By

Thelma

My darling Ma-hinder,

I don’t know if as you sallied forth in your little Lord Fauntleroy suit or mini kuarakkan satakaya in your wee days at the Medamulane Rahula pre-school, you ever encountered the little fellow who almost made it.

The young chap in class who hissed at the teacher or broke the last piece of white chalk was always seen standing in a corner for his sins.

Just yesterday I was staring into a glass of Chardonnay and thinking about this very thing and a couple of other matters as well – as Thellie is not always given to the one track mind – when it occurred to me that ever since you and your moustache donned a red scarf and sallied forth into the wide world, you m’dear have been….that boy.

Now your ole friend Thellie Bellie knows that there is nobody who thinks more highly about himself than you do, but it’s this More-hun Pee and the UNHRC darling. Always there like a halibut on a slab looking at you with an accusing eye, this council of whatnots perk up their bobtails every year in March and there you have it.

And it’s just like Uncle Sam to pull out of his top hat yet another resolution just as you thought you’d swept away the last remnants of bone fragments under the Persian rug.

Threatened to spill some beans

If ever there was a bloke who had some slight knowledge about grinning through an eight course meal and chatting gaily with his guests, while all the while hiding under the supper table, the body of an inconvenient second cousin, who had threatened to spill some beans a few seconds before the guests arrived, it is you dear.

It is quite unlike you to let “concealment, like a worm i’ the bud, feed on your damask cheek.”

In fact, I am convinced that in the evenings you tippy toe into Shiranthi’s bed chamber and proceed carefully to dip into her extensive bag of Nivea creams and Oil of Ulay lotions, in order to seek out the blemish concealer and liberally dab it on your cheek and jowl.

Be that is it well may, all this concealment does nothing to your demeanour as you stoically plough through, unlike the Shakespearean Viola, poor thing, who felt that secrets and concealment would only eat away at her jawbone.

But though all your home grown inquiries whether an LLRC or a PSC have all the trappings of Joseph Stalin’s show trials, the litany of crimes you seem to commit – allegedly – hasten to add – are very unlike Shiranthi’s pimples and blackheads darling. They cannot be cured with Clearasil.

Impeaching is not something to be taken lightly dear. In fact ask Sarath N. Silva. He is the old prune who started it all. I mean to say, if ever there was a fellow who was rotten to the core, that fellow was him. Gedara yana gaman, forsooth.

He sat on a bench and adjudicated over his own impeachment. He sneered and giggled and had fellows bunged in the cooler and tortured just because they had the gumption to speak up for themselves in his kangaroo courts.

In fact dearie, your presently high riding More-hun was once given a good telling off by the Sarath menace himself, when once he attempted to argue a point in the most supreme of courts. Anyway, as for Silva, just like your soldiers, sweetheart, who you claim thrust and parried with a poisoned sword in one hand while clutching on to a worn and dog-eared copy of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights on the other, this Silva poltroon was a multi-tasker too.

He laid down the law according to Sarath on the one hand and waved about a copy of The Quality and Virtues of the Buddha by Mitra Wettimuny on the other.

Whitewash

And the western conspirators like Uncle Sam and ole Blighty are at it again, not taking anything the Paradisians do with a pinch of salt. Everybody wants to eat healthy! Perhaps this time too you may be able to secure the services of the More-hun once again. If you ask him nicely, he may agree to say that his predecessor on the Hill abdicated because she wanted to seek asylum in Timbuktoo or Vladivostok or better still Stalingrad or Katyn even. Or perhaps he could say she formulated the 14 charges against herself in a mad fit of legalistic masochism. He could also say that he got to know all this from a journalist.

Or perhaps you could hire a PR firm. Yes, that’s it. Nobody white washes like the paid PR firm. Talking about White washing darling I wonder if you have heard about a chap called Montt.

José Efraín Ríos Montt is the full name style and firm given to him by his doting mummy. This fellow is Guatemalan darling, and just last week was asked to stand trial for some odd thing called genocide and crimes against humanity.

I’ll tell you what a crime against humanity is darling – it’s those bally cream buns and éclairs at the Fab. A toothsome filly of comely proportions goes in and five hours later comes out looking like a Cleopatra who has been going in too freely for the starches and cereals.

Calories and extra poundage is a crime against humanity darling, that’s what Thellie says.

But does anyone agree with me? No. But I will prevail. When it all goes south….then they’ll know.

I digress darling. This Montt fellow seemed like a heck of a bally chap, darling. A sturdy fellow who went about his business in the 1980s with a swagger only reminiscent of the swagger one gets when one is on top and feels nothing can go wrong. There he was commanding a killing here, supervising a murder there and before he knew it about a 200,000 of his own citizens had gone up the flume. He was a hero of sorts darling, quelling some rebels I was told. In the meantime, wiped out a mere 1,700 Mayan Indians who he said were helping the rebels. Not 20,000, not even 40,000 just a mere itty bitty tiny 1,700 of them and justified too – the chaps were helping the rebels and Montt was merely protecting Guatemala from Terrorism. And all this as the Head of State! Had immunity even darling, can you imagine.

Who would have thought that 30 years later, Montt will be sitting on a wooden bench in a court house? Makes you think eh?

Just makes you bally think!
COURTESY:CEYLON TODAY