Midnight Germany December 1942

When I came to we were flying somewhere over an unknown landscape lit by the full moon. I had lost consciousnesses for at least 15 minutes but by some strange luck the plane had held level and had drifted north from Munich where it all went wrong. It didn't feel good when the flying fortress lifted off the runway and I knew it wouldn't turn out well this time. We had been to Munich once too often and I knew the Luftwaffe would be waiting. I never saw the point of going there, the Germans had decentralized everything in Munich a year ago, there were many towns more worthwhile and Munich was just a City with a big name and little else. There were twelve of us in this plane, and five including the co-pilot, tail gunner, the bombardier were injured.

The B17 Flying Fortress, one of the legends of the war was known for its ability to fly back home even after taking heavy enemy fire, but I felt it would be different this time.  We were flying somewhere over Germany alone, and the formation of B-17’s and their supporting P-15 Mustangs, if there were any left had been separated from us. Two of the four engines were out, and part of the fuselage was torn making the wind ricochet off it making a howling noise. The altimeter, compass and all other equipment except the airspeed indicator were damaged and completely useless. Crossing the channel and reaching England now seemed a lost cause.

Without the compass I could not know where we were or even in which direction we were heading. I tried to locate our position by the stars but the constellations now seemed strange and different. Perhaps some landmark below could help so I brought her down to an altitude of 500 feet and as the plane moved forward the fields and hedges seemed to move backwards in a strange and monotonous way. Suddenly a church tower seemed to rise up towards the plane and then we were over what looked like a sleepy village. A farmyard led to a country road and suddenly we were over empty fields again and I realized the hopelessness of our situation. We didn’t know where we were and we didn’t know where we were going either, could we end up in the Arctic or in Siberia in the Soviet Union thought I.

We drifted along aimlessly but suddenly to my right I saw a Mustang. It was badly damaged but the pilot signaled me to follow him. Though I could recognize many of the pilots and planes I could not recognize the pilot or the markings of the plane. The poor fellow might have seen us drift and followed us through the night, but he seemed to be in a worse position than us for his parachute was damaged and the damages to his plane meant that it would be impossible to land her. This seemed like his last mission. But if not for him we would have to fly many miles inland and try to find an airstrip without radio, and because fuel was low it would be impossible to do so.

The Mustang had even less fuel capacity than the Fortress, it was a miracle that he took this long route and was still flying. He guided us to almost the edge of the runway, and flew low as if trying to land but at the last second climbed and flew strait ahead. As the fortress came to a halt in the runway I hoped that by some luck he would be able to save himself.

This happened in December 1942, and sixteen years later in 1958, I visited the airstrip again. What was once a busy Base used both by the USAAF and the Royal Air Force was now a deserted field that had only one operational airstrip. An old man worked in it and his only job was to switch on the runway lights when instructed to do so by the Air Traffic Controller in Chippenham, who would then guide the plane towards this airstrip in and emergency. Such an incident happened very rarely perhaps once a year.

“Heard you were once a pilot” said he. “Well, I don’t know what you would make of this, but ever since I came to work here in 1951 every December on the same day at around 2.30 at night a plane flies over this airfield, an old fashioned sought of thing, now not flown I think, a Thunderbolt or Mustang perhaps, it seems to want to land so I switch on the Run Way lights but it doesn't land, but flies strait ahead, it seems strange, what do you think it is”. “What does the plane look like” said I “are there any markings, letters, or maybe a name” “Couldn’t pick it at night, eyesight ain't good, but I can definitely say one thing, most of the fuselage in the lower part is missing.

Written by: RJX

Village in the East

A strong smell of spices mixed with petrol and kerosene wafted through the oppressive humid heat. The town of Trincomalee, which borders the sea, is only six miles from the village in the east. There was a sigh of relief as the dust covered bus finally pulled out of the depot in the middle of the crowded market place. It sped past the deserted playground which was fast turning into a scrub jungle and past the last stop railway station. As it laboured up a slight inclination, a black stone church comes into view. Against the backdrop of a shimmering turquoise sea and ancient gravestones, the church of Our Lady of Guadeloupe looms somber, yet majestic. And then, the landscape changes suddenly without warning. There are few buildings of significance beyond this point, mostly shrubby jungle interspersed with large trees and bare open land. From time to time, you would catch the odd glimpse of the sea where the road dares to run close enough to its white sandy coast.

