered before in Australia,” explained the author.

She feels that as human beings, and particularly in Sri Lanka, we tend to amplify the bad things and add on to all the gossip and news we hear. We tend to add layers upon layers, with our opinions and comments, making things worse and creating a sense of debilitation. But this doesn’t offer remedies or solutions, and it definitely doesn’t offer support to the victims. What the author suggests is that we could rethink this whole cultural attitude. “It’s the same with my protagonist, her voice at the beginning isn’t God’s voice, it’s only her opinion. And her opinion can be flawed and biased, and she is also on a journey of personal growth. This adding-on of trauma when a terrible incident occurs gets amplified over and over again, until it becomes sort of a juggernaut. And afterwards there is this terrible silence,” said Devika. “I was trying to show a story of contemporary Sri Lanka where there is a remedy for the wrong we are witnessing. The remedy doesn’t come from outside us, the remedy comes from each person choosing to decide not to further the offense and to weigh up their cause of action. Are they going to lighten the load or increase it?”

Devika explains how it creates an opportunity for an alternative response, if we can consciously resolve not to get triggered by what is presented to us, and instead observe if there is a pattern, and see if there’s something we could suggest. She also added how blowing issues out of proportion and making the trauma a phenomenon or sensation doesn’t spread awareness about the issue. In fact it does the opposite of it. Awareness requires looking within and deeper and she believes that can’t happen when we are overwhelmed by the noise on social media.

The protagonist in the novel also experiences burnout from writing about these horrifying stories constantly. The author wanted to show how you need to take a break and understand that it is not only human suffering that needs to be witnessed. There’s also beauty, there’s unexpected joy, and there’s kindness. “It is kind of addictive to be that person who is always making sarcastic comments and showing how they are better than other people because they aren’t following the crowd. But ultimately it’s very isolating, because you are missing out on other people and the wholeness of life. You can choose to be more fluid, you can choose to be more open. My protagonist starts off comparing what she sees of the country to hell, but later realises that it is more of a testing ground. Are people going to be haters? Or are they going to be builders?” asks Devika. She explains how one can’t be a hater and also a builder. To be constructive, you have to work with the people, actually talk to them, listen and understand where they are coming from.

According to the author, one of the major themes in this book is misogyny. There’s quite a few chapters that illustrate the oppression of women and the subjugation of women. Devika, who co-founded the End Sexual Violence Now (ESVN) group which raises awareness of the violence against women, believes that this has really held the country back. Since her protagonist feels compelled to engage with these issues, in her mind she questions, isn’t Sri Lanka supposed to be a socialist country? Aren’t we supposed to be defending the rights of the vulnerable? Devika notes how there’s a difference between what people say the country should be, and the way the country is, and that difference is unfortunately a tragic difference. But it can be and should be changed, not dismissed as it is what it is. “I wanted to challenge people to think about what we see when we hold a mirror up to Sri Lanka. It’s fascinating to me when people say that my book is very critical of the country. The fact that you want something to be better and can see that it could be better is a loving vision to me,” said the author. She also believes that Sri Lankans are naturally very critical about their country because they feel instinctively that there’s so much talent and potential, and it sickens everybody to see that being wasted. But she highlighted that this criticism has to be constructive, and not just noise which is counter-productive.

Coming up with a title for her book was interesting because she was trying to work out what all these different incidents she wanted to write about have in common. And it was all about the incredible oppositional and argumentative attitude of people. Then she found out that there was a word for it, which is ‘Aversion’. Devika explained how she is really advocating certain Buddhist virtues through her book including mindfulness and equanimity. In fact, ‘Aversion’ itself is one of the three poisons of human character, and they defile our nature. The remedy for it is Metta which is love and kindness. She later realised that it was the perfect title, because the opposite of angry judgment, contempt and disdain is love and kindness.

The book came out as ‘a series of outbursts’ for Devika. It’s a discontinuous narrative and she chose to write it like that. Therefore it has different kinds of writing in it such as outburst poetry, and notes on opinion pieces. She wanted that to reflect how it felt like to live here, since to her, Sri Lanka on any given day seems full of abrupt moments with a level of chaos which has become normalized. There is not a chronological timeline for Aversion, since she wanted to show how it feels for the character: everything coming at her, in a random and mythic way. Not one thing after another, but often all at once. She also explained how in Sri Lanka, often what happens today has roots in history, so what you see on the surface, in real time, has complex roots and history. “I didn’t even know what kind of genre this book is when I was writing it. But then I realised that this book fits the definition of a récit very well. It’s people reciting stories. It enabled me to step back and look at it with a little bit of detachment. As I was developing her character, I began to see that all of us are carrying a lot of depth, everyone, even people who seem at first to be shallow and lacking in dimension,” she said.

Devika’s mother gave her some advice about the first draft, which she was able to read before she passed away last year. “She told me that this is a very didactic, idea-oriented book, and it would benefit the story if I introduced some sympathetic characters who were able to befriend the protagonist and speak with her,” the author said. Devika did follow her advice and introduced several characters in her book. It progressed well, but it’s the first time she created characters over a long sequence of chapters. Therefore the character building, the act, the arc of a character’s development, was an exciting challenge for her.

