/ en-US Sun, 29 Dec 2019 04:55:23 -0800 60 / 144 41 /images/layout/goodreads_logo_144.jpg /author_blog_posts/19259308-10-extraordinary-books-by-male-sri-lankan-authors Sun, 29 Dec 2019 04:53:00 -0800 /author_blog_posts/19259308-10-extraordinary-books-by-male-sri-lankan-authors Here goes the intro of the review:
"Last year, when I visited Sri Lanka, I was struck by three things- the beauty of the country, the kindness of its people and the deliciousness of its food. And yet, it is a nation which, until a decade ago, had been dealing with a violent civil war that took tens of thousands of lives and changed many others. These books, written by male Sri Lankan authors, will show you Sri Lanka before and after the civil war, and the Sri Lanka of the 1930s as well as that of the present, and one of them will even take you deep into Africa.The only book on this list not set in Sri Lanka, Footprints In Obscurity is about the author’s journey through 29 countries across Africa between 2010 and 2015. Rupasinghe grew up listening to his father’s stories and, as a result, developed a fascination with Africa.
When his dream of visiting this mysterious land comes true, he embarks on a journey which questions and challenges some of his beliefs, while fortifying others. He interacts with ex-child soldiers, warlords, Ebola survivors and victims of female genital mutilation and, in Footprints In Obscurity, he gives us access to an Africa which belies our imagination".

posted by Pramudith D. Rupasinghe on December, 29 ]]> /author_blog_posts/18835308-back-with-the-pen-after-3-months Sat, 14 Sep 2019 01:59:15 -0700 /author_blog_posts/18835308-back-with-the-pen-after-3-months I had two breaks from writing this year; first I had a writing break from January to March then, from March to May I had my first break from writing, and the second one was from August to September.
Again my pen bleeds, just like a sharp cut on a vein, it bleeds gently but cardinal and warm. Letter by letter, word by word, line by line and paragraph by paragraph the life of Barsha unveils, and I hear her, feel her, and a drop of her tears ran down along the face and dropped on the manuscript; the blue ink blotted what I had written pitilessly; I rephrased it with empathy, visualizing a smile, a hopeful one.

posted by Pramudith D. Rupasinghe on September, 14 ]]> /author_blog_posts/18156686-back-to-writing-after-a-break Mon, 01 Apr 2019 21:37:00 -0700 /author_blog_posts/18156686-back-to-writing-after-a-break
posted by Pramudith D. Rupasinghe on July, 02 ]]> /author_blog_posts/18006502-the-baobab Mon, 25 Feb 2019 21:12:17 -0800 /author_blog_posts/18006502-the-baobab


Liberty manacled in minds of slavery,
Barrenness wails in slummy hatchery.
Love materialized, care uncared in misery,
Love child cries in human butchery.

Decorum crucified before god’s eyes,
Soils infertile’d by sinned lazy hands.
Coins tossed in dreams of heavens,
Life is devoured by darkness of hells.

Yelling at skies kneeling at cross, shakes,
Pleading forgiveness for yesterdays` sins.
Sinning, living art as forgiven tomorrow,
Imposed blindness acquired as shadow.

Animalized Liberty guillotined thy soul,
Ever blind eyes reflects thy guilt n`foul.
Vanity is destiny chosen instead wisdom,
Imitation enslaves thee at eternal colony.

posted by Pramudith D. Rupasinghe on February, 25 ]]> /author_blog_posts/17981296-termites-reaches-its-mid-point Tue, 19 Feb 2019 18:12:46 -0800 /author_blog_posts/17981296-termites-reaches-its-mid-point I am sure Termites will bring you the unseen and the unheard about hundred thounsands of Barshas living in brothels in Bangladesh

posted by Pramudith D. Rupasinghe on February, 19 ]]> /author_blog_posts/17897543-writing-amidst-calamities Thu, 31 Jan 2019 04:40:39 -0800 /author_blog_posts/17897543-writing-amidst-calamities
And Barsha, the Bengali girl I met in Termites was hundred percent unlooked-for, and Termites was first a short story that was never published. One day, while sipping a glass of Scotch on a rooftop of an apartment complex in Cox Bazar, Bangladesh, I had an urge to go to my room and pull out the short story called Termites. I leafed though the 40 pages exercise book, and then, that evening, I scribbled over another 40 pages adding 80 pages to the story. The it was 2 am in the morning I went to bed, still crowded streets in Cox were live with noises, mourns, shouts and laughs of constant human struggle.

The following day I began the writing the novel Termites. The rain of fire�, Yes, calamities are mirrors of human resiliency, they do project the enormous willpower and endurance encapsulated within us in a fracture of a second. I have witnessed it first-handedly in all major calamities around the world, in the past one and half decades, but there is a strain of human resiliency that grows with the human with his growth and remain unfractured with each fracture of bones. I kept looking at them in Maungdaw, Buthidaung, Rathedaung, Sittwe, Cox Bazar, Jalan Bukit Petaling, wordlessly but tearfully, and decided to tell the world a story of a Rohingya.