The road is deserted and full of pot holes. The trees that accompany the road are large and wild and perhaps many hundreds of years old. We drive past many a Banyan Tree with its eerie aerial roots hanging from spreading branches. Would that be a Ficus benghalensis or a religiosa I wonder? I smile remembering the many carefree childhood walks that were transformed into tedious botany lessons by my father, much to the utter dismay and exasperation of his offspring…..benghalensis I decide, for religiosa, as its name implies would be the sacred Bo tree.

The bus stops abruptly at a dull structure that looks like cement box, rudely interrupting my pleasant reverie.  I grab my backpack and use my elbows to create a path to escape. All around me, as far as the eye can see, is what looks like sea sand, though the sea is almost two miles to the east. It could be mistaken for a desert, had it not been for the low lying areas in it that were filled with water. An occasional spiky tree that looked like a small model of a coconut tree with spikes at the tip of the leaves broke the monotony of an otherwise flat landscape. Not a soul, not even a damn villager in sight…… and for a moment I felt like running after the bus.  After some thought, I gathered enough courage to walk along the meandering road that would lead me to the village in the east. I had been walking for nearly 2 miles when the sand pit desert turned into a shrubby bush jungle and eventually to tall trees.  Out of nowhere a large house appeared. Who on earth would build such a good house in the middle of nowhere, then a jungle again followed by barbed wire fences where  creepers with bright pink flowers had grown so profusely that it looked  like a wall. More signs of life now, the odd mud hut and bare bodied little children playing with discarded tyres. I pass the village shop, its outdoor benches occupied by wizened old men doing nothing in particular. I returned their curious glances with a friendly wave. I pass the village school which was bigger than I expected and finally arrived at the four acre compound. The welcome party was already in place as I turned the little sandy culvert that lead to the land.

For a moment it looked as if the whole village had turned up to greet me. On closer inspection I realized it was just the family. There was Raghavan, his wife, their 8 kids and of course his mother-in-law, his sister, her husband, their two dogs and a passing Billy goat. The eldest was an eighteen year old girl, and the youngest was a toddler comfortably nestled on his mother’s hip. It was a mud hut, just one small room with a roof of dried thatched palmyrah leaf. The floor too was made of mud, it was very cool inside and though dark it had a good earthy smell. The husband was a fisherman who mostly didn’t fish but drank, a very pleasant man who in a different world would have become a stock broker. The woman too was generous (but if provoked would scold so loud that it could be heard a mile away), and the food and the tea from the pitch black kettle was tasty. The landlord had allowed them to stay without rent to look after the chillie and onion plantation.

Being just 5 degrees north of the equator this is a very sunny country and this eastern part of the island is known to have the highest temperature. But the term dry zone is not very accurate, for when the north-east monsoon blows in, the landscape transforms unexpectedly, with luscious green vegetation sprouting up as far as the eyes can behold.

I went to the onion harvesting land where the eighteen year old worked. She was a big made mouthy girl, bigger than her father, who tried to dominate anyone who came her way including me. She asked the most difficult questions I have ever faced. How do you stop rodents from climbing coconut trees (why would a rodent want to climb a coconut tree)? How do you water a large estate of water melon (Ask bloody Aristotle, maybe his water screw will help, that is if you can’t afford a water pump)? “I heard you are an expert on trees” she remarked casually. “What is that tree out there and what can you do with it”. I really didn’t know, but I should have for it is a large tree with smallish leaves and with a wonderful bark that had a nice design to it.  “Muthirai” she replied knowingly and somewhat sarcastically, “the wood is dark red, and it is much better than teak”.