Devika’s friend and colleague, Kaviru Samarawickrama, listened to her talking about the book, and illustrated the cover for her book. The author explained how the image Kaviru created perfectly envisions what she wanted to say. In the foreground, there is the raging sea, which represents the suffering of the present moment. But beyond that is a calm starry night without any disturbance at all. But the artist has given far more proportion to the surging torrent, because that’s the task we experience each day, which is to navigate through that and not get lost, aiming to ultimately reach serenity. “The stars were used to navigate by sailors when they were travelling the seas, and their positions are significant in our birth charts, so we should try not to be guided by lower things. If you really want to move forwards, you need to look up and aspire to something higher. Not in terms of living on the 55th floor of an apartment building, but rather elevating yourself and growing into a better vision of what you could be,” explained the author.

When the book came out, Devika recalled feeling really excited to the point where she couldn’t stop holding it. She says: “I carry a copy of it everywhere I go. I still can’t quite believe it, because it was in my head for so long, and now it’s out in the world. I honestly feel like we are at a turning point in Sri Lanka but it is really important how we proceed, as a country, now. So I wanted to add my book into that conversation. I believe each individual should decide for themselves and inspire collective action. We are all works in progress and we are all the product of what we experience.”

The Art of Collecting

A discussion at a collector’s home: 

L-R, Azara Jaleel, Niloo Jayatilake and Thinushka de Soysa

On June 29, ARTRA Magazine hosted a very interesting discussion on the subject of Art Collecting. It took the form of an informal panel discussion, with the Editor of ARTRA, Azara Jaleel, interviewing Niloo Jayatilake and Thinushka de Soysa, both from the finance and corporate sphere and both art collectors, interested in the way the acquisition and holding of original artworks by Sri Lankan artists helps build culture and community, as well as increasing awareness and recognition of the tremendous creativity in this country.

The discussion was hosted in the home of a private collector, where guests could walk around and view the artworks as they hung on the walls, or were placed in specific viewing areas. There had been several ‘Artist Walks’ held here at different times during the week, during which contemporary artists led a group through a viewing of their work, discussing their influences, their themes, their choice of medium, and their artistic process and creative journey.

The aim of the discussion was to offer insight into the world of art creation and acquisition: the fascinating process by which the work of a creative artist starts to become publicly known, recognised and valued, both monetarily and culturally.

The two speakers, in interaction with Azara, unfolded several aspects of this cultural landscape, one of them pointing out that it was only relatively recently that she had begun to consider herself a ‘collector’. She had grown up alongside several artists, as childhood friends, and had begun to purchase their work early in their careers. These works, bought decades ago, are now very valuable. But she highlighted that the joy she gains from seeing these works in her home, and resonating with her as part of her daily life, is the real measure of their value to her.

Artists become widely known through exhibiting their works. So the artistic community, and the interpersonal connections created and sustained within that community, are very significant. Friends and supporters become investors, and the owners of galleries and public spaces, as well as the curators of public art spaces which display artworks and showcase creatives, play an important role in the artist’s work becoming viewed as part of the culture in which it is created.

Organizations centred on promoting the work of specific artists, like the George Keyt Foundation, which celebrates the vibrant work of Sri Lanka’s most well known painter, and the Sapumal Foundation, which highlights the work of the ‘43 Group’, hold public viewings, and exhibitions, and fundraising events, throughout each year. The proceeds from these not only maintain the existing collections, but also help encourage and support young artists who are just starting out.

In the recent past, Udayshanth Fernando was one of the earliest promoters of young artists, by displaying and selling their artworks at Gallery Cafe for a few weeks at a time. Thereafter, his daughter Saskia set up an art gallery which does the same thing. Saskia has gone beyond her father with her annual KALA, where artists from here and South Asia come over to exhibit their works and talk about them. Both galleries are live and active, raising awareness and recognition of the works of art.

Azara pointed out in her discussion what an incredible growth has been taking place in recent years, among contemporary Sri Lankan artists, and that this shows positive progress and growth in the country’s cultural trajectory, as well as being a visible measure of its economic recovery and increased productivity.

The need is very clear to methodically facilitate the development of inter-generational interest and knowledge about the contemporary art world, and the past 100 years of work by Sri Lankan artists.

Viewing an artwork, the product of the creative vision of a fellow human being, is a repeating joy, and a source of inspiration and solace. Sometimes the subject matter of a painting or sculpture can be provocative, or prompt self reflection, and sometimes an artist can cause us to look anew at familiar sights, or think more deeply about political and social events which powerfully shape our lives, and the history of the country in which we live.

The companies in the corporate world who actively support the Sri Lankan creative sphere, such as the John Keells Group, and the Fairway Group, are displaying the works of contemporary painters not only in their board rooms but in public spaces. The Fairway Hotel, in Colombo, for example, showcases the work of Anoma Wijewardene on its walls.

The Galle Literary Festival, over the years, has also featured visual artists and the relatively new Ceylon Literary Festival, now in its second year, is also actively doing this, not only in one city, but in regional areas as well, aiming to make such events accessible to all.

