the alcoholic from The domestic, the alcoholic, the whore and the homo- ‘in no particular order’

The day he got on that plane, Bangkok bound, his life changed forever.

Those sleepy days, underneath the mango grove staring at the Palmyra ridden horizon, are a distant memory now as he sat in that uncomfortable economy class seat. He was promised a good aisle seat; he went to the best travel agent in those days near what is now liberty plaza. His uncles (the annoying bastard husband of his fathers sister) best friends brother’s neighbor sold him apparently what were discounted tickets on Singapore Airlines. In those days, the plane would do a few landings before getting its passengers to their destination. For him, it was Kentucky, in the land of the free. So he forked out fifty thousand rupees for that seat and the hotel in Bangkok and Seoul.

During the take off, he reflected back on his journey all the way from Pandatheripu, on that bloody bus, stocked like sardines in that Jaffna heat. He remembered saying goodbye to his mother as she stood at the gate with his sisters and his brother clutching his mother’s housecoat. Those words, her last words to him still rang in his ears: “be safe and come back to us soon my son”. Even 30 years later, those words would still ring true and denote the bittersweet irony of the plight that was bestowed on him. Maybe she should not have pawned her Thali, maybe she should not have pawned her rings and her land to send her eldest to the land of the free only to be treated as a ‘sandnigger’, only worthy of cleaning toilets. He knew that she had no clue about the stark reality that awaited him, the ghastly and lonely nights, wanting to see a familiar face in that bitter Kentucky cold.

As he sat there, little did he know what awaited him in the next few hours, few days, few months and few years. At the moment, his bitterness and sadness at the long goodbye at the airport to his father was being slowly replaced by the idea that he was the first Tamil from Jaffna to be given this prestigious prize; the only one from St. Josephs to have been chosen to take part in this elitist competition. Yet he managed to win the prestigious ASF scholarship, created for the colonized as a way to placate their ultimate and secret desire of become like their white masters.

He studied day and night, memorized every term, every equation and he got it. All those nights, that he had to put up with his pervert of an uncle trying to have sex with his aunty while they thought everyone was sleeping. They seemed so oblivious of him as he sat at the dinner table right next to their bedroom, which they shared with their oldest. He could hear her whispers and his demands for more.

He was so proud at that moment and he could sense the envy from all his peers, as they nodded in that colonized manner while listening to how he managed to complete the impossible test with record time.

And his mind raced, as he thought about all those that have failed him, especially his father and how he managed to neglect his sickly eldest. He recalled every wound that he had, even when he was five, from Atopic eczema. He remembered his father callous attempts at placating his sickly child. The only thing that would calm him at nights, as he itched, was his mother soothing songs, all taken from the latest Tamil mega hits, shown at the local theaters.

And now, he sits in that dark dingy tavern some where in the outskirts of Lexington, Kentucky waiting for his foster brother to pick him up for the countless time. As he stares in to that scotch on the rocks, he can see the reflection of his barely open eyes. The bartender is keeping a close eye on that sandnigger he heard him say, he was known for his short temper and his rowdy cloured friends. He can barely look up and see the row of glasses in front of him; the wine glasses, the pint glasses and the plastic shot glasses.

As he drinks himself to death, he remembered, the day he got on that fucking plane, that changed his life and wished that things were different. He wished that he was not so fortunate to have witnessed the dead carcass of his child or rather the fetus. He just wishes that he would have never won that scholarship.