We finally arrived at the onion land where many women were harvesting, row upon row of sage green stalks tipped by dainty white flower heads, a lucrative crop where even the damn leaves could be eaten as a salad. I strolled to the edge of the barbed wire fence where a large Tamarind tree grew. And on the opposite side was another large land with another barbed wire fence, beyond that another and it goes on and on like this forever until you meet the very edge of the sea. Around here the biggest threat was a wandering stray cow eating the plants and so a barbed wire was all that was needed. Nobody invested on walls. 

The view was unrestricted, presenting an incredible sight. Trees and shrubs, bare open land, noisy insects, the smell of sand, a yellow flowering shrub that had a strong heady aroma, birds of the brightest hues, a sun so bright that it burnt the skin, what would Vincent van Gogh have painted had he been born here.

I met the Post Master a man of maybe 55, with graying hair combed neatly behind and a constant toothy grin. To me he looked like an insurance salesman. He said “there was an American who lived in the house you would have passed on your way here, he was a rich man, well connected, he was here for about one year but left about two years ago”. “He was an adventurer, did scuba diving everyday, well, when he left he gave me this telescope” he added, handing me a polished leather box. It was a Meade Telestar, a wonderful refracting telescope and possibly one of the most advanced of its size. Built by the Cornelius Corporation of the United States, it was practically a complete observatory.  It can easily achieve a magnification of 250 times and could be used to get spectacular close ups of the moon. It would have cost a fortune, why on earth would the American given it to him?

I set the telescope on a large rock in the beach, the rock pushed partly into the sea but I was safely out of reach from the surging of the waves. I turned the telescope to the horizon and right at the rim of the world, all I could see at first was foam. There was obviously a rock or a reef out there and as I moved further right there was a fishing boat. Although ten miles into the sea I could see the fisherman, but because the atmosphere danced with heat only intermittent glimpses of the scene were afforded. A clear image appeared only to disappear immediately into a blur as the intense heat faded the vision. It was a Dhoni, a boat very long and hollowed in the middle and balanced from rolling over by another wooden log attached by two poles. There were three men, the sail was down and the boat blobbed aimlessly, up and down on the deep sea.

I turned it to the left and spotted an old wreck, rusted stern and all.  It was a fair distance into the sea, but it made a large image in my telescope. There is no doubt it was a large ship, probably a war ship. Then I caught sight of a sea bird which I could not identify but looked like a tern. Next something I thought was an eagle, but lost it as it dived to catch a fish. I turned the telescope to the extreme right and there pushing majestically from the coast was the mountain from which the town got its name. Right on the very edge of the distant cliff was the ancient Koneswaram temple, one of the most revered shrines on the island.

A leaflet fluttered out of the box which had held the telescope and I hastily stepped over the rocks to retrieve it. It turned out to be the instruction manual for the instrument. The Meade Telestar I learnt was very popular among amateur astronomers. I avidly read the instructions with a surging feeling of childlike excitement. I realized I was wasting this instrument on terrestrial viewing. With the magnification it was capable of, I would be able to see not only the stars, constellations and moon craters but even the four largest moons of Jupiter and the rings of Saturn. I decided to miss the only bus that comes in the evening at 5.30 pm and stretched back on the smooth rock surface, waiting for sunset.

Written by: RJX

How I Made a Wooden Tri-plane

Many years ago I visited a shop to by a walkman which cost about 700 Rupees. In the same shelf there was a plane that had a price tag of 1500 Rupees. I asked the salesman what it was and he showed it to me. It was a small model Aero-plane with a wing span of just 10 inches. It was not a toy for it was an exact model and had to be carefully assembled together. I wondered who on earth would buy such a thing, and then I realized it was a collectors item. Perhaps a man who worked for an Airline as an Engineer would use it to show his friends about a plane he used to repair, or perhaps the retired Air Force General would keep it on his table, or a collector who had a fascination with planes.