The opportunity for artists to talk about their work, and participate in discussions about creativity in general, and their specific creative journeys, facilitated by groups and institutions dedicated to the creative arts, like AOD, the Academy of Design, and big hotels like the Cinnamon Group, which regularly offer their vibrant spaces to display the artworks, is also an opportunity for the public to gain insight and appreciation into the work process and artistic products of the remarkable creative talents who live and work amongst us.

Rites/Rights Of Passage

I have just been through the process of renewing my Sri Lankan passport for the next 10 years, and have some experience to share, which I hope will be useful.

I have seen FB posts shared by helpful people, outlining the step by step process, and followed them. They were certainly very useful. But I have some additional insights, based on the experiences I had, and observed.

If you want a ‘One Day Passport’ Process: We were warned that the queues are huge, and that it would be best to start the application process early in the morning. VERY early in the morning - by 4am. When we arrived at that time, there were already 100 people ahead of us in the line, and it took almost an hour to get into the first building.

Tip: Make sure your original identity documents are safely protected in plastic folders and placed in a watertight plastic bag as well. Also bring a fold up umbrella. This is the rainy season.

Make sure your mobile phone is charged, and bring bottled water and snacks with you. It is going to be a LONG day. If you take medications, ensure you take them before you begin the process. Particularly blood pressure medication. There are stairs to climb before you get to the initial processing floor.

Tip: Try to go with a friend, so you can chat while you go through the long initial waiting queues.

Documents: Ensure that you download and print out the Passport Application Form and fill it out beforehand.

Make sure you have a Certified Copy (or 5) of your original Birth Certificate. Only a Certified Copy is acceptable.

Make sure you have True Copies of your current NIC, and relevant sections of your current Passports, attested by JPs, or similar authorities. Multiple copies are best (at least 3, and 5 is better).

The NIC copy must be in colour.

Tip: Although this is in fact stated on the Government website, it is perhaps not well understood in this period of transition that the old NIC which many of us have must be replaced by the new one, even if the old one is in fine condition. This is mandatory.,

Try your best to get the new NIC beforehand. This involves getting a photo taken on government approved software from an accredited photo studio, and attested by both the Grama Niladhari from your area AND the Divisional Secretariat. This process alone takes a lot of time, and travel, especially as the Grama Niladhari does not work every day of the week, but only on specific days. You need a special form to apply for the new NIC.

Tip: Your new Passport photo must also be authorised by government approved software. Try to get multiple copies of this photo as well.

If you are a Dual Citizen, you must take your original physical Certificate of Dual Citizenship and True Copies of it with you.

Step One is filling out the Application Form and presenting your supporting documents to be checked. This is where any issues will arise, and you may have to take side trips to provide relevant documentation.

Tip: All the big things happen on the Second Floor, centering on Room 20.

Step Two is waiting patiently while your new NIC card is approved, and issued, and then separately waiting patiently (up to 4-5 hours) for the old NIC number previously issued to you to be deleted from the system. This whole process takes up to 8 hours. There are too many people for the staff to notify you.

There is a 2000 LKR fee for the NIC card issuance. This can vary if you are charged a Penalty Fee for any reason. Keep the receipt as proof of payment.

Tip: Hand over your stapled Application documents (they call this a ‘file’ but it is a sheaf of papers), in the mid morning. Go and have lunch and return in the afternoon. Do not lose your small paper token which is given to you. Keep it safe. You will need to produce it on demand.

The NIC events occur on the Ninth Floor.

Tip: The new NIC is not eternally valid. It must be renewed every 10 years.

Step Three is getting your fingerprints taken. This is back on the Second Floor, in Room 20.

Step Four is paying the fee for the One Day process. This is also on the Second Floor, near Room 20. It is 20,000 LKR, payable in cash. Have that with you. Keep the receipt.

Step Five is waiting patiently on the First Floor for the new Passport to be issued to you.

Bonus points to the Government for hiring very experienced and professional administrative staff, from the dignified ladies in saree, to the energetic and bearded young men, and the wise gentlemen and lady Security Guards, whose presence, patience and dedication make the whole experience a great deal smoother than it otherwise would be.

Thanks also to the brilliant individual (or team) who decided to put a popcorn machine in one of the largest waiting areas, much to the delight and sustenance of all.

The large numbers of people we saw as we all progressed at various stages through the entire process were in good spirits. Many had clearly travelled a long way, from regional and rural areas, and diverse communities, ethnicities, ages and classes were represented. Everyone treated each other with respect and courtesy. There was a heartening spirit of kindness prevalent. Many strangers advised others, who clearly needed guidance, about practical steps and things to watch out for.

Tip: Wear a mask, N395 standard if possible. Many people are coughing, in close proximity to each other, with various ailments, no one covers their mouths, and the lifts between floors are very crowded. Do not get ill, if you can avoid it.

Good luck! Do not listen to people who complain. The staff at the Department of Immigration and Emigration are dealing with immense numbers of people every day, and are doing so with great patience and tolerance.

ColourBlind Casting

Image credit: Glamour Magazine

Over the past 25 years, we have seen many adaptations of Jane Austen’s novels, and the adaptations have in several cases been visually very confronting and challenging, for some viewers. I believe this trend started with the Miramax adaptation of Mansfield Park, released in 1999.

