Waiting for my luggage at the Colombo airport, I happened to glance at the billboard for a brand of men's suits. The brand ambassador a stocky young men dressed entirely in black shot you a lopsided smile. Apparently he was the island's leading talk show host- claimed the ad. I wouldn't have given the picture a second glance, if the name at the bottom hadn't caught my eye. I did a double take to ensure I read the name right. "
This couldn't possibly be D" was my first reaction. But when I looked at the picture closely I could see faint traces of a boy I once knew.
I met D years ago during one of my many summer trips to Colombo. My aunt was in charge of her school's participation in a dramatics contest. Managing a bunch of 15 year boys was not easy and I used to tag along to play helper. D stood out among the noisy and boisterous lot. Overweight and incredibly shy , he was an easy target for the class bullies. The fact that he had to walk around in a skirt for his role never helped his case. While the rest of the boys played cricket during the breaks, D always sat in a corner braiding. Yes braiding. He would braid pieces of thread, wigs from the costume cupboard and even tussles on the table cloth. They were the most beautiful braids I have seen till date.
When curiosity got the better of me I asked where he learned to braid so well. After what seemed like an eternity of silence. He told his story.D's dad was a doctor in the war struck north. When he was seven their town became an unwilling battlefield. With the army on side and terrorists on the other, the town was completely cut off from the rest of the island.D's dad a doctor used to walk around the town in the nights administering his patients. Unfortunately for him, he caught an infection and died.
With the battle still raging, his mother had to wait for things to calm down to give his father a proper burial. while they sat in the ghost house waiting, his mother started to braid and un-braid her hair in a monotonous trance. Little D who sat by her watching, followed suit on a tussled cloth. Deeply scarred by those events, his braiding habit grew to be his security blanket.
His response was not what I expected. I felt terribly guilty for having dug up his past. Those days being pre-facebook times, I lost touch with him over time.
Staring at that billboard at the airport, the image of D in mind was so different.
I could still picture him as the shy boy who glared at his classmate nemesis above his glasses rather than through and stuttered- " I'm going to be big some day and you are going to be sorry". And he kept his word.
Walking out of the airport that day, it gave me a happy high to know that the stars were shining down on my old fried.