I decided to make a plane like it with wood and sell it for 1000 Rupees. The trouble is I knew nothing at all about woodworking, and I didn’t know anyone whom I could ask. But in the library I found a book about woodworking, it was a wonderfully written book with clear pictures. The tools you need are simple. There is the hand saw which is used to cut planks but this is usually not needed when making small items because the wood can be cut to size in the wood mill. But its cousin a small saw that resembles a hacksaw but is much smaller and cheaper than it, is still needed. The chisel which is used to sculpt wood by hitting the handle with a hammer or applying pressure is a basic tool for woodworking. (But I didn’t use it much for I used the saw to cut the wood to size and the Rasp to shape it). A rasp which is actually a sought of file, but with bigger grooving. When used in a similar way to a file it scrapes off wood very efficiently. Although it was not mentioned in the book I found the normal file, which is usually used only on metal is very useful for smoothing the surface. And the vice which is tightened to the table is used to hold the wood firmly when cutting it with the saw, or working on it with another tool. The vice is usually quite a heavy tool, but a small vice which cost only about 250 rupees is perfectly adequate for this purpose. A hand drill is useful, and of course the hammer which was already there.

I wondered where I could buy these tools, and found a stretch of road about a kilometer long, and on both sides of the road there are shops that sell only wood working tools. I bought all the tools I need for less than 1500 Rupees. I found it incredible that a man could start business in one of the main areas of commerce by reading a book, or by getting a few tips from a carpenter, and buy all he needed for just 1500 rupees. If as I hoped I could sell my plane for 1500 rupees, I would have most probably covered all the cost in the first transaction, but the tools would still be there so from the second plane onwards I would make a big profit.

The next step was to find a plane to make. I have an old encyclopedia which has pictures of aircraft and under “Historic Aircraft of World War I” I found a red Tri-plane (three wings) that particularly appealed to me. It was the Fokker Dr. 1 Tri-plane flown by Baron Manfred von Richthofen (1892-1918), the World War I German flying Ace, who as leader of an air group called the “Flying Circus” personally shot down 80 Allied planes. Richthofen served in the cavalry and infantry before entering air service in 1915, and was known as the “Red Baron” for the color of the plane he flew, but was shot down in aerial combat possibly by Captain A. R. Brown of the British Air Force. 

I first built a plane to get familiar with the tools, considering I worked on it without a plan it still looked quite good. To build an exact model I needed details like the wing span, the length and width of the fuselage, size and shape of the tail fin and other details. I wondered from where I could find such specialized details. Incredibly in a book I found in the Library on Aircraft there are diagrams of planes giving these details. I drew these diagrams by hand and set out building the plane. I wanted to build a plane with a wing span of 10 inches.

I used mahogany for it is easy to work on. I bought a plank from the wood mill but it was too thick. There is a machine in any wood mill called a Plainer-thicknesser that is used to plain wood to the required thickness. I plained it to a fraction of an inch and drew the three wings on it, held it in the vice and used the small saw to cut it. Then I used the rasp for the slight tapering effect on the top of the wings, and the file to smooth it. In a similar way I cut the tail sections, the propeller and all the other sections except the fuselage from the same plank of wood. The tail sections were a little thinner so I used the rasp and file to make it thin. I bought a square pole and used the thicknesser to make it to the size of the front end of the fuselage. The fuselage tapers up and becomes smaller as it nears the tail section, all I had to do is to cut this part with the small saw and use the rasp and file to shape it.

The small teeth of the small saw cuts the wood rapidly and does not hold the wood and get stuck like the hand saw. The design simplicity of this plane is amazing, a big plank could be used to cut any amount of wings and other parts except the fuselage, and the fuselage itself is just a square pole, so any amount can be cut from a long pole.

Many people think to cut a wheel you need a wood lathe, but it is not so. I drew the wheel on the plank and cut slightly around the line of the wheel, and a few stokes of the file towards the line made a really good wheel. The axel was also made in a similar way, and I used the hand drill to make a hole and connect the wheel to the axel. The wheel and the propeller were movable parts.