While this production did not cast people of colour in the main roles, or even in minor roles, it is the first production ever to have vividly illuminated the cruelty, objectification and exploitation of slavery, as part of colonialism and enrichment, as practised by Sir Thomas Bertram, owner of Mansfield Park, in a way which shocks the heroine, Fanny, who is the moral centre of the story.

The revelation of the sources of his wealth and status show the questionable ethical conduct of the patriarch of this family, and provide a context for the subsequent moral disintegration of his children, who all fall prey to forms of temptation and depravity, even Edmund, who is intimately redeemed only by his affection for Fanny.

In more recent years, we have seen the quasi Regency Shondaland confection, Bridgerton, on our screens, openly using the slightest of speculations regarding the genetic ancestry of an English queen as a framing portal to usher in women and men of African and Indian heritage into the story landscape, each with their colourful back stories.

This inclusiveness and diversification trend has extended into the 19thC production ‘The Gilded Age’, in which wealthy African American families are brought into connection by the story writers with the Anglo-European families of New York.

In Bridgerton, the scenes where the elder sister of the Sharma family, in Season Two, participates with her younger sister and mother in the saffron/ turmeric paste beautifying rituals traditionally used by Indian brides before the impending wedding ceremony are beautiful to see. The love story between Miss Sharma and the eldest son of the Bridgerton family is based on an ‘enemies to friends’ arc which is very believable, and in which contrasting skin colour is no barrier to the recognition of beauty and desirable character qualities.

This preference to bring characters together across social barriers was foreshadowed in Season One when the eldest Bridgerton daughter falls in love with the dark and handsome Duke, and their magnetic attraction to each other is intensely illustrated in their words and actions, inter alia as a celebration of their equality or at least equivalence of social status.

In Jane Austen’s adaptations, we have not seen any casting director go beyond the pale, and venture into colourblind casting. Elizabeth Bennet may be accused by the jealous Miss Bingley of having ‘brown’ skin, but (fortunately for all of us clutching our pearls) it is only ‘tanned’, which is ‘no great wonder, in the summer’.

Shakespeare’s work, in contrast, has been often performed with people of all hues and from all ethnic backgrounds in the principal roles, and recent performances of Harry Potter on the stage actually cast a black Hermione Granger. The author herself, in her description of the characters, never specified Hermione’s ethnic heritage, only stating that she had bushy hair, and it is clear that the prettiest girls in Hogwarts School were the Indian Patel twins, and the Chinese Cho Chang.

Bridgerton aside, this embracing of diversity in the film and stage productions of beloved books which are regarded as central to the English literary canon is a trend about which I have mixed feelings. The realities of colonisation and the assertions of white supremacists created a conceptual underclass, in which people of colour lived their lives as minor characters and in service to the central characters. And therefore, in the cultural products of those eras, artworks were created in which people of colour were erased, or invisible.

The comments sections of Jane Austen online groups is an interesting snapshot of our times.

‘Mansfield Park has, to my mind, the best TV Austen adaptation of all time: www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/p04vfvpn via @bbciplayer

Impeccable costuming, wonderful casting, fidelity to the novel, understanding of the period, and no painful, anachronistic, ignorantly woke attempts to force every third character to be black or trans.’

Shoehorning people of colour into European landscapes is problematic. But what seems to really offend some people is the high status which these people of colour are afforded, in these fictional narratives. It is ‘anachronistic and painful’, because it clearly offends supremacist beliefs that people of colour could be so well established, so dignified, and elegantly costumed, and coiffured, and move as equals through gilded drawing rooms, and be centered in narratives instead of sidelined.

One of the worst and laziest equations ever made is the lumping together of minorities as second class citizens, seen as having lesser value: women, disabled people, trans people, people of colour and people exhibiting other forms of divergence from a standard of normativeness which is male, heterosexual and with skin containing less melanin, into the messy category of ‘different’, which to the minds of many is a euphemism for ‘deviant’. Women are not even a minority, statistically.

In Georgette Heyer’s novel, These Old Shades, the Duke of Avon’s sister has a black servant boy, called Pompey. The social mobility we are being shown in what I term Regency concoctions is wish fulfillment on the part of those who prefer a more colourful and equitable world, and have chosen to create it themselves, in fictional storytelling, reality falling far short of the way they clearly wish the world to be.

Colourblind casting on the one hand asserts the primacy of human personality, of intelligence and soul and emotion, as being more significant than external identifiers of race, colouring, facial features, hair type, physiognomy and body shape. In these contemporary performances, it is visually suggested that calibre, and content of character, is more important than the colour of a person’s skin. We relate to the characters on our screens as human beings, and we become interested and involved in their challenges and experiences as if they were real, and relatable.

However, in our identity obsessed world, it is also a form of false equivalence, and erasure of difference. We are not all human flat packs, culturally constructed the same. Our unique social and anthropological characteristics, and the cultural traditions in which we have evolved, are part of us.

The genders are different, and more diversely and subtly formulated these days. The actor who played the eldest Bridgerton son could not be more than a good friend to the lovely Miss Sharma, in real life.

This celebration of difference is at the heart of any union of human beings, whether personal in marriage, or political, in the form of nations. Tolerance is not a grudging recognition of someone else’s equivalent centre of self, but ideally, in a less threatened and defensive society, a more positive delight in multifoliate hues and difference.