In brief, all of my books so far were just surprises, and stories scattered in different parts of the word, and writing during times of calamities, while working for vulnerable and affected population around the world.

posted by Pramudith D. Rupasinghe on January, 31 ]]> /author_blog_posts/16864128-author-bias-dealing-with-it-correctly-makes-your-piece-of-writing-a-jew Tue, 29 May 2018 11:04:31 -0700 /author_blog_posts/16864128-author-bias-dealing-with-it-correctly-makes-your-piece-of-writing-a-jew
Tamba is from rural West Africa, from a region where the cultures are barely known to the rest of the world. His world has very little in common with the culture I originate from. His faith: worship of ancestors, then Christianity—Charismatic denomination—they have remained quite distant from my life. Understanding that was not as difficult as beginning to interpret how Tamba would think about everything he encounters in his life- his ambitions, social interactions, relationships, fears, and loves. I had to consider all these factors to stay in the socio-cultural context of Tamba, the Kissi boy who was growing up in remote West Africa that remained, unlike today, almost completely disconnected from the civilised world.
I had to visualise, scenes and acts of the story—as it was a work of fiction—matching to the social norms and mores, not only of Kissi society but also the other tribes with whom Tamba interacts, and also to highlight the social and cultural dynamics, or in other words, the evolvement of West African society, then Liberia as a country, with Western influence. It was practically an experience of living the life Tamba had in a time of great change. A journey I endured with enormous difficulties, battling with the values I have been oriented on, and the norms I had been taught by my own society. And the nearly contrasting faiths that Tamba and I followed.
It would have been easier for me to tell the world that the cultural practices of old Kissi society were primitive, and taboos in the modern context, but I strived to avoid that force of blindness and instead to look behind the curtain of cultural bias. Without labeling the culture of Tamba, and the other tribe (the word tribes I perceive imperialistic but I have left with no option), I made attempts to see the beauty of the world in their eyes, and explore the rationale of their every single act. Regarding worship of ancestors, I found it psychologically healing for them to be in communication with someone who already understood their problems and social values.
Tamba always questioned his faith; as a converted Christian he was supposed to believe the God,and yet, he could not get rid of his devotion and respect of ancestors. At one point I imagine me as Tamba, praying to his grandfather—the ‘Oldman’—and try to visualise how he would feel. It was actually a feeling of great relief and freedom. I did not allow either my oriental culture or Buddhist philosophy to intervene in my imaginary world where Tamba lived, the life he lived and what he encountered. Basically I did not allow Tamba to think like an Asian or Buddhist but made sure that he lived a piece of life across all cultures in his time, to discover all faiths around him, live all experiences possible, and go on a journey of self-discovery, through one of the most difficult times in human history: he would be able to show the world his courage, resilience and endurance in the face of adversity.
Tamba did it well I believe.

posted by Pramudith D. Rupasinghe on March, 24 ]]> /author_blog_posts/16639862-termites Sun, 08 Apr 2018 06:01:38 -0700 /author_blog_posts/16639862-termites
posted by Pramudith D. Rupasinghe on March, 24 ]]> /author_blog_posts/16024463-an-excerpt-from-bayan Sat, 18 Nov 2017 06:58:00 -0800 /author_blog_posts/16024463-an-excerpt-from-bayan Pramudith D. RupasingheBayan‘When the muscles shrink, the skin wrinkles. When the sight fades, the beauty becomes unavailing, when hearing weakens, the music falls silent and when the legs are tumbling, the paths where I walked along, miles after miles, become mere fantasies. And when ability turns to disability, you have to know the journey of life is reaching it`s destination, patiently and gradually; allow it to reach! patiently and gradually, and breath till the last bit of air granted to you. Its your obligation.â€�

posted by Pramudith D. Rupasinghe on February, 05 ]]> /author_blog_posts/15330421-an-excerpt-from-bayan Sat, 24 Jun 2017 20:15:00 -0700 /author_blog_posts/15330421-an-excerpt-from-bayan Pramudith D Rupasinghe
Bayan

‘I always knew that happiness is composed with short living shallow feelings whereas the sadness is deep with a long life; often happiness dies and resurrects, and the sadness just fall dormant when we are happy knowing that we will wake it up sooner than later. Happiness is like a wave, sadness is like the innermost depth of an ocean.
In sadness, you remain introvert, left alone. In happiness you tend to be an extravert, you start sharing. In sadness you close your eyes; you delve deep within yourself. And when you grow old sadness grows with you leaving just an infinitesimal space for happiness. That is what many of us fail to accept and embrace as a part of growth�. He threw a look at his fingers and said.
‘Now, when I play my Bayan, my fingers constantly keep reminding me of the future which is shorter than my pastâ€�. He smiled showing his brown teeth.

posted by Pramudith D. Rupasinghe on March, 20 ]]>