I pasted all the parts with glue and painted it red, and when I painted the Iron Cross on the wings, fuselage and tail it looked incredibly good. I felt really happy at having made a model plane that actually had the same energy of the real Fokker Dr.1 flown by the “Red Baron.” The next day I wanted to take it to shops and show it as a sample of what I could build if they were willing to sell. But that evening a friend visited me with his son, and when I showed it to them, his son pleaded with me to give him the plane. I reluctantly gave it thinking that I would be able to make another for now I knew how it was done. Soon after they left I felt a great sense of loss, and sadly never built a model tri plane again. For something more important came up and soon responsibilities overwhelmed me. And I lent some of my tools which were never returned. I feel the wooden Tri Plane is just at the edge of my hands, but I never really manage to make one. But one day when I am a little less busy I will make one for my son, and I am sure I can make many more and sell at a profit.

Written by: RJX

The Light of Another day

In the middle of the 21^st century the world’s oil reserves finally ran out. Although feeble attempts were made to use Solar energy, Wind power and Hydroelectricity (though theoretically sound) due to the half hearted efforts of politicians these proved too late and soon the world turned dark. Many years ago (in 2008) when the price of oil went up by 10 percent there were riots in many countries as  prices of every item including food went soaring up. Now there was no oil anywhere and there was utter chaos. Without oil there was no electricity and all production stopped. When fertilizer and pesticide production was hampered, food production fell, even the little that was produced could not be transported or even preserved. Soon trawlers stopped going to the sea. The production of medicines was drastically reduced and soon diseases which were once under control or even rare became common. Any remedial action by governments was hampered as roads became frightening places where hungry mobs roamed looking for any remaining food. Incredibly poor agricultural economies that depended on ancient methods of agriculture were the least affected.

In the year 2054 the United States split into eight, being a land of machines there was utter chaos when the machines stopped moving. Due to the unbearable winter most people in Canada moved south and the people already there faced untold hardships. The Antarctic was abandoned and Alaska seemed lost for ever. In the Arctic Eskimos who had forgotten their old ways of living were trapped. Most people in northern latitudes faced unbearable winters and many tried to move south. There was starvation everywhere. Oil had fueled the population boom and now people had forgotten how to live without it.

My  uncle  who  was once a world  famous  biologist  was now almost unknown in  his  own  country of  Sri-Lanka. Many people considered him a joke, but a joke worth leaving alone. Being an agricultural economy situated near the equator we were not as badly hit as Europe and America but things were getting steadily worse due to malaria and other reemerging diseases. The big Pharmaceutical companies of the west had stopped producing miracle drugs and vaccines for poor countries. If only my uncle had been young, as it was he was just about useless, he was now 92 years and his eccentric acts like the day he built a tree house in a major highway so that he could go to the university quickly, and the day he landed his small aircraft in town hall when the mayor was giving a speech, because he had to use the washroom had made him the joke of the Island.

My mother had given me the responsibility of looking after him so that he didn’t do any more eccentric things and harm himself. I do not know when I stopped calling him uncle and started calling him Collins (he was named after Michael Collins of the Lunar expedition) but it is something I did on purpose to get the upper hand. His earlier success as a scientist and the patents he held had made him rich and he lived in a big house with an enormous garden full of genetically modified fruit trees which seemed to have more fruits than leaves. “How are you Collins” I asked trying to sound as firm as possible, “Oh I am fine” answered my uncle in a cheerful way. “You see Alvin” my uncle began “I was wondering what happened to the United States, it’s not united anymore and it’s worse than the middle ages there, you know they have all become savages, and things in Europe aren’t much better either, and according to my calculations soon things are going to be much worse here, so I have a plan to solve the energy problem of this world, and I have already started it.

“Be sensible Collins” said I trying to control my anger, “ You are a biologist, not a physicist, and anyway your days as a scientist are over, many great minds have tried to solve this problem but the scale of it is such that it has been a dismal failure, don’t break your head over things that are beyond your capability to solve, in fact did you read in the news paper that Professor Southerling has called you the biggest joke this side of the equator for your theory of solving the energy problem by splitting water”  .“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that” said my uncle coolly “Southerling is a politician not a scientist, but