In our excitable contemporary world, in which people find it difficult to do anything other than compete for territory and contest the most desirable sociocultural space to occupy, and the most compelling platforms on which to speak their truths, it is the reinterpretations of classic stories which portray to us the evolution of our species. Both in the bold steps forward, with the diversification of what we are now being shown as admirable and worthy, and the hue and cry (often muted, in genteel literary groups) that inevitably follows.

Home Maintenance

I had thought that the house would feel empty and forlorn, but it does not.

I know the art of entertaining, you see. I have been learning it for five years, now.

But now, the hosts have gone, bowing out one by one, and what are left are some items to be inventoried, and evanescence. If I stop and sit for a while each day, in silence in their rooms, thinking of them, each beloved face, will they see me, remembering them?

At first, I just put framed photographs up everywhere, and further contained them in garlands of fairy lights in the shape of butterflies. Battery operated, to withstand the vagaries of powercuts.

When I come home from an evening out, I find these fancifully lit portraits illuminated, like modern Books of Hours. As I remove shoes and shawls and cloaks, it feels as if I am being gently welcomed.

My friend asked a priest to come and bless the house and all those who had dwelled there, and he went through from room to room, saying the words of a cumulative blessing, and went through to the gardens, and did the same.

I let my thoughts trail, and they trace a sparkling path, up the oak stairs carved with large acorns, representing resilience and endurance, and the lights in their rooms down the hall suggest that the inhabitants of these rooms might still be amongst us, or I amongst them. I was the youngest, you see.

This feeling of their presence is even stronger when I play music that they loved, or watch the films my parents used to view together.

My Mother left me a list of movies she said I absolutely had to see. Old films, some from the first half of the 20th century. Those flared skirts, those intimate words, the subtle details of those stories.

The aerated vowels of those actors and actresses, emulated now by the gorgeous facsimiles of confectionery, Bridgerton and The Gilded Age, the way we want to believe everyone was. The certainty with which everyone seemed to say just what they felt. The soft brushing undercurrents of what was not said, leaving us second guessing. The living coral, left at the depths where it was still alive, not dragged up by facilitators today, petrified into lumpenness.

What is needed in these stormy seas is to be like one of those carved figures on the prow, you know, that would face outwards, challenging any storm. Withstanding. Outstanding.

Each one of these films contained a message for me, she told me in her note. It was my task to find out what that wisdom was, image by image, and construct meaning from it. Like a treasure hunt, or a paper trail, or white pebbles in a fairy tale.

So I view The Ghost And Mrs. Muir, and Yellow Rolls Royce, and Doctor Zhivago, and many starring Ingrid Bergman, and of course Roman Holiday and Somewhere In Time, and The King And I. And the house was full of movement and pictures. Starry, starry nights.

Lena Horne and Dinah Washington and Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald roll out the velvet carpets of their voices.

Mourning used to mean wearing black or grey or white for a year, denuding oneself of encumbering jewels and costumery, and abstaining from merriment and from going out to crowded places. This was to protect the public from the sudden weaknesses that blow up like storms in the psyche, which compel those of us who are grieving to excuse ourselves and go home.

At Christmas, there were crackers ornamenting the festive table. And people forgot, and said, take some home for the family.

Like new lovers, understandably eager for privacy, we who grieve seek the solace of the silence. There is a sacredness in turning away from the outside world, and laying aside the masks and carapaces, and letting our softer sides show.

There are tiny shot glasses, in jewel colours. Arrayed on polished trays, they dazzle the tired eyes.

All the veterans of loss tell me that a routine helps get through the consecutive days. A rope we throw ourselves, to prevent sinking. But we can wrap our days so tightly that nothing fresh can get through, and that is unnatural. It’s important to have calendars and clocks, to measure the time passing, because there are two times in which a grieving person lives, at once. And both need to be felt, and their impact allowed to shape us.

I do not know any answers to the questions I used to contemplate so contentedly, and with such assurance, when all the seats at the table were filled.

Hello, I want to say, raising my glass in a flamboyant and generous gesture, all you beautiful people, wherever you are, all my best wishes go with you tonight. This is how I welcome thoughts that are difficult to greet, and learn to entertain them.

From other worlds, those who no longer live in this house may be aware of the lights in the rooms, through the windows, visible from outside.

The State Of The Union

Image credit: Economic Times

We live in a time of great change: disruptions in what we have all taken for granted, right down to the sources of our survival and security. The rules and codes of conduct are being rewritten every day.

Of course, this is reflected in our personal relationships: and the marriage and divorce rates, in particular. In recent days, religious leaders have declared that marriage between same sex couples is invalid, as marriage is designed as a protection for children.

But is it? Is a home unbroken and whole when the couple stay together but fight all the time, and commit deceptions and betrayals against each other within the relationship? Often with their children seeing and hearing the conflicts in the home?

The marital landscape in Sri Lanka has become increasingly complicated. The traditional scenario, as explained to me fairly recently, was that people here get married in their late twenties, or early thirties, to please their parents and secure their status in their social groups.

They have children, and then they start to grow in their professional lives and expand their horizons and sense of personal entitlement and aspirations in their thirties and forties. Having married to please others, and with comparatively little knowledge of the character of their partner, they then have opportunistic affairs with people they encounter, usually at work, with these connections being intensified by secrecy and a sense of operating in illicit and clandestine circumstances. In their late thirties, and early forties, with the children becoming teenagers, they try to persuade their partners to enter into open marriages.

An open marriage in 2025 seems like a relic of the swinging sixties, popularized in London and California. In conservative South Asia, where sex education is not taught to young people, dating culture is repressive, and pornographic material is widely available, such a lifestyle meets very little moral resistance. In fact, it is seen by many who proclaim themselves as participants in these arrangements as a measure of a person’s desirability and high value: an index of their success in life. These values are evident in the lives of those for whom monetary success, public image and social status are paramount, and whose relationships are often transactional, because that is what is modelled for them in every aspect of their lives, and reinforced by their peers.

But polyamorous and multiple partner relationships are not imported from the West. Americans always think they invented everything first, from sexuality to superfoods. But polyandry was practised in Sri Lanka for centuries, before colonial culture stamped it out, and imposed monogamy and monotheism and marital monotony.

The only way that complex interconnections between human beings who are simultaneously impacted on by traditional culture, biological imperatives and colonial impositions can be navigated is through a societal normalisation of polyamory. Both partners must be equally desired by others, for such an arrangement to truly offer equal opportunity. Obviously, protection must be used, against STDs, as well as pregnancy. And to prevent the time wasting emotional debris of jealousy and recrimination, pre-nuptial agreements should be mutually agreed on, so that if any of the relationships becomes more significant than any other, or the number of extra marital liaisons cumulatively wear away any residual loyalty or affection, the material assets of each party in the marriage are protected. Because they will each need to move on with their lives after they separate.

The people who suffer most in so-called open marriages are those who still adhere to the traditional beliefs of marriage: that the union of two people is a bond entered into for life, protected by mutual promises to care for each other, and undertaken primarily as a foundation for building a family. This concept does not allow any third party into the marital landscape, and places all the onus on the two marital partners to maintain a harmonious and fulfilling connection, navigating their differences and the challenges of modern life with as much goodwill as they can summon up.

Today, unlike the relationships which were brokered in the past, many people marry across boundaries of race, religion, social class and economic disparity. This complicates matters, but also helps expand the scope of the personal commitment between the partners. It looks as if love alone is what is guiding their decisions. Yet even amongst these love marriages there has been a significant recent, and very sharp, increase in divorce, and ‘open marriages’ in Sri Lanka entered into after the monogamous model has proved too restrictive, are usually one-sided, franchising one partner whose sexual rights and freedoms are imposed on the weaker partner against their will.

However, I would argue that in our twenties, and thirties, at the height of our biological fertility and virility, we are also often comparatively ignorant of our true self. The decisions we make are often self serving, or self sacrificial, and quite superficial. We do not yet know our value, or what our own preferences and best interests are.

It is wise to identify romantic relationships early on as being the single most avoidable cause of distress and drama in human life. They are risky. And they are rarely worth entering into. Because we enter in ignorance - not only blind but multi-handicapped. The odds are hardly ever in our favour.

We are warned in the religious scriptures to not be ‘unequally yoked’ in life. This is an image taken from the days when oxen were harnessed by farmers into a wooden frame to enable them to keep an even and steady pace, side by side, when furrowing a field, to ensure a good harvest. Marriage is a harness into which both partners willingly enter. Both at the outset give up other opportunities to choose each other. To the extent that they remain in unity, the productivity is high, the yield abundant.

But such a unity develops over time. And most people who do not select their partners wisely are unequally yoked from the beginning. In addition to sexual naivety is the related problem of psychological unawareness: lack of insight into one’s own specific circumstances, needs and desires. Social stigmas operate here, to keep us unsafe and vulnerable.

Superficial selection processes stress the physical appearance of the partner, and look at their social and economic status rather than their emotional and psychological resilience and mental health, and what their aims are, in life. Discussions about financial ambitions, monetary habits, health issues, and daily routines rarely seem to occur before the splashy or showy ceremonies are planned.

Marriage experts say that the best predictor of longevity in marriage is how well the couple handles conflict. And the best indicator that the marriage is beyond saving is when they feel and express not hatred, but contempt and indifference for each other, and dismiss their concerns as irrelevant. Intimacy is defined as ‘Into Me You See’, and this is only positive when such insight is handled respectfully, and with care, not weaponised when the couple argue.

Respect is the healthiest foundation of a good union, and long term friendship, and accountability. The ability to identify patterns of behaviour and work to alter them is also a key component in durable marital relationships. The vital skillset required is the ability to adapt to changing circumstances. People evolve in astonishing ways throughout their lives: at a far deeper level than a mere makeover.

Marriage requires us to confront the roles society would try to allocate to us: wife and mother; husband and father; head caterer; financial provider; bill payer; bacon home bringer; multi tasker; activities organiser; supporter; social engineer; tower of strength behind the scenes; unsung hero, etc. And outside this circle of respectable covered wagons are the freelancers: the unicorns; the potential homewreckers; the sugar babies; the filles de joies, the women with the push up bras, the men with the ambiguous visages; the escorts and third wheels.

If a person marries with a sense of a soulseated and spiritual bond, and an intellectual connection, as well as with the attractions of their hearts and bodies, this is the most connected two people can be. But even such a blessed union can only deepen and strengthen with mutual observance of what is due to it.

Marriages face innumerable challenges in the predatory society of today, where people are deemed to lose value when they age, or lose money, or become less successful, or are otherwise devalued by society. Women who have children believing they will gain respect are often disillusioned when the opposite occurs, if their husbands are not family men: they are taken for granted, and diminish from a trophy girlfriend to a mother of children, too tired to hang on a partner’s arm or be one half of a glamorous power couple. Many men in a patriarchal society seek to have both a private life and a public one: the most brazen conduct their affairs publicly.

How does a person develop their life path in a productive way, in such a volatile context? How do people commit to responsibilities and commitments as part of being a partner in a union, instead of seeking temporary escapes every time something frustrates them? If a person is surrounded by fawning and flattery at work, but confrontation and challenge at home, where his/her flaws are known by his/her partner, how can s/he withstand the contrast? Will s/he not choose the easier option?

In Celtic culture, marriages were deemed to end each year, unless both parties agreed to continue them. There is much to be said for this approach: it flips the script on the assumed longevity, and takes nothing for granted, bringing any grievances out into the open, where they can be dealt with.

We human beings live a long time, now. And the odds are against a partner chosen in their 20s being able to grow in compatible ways with us throughout the eras of our long lives. Children are our legal responsibility for 18 years. Once they are mature enough to make their own path, the parents still have each other to care for. It’s at this point that some people choose to return to a single state. They have shared their lives, bodies, dreams and finances with another person, and there’s a time limit on that level of exposure when the need is gone.

Now there is less stigma in divorce. Everyone understands that mistakes are made, in early life. Open marriages prolong the messiness and the boundary collapses which erode a primary connection. Some practitioners of open marriages say infidelity provides safety valves and avenues of release. But it draws third parties into unwanted drama, and contaminates the dynamic between the marital partners, eroding mutual trust and safety, and devaluing the promises the partners initially made to each other. It makes heartfelt repair of a relationship almost impossible to achieve.

I want to add that in a good union, it is the increased need of partners for each other’s support as they grow older that consolidates the marriage.

But that if they are unequally yoked, or incompatible, or at different levels of evolution, one partner’s illness or frailty causes the other to draw away. This is the unmistakeable sign of true commitment. That a partner wants to stay, in sickness and in health, and the best of them, if asked, would say there is nowhere else they would rather be.

Marriage is a marvellous melding of multiple undertakings: to care, to protect, to provide for, to nurture, to give as well as take, to find joy and belonging in a mutual flow of feeling and action. It sets a high bar, and is a test many people fail. If we enter it, we should be better prepared and more realistic and open-minded than we currently are, if we want better results. It is a life changing decision, whatever the outcome.

Day dreams and soft focus romantic fantasies will not prepare us for the consequences.

Interview With Devika Brendon, re: Her New Novel ‘Aversion’. By Ifham Nizam, of The Island

Exploring Contemporary Sri Lanka – Your novel captures the turbulence of contemporary Sri Lanka. Were there specific historical or political events that particularly shaped the narrative?

In the last 8 years, the period during which I was writing sections of this novel, the entire world has become turbulent. So many systems and processes and values and relationships we all seemed to take for granted have been completely and often violently overturned, globally. Chaos seems to be the daily norm. So what began as a personal response to a specific country opened into a more universal consideration: how do we as human beings navigate the abrupt breakdown of what we thought was true, and real, and reliable? The global pandemic made this the universal question all of us faced. Could our infrastructure, both personal and national, handle the challenges and the crises of everyday life in the 21st century?

 

Influence of Dante and Mythology – You mentioned drawing inspiration from Dante’s Inferno, Buddhist and Hindu mythology, and Carl Muller’s Colombo. How did these influences shape your storytelling style and character development?

Dante’s Divine Comedy - and specifically the Nine Circles of Hell from The Inferno - were concepts that often came to mind as I watched the news every day, and shaped the way I saw the characters in the landscape around me. This is where the magical realism element came in: Colombo to me became a kind of theatre, a series of performance spaces in which people enacted their stories. Under the gloss and the sheen of the city, there are scenes of real horror, as Carl Muller’s book indelibly shows, but also moments of great beauty and tenderness. My protagonist begins the story with no understanding of what she sees: she judges people on face value, without knowing their histories. As she begins to engage with the people she works with, who are trying to uplift the country in a number of ways, she sees that many people act out of a sense of torment that they carry: frustration, fear and anger. They are suffering, and their actions are formed out of that suffering. If they have no self awareness, they could ricochet forever in the circles of hell, exchanging one situation of torment for another, and never emerge. She begins to develop empathy, and compassion.

The troubled person cannot help others, and if we respond to things that happen in anger, which is easy to do, we often burden others or make situations worse. So a study of Buddhist scriptures and Hindu mythology showed me that to really grow, a person needs to stop reacting to everything that occurs, but rather step back and observe. Try not to rush in with hasty assumptions or biases. Try not to carry grievances. Try to see under the surface of what is happening with people, and what they present. Respect the equivalent self of the other, rather than project onto them. Then the surging sea, the suffering of the human condition, in which we are all caught, stops at the threshold and does not enter the space where we reside.

 

Interpersonal Conflict and Aversion – Your novel explores aversion as both a personal and societal issue. Do you believe social media has amplified this tendency in modern society?

Aversion is the feeling of almost automatic opposition we feel towards people and situations. Interestingly, a constant state of irritation, and being easily triggered, are signs of stress, and anxiety. These are sharply on the rise in our society and the wider world, and definitely there is a correlation between the onset of this escalation and the increased use of social media. People are caught in a web of interpersonal conflict and complexity, being impacted by what they see and read, from the moment they open their technological devices, each day. Conflict and differences of opinion have been weaponised, very strategically, and many people today live a hybrid life, with a lot of communication going on in the virtual spaces of digital technology, and our capacity to relate in physical interaction being drained. The building of real community, meaningful communication and human connection across the various divides is the only real remedy for this estrangement and isolation.

Symbolism of the Lotus – The lotus motif plays a key role in Aversion. Did your interpretation of this symbol evolve throughout the writing process?

The lotus with its multiple petals represents awakening and blossoming consciousness. The roots of the lotus nurture the flower, which flowers in muddy waters. This can be seen around us on multiple levels: beauty and grace emerging unexpectedly from dark circumstances; the human being transforming themselves into a more elevated and enlightened entity through the effort of inner exploration and self nurturing; the citizens of the nation itself showing such strength and capacity to continue to live and hope, and encourage each other amidst difficult circumstances. To blossom in life requires respect for our roots, and mindfulness. The lotus to me symbolizes all this.

Experimental Narrative Style – Your book blends prose fiction, opinion pieces, poetry, and diary entries. Did you face challenges in maintaining coherence across these different styles?

The story emerged in a series of outbursts, in response to various diverse events, at different times between 2016 and 2024, and it was actually fascinating to lay the sections out at the end of the process, and see the connections glimmering and gleaming and glinting between the segments. It felt as though I was stitching pieces together on a sewing table. There are 26 chapters, each subdivided into shorter parts. I tried to match like with like, but not in too neat a way. I wanted a slight asymmetry, so certain elements sparkled, when viewed at certain angles - like the stars on the cover!

Audio Book Experience – You mentioned that Aversion has a unique soundscape. How did you approach narrating your own work, and what challenges did you encounter in bringing it to life through audio?

There’s a dreamlike quality to some of the scenes in the book: the words convey at times the motions of the sea, of the dancing at clubs and in parades, of joy and sorrow. So when narrating the audio, I tried to sense those feelings intuitively, rather than intellectually, and portray the way the narrator finds them flowing through her. She tends to use her intellect in her work to try and cut life into manageable parts; so it’s interesting to feel the irrepressible energy of the country filtering through her defences.

One of my favourite scenes ends with a question that is not answered. It’s a moment of high tension for the protagonist. I didn’t feel the need to show what happened next.

Transition from Poetry to Prose – You compared poetry to a fireworks explosion and prose to the slow unfolding of a lily. Did you find yourself naturally drawn to one form more than the other while writing Aversion?

I felt that it was easy to intersperse one with the other. Situations faced by the characters in the book and in life call for both reason and feeling, a duality, and the story shifts accordingly, in step with the movement of the action. So much of our lives goes on in our minds: what we think, what we believe, what we remember, and hold onto; and what we forget and release. It’s like the flow of a dance, a sequence of yoga or the beginning of a sung Chalisa. The ideas begin and the story rises like a slow tide, and the mind is like a drum, finding the rhythm and the energy that the words attempt to convey.

Writing Routine and Discipline – You described a structured writing routine. How do you handle creative blocks, and do you have any specific rituals to get back into the flow of writing?

I find that creative energy and productivity is very much determined by physical health and well-being. We learn if we are most productive in the morning or the evening, and we learn how to pace ourselves to maximise our joy. The creative blocks for me are usually caused by too many projects coming in at the same time, and colliding deadlines cause paralysis. Clear boundary setting is needed, not only with incoming demands or concerns, but within ourselves. If things feel stacked up, only we can unstack them, and recalibrate our schedules to serve our workflow. Twelve minute stretches are an excellent break, throughout a working day. So is doing something that needs to be done like washing or sweeping or tidying a space in the home. Clearing the space in which we live is a calming sort of mindfulness.

Upcoming Projects – You have multiple books in progress, each in a different genre. How do you shift between writing styles and maintain distinct voices for each project?

I don’t consciously strategize it. I drafted all the 5 books as concepts in point form and affixed certain visual images to each. Then I live my life, and whichever book landscape appeals to me at that time, I visit with that, dividing my time more or less equally until one pushes itself forward and takes over. That’s what happened with this book.

Advice for Aspiring Writers – Given your experience as an author and editor, what advice would you give to aspiring writers, especially those navigating multiple literary forms like you?

Get a lot of rest; avoid burnout; and do as much active, detailed research as you can into the contexts in which you are writing. Worldbuilding starts with curiosity. Read a lot, watch a lot of movies, intake information - but not only from manmade sources. Absorb the energy of life around you, see how each being tries to move towards its fulfillment, each in its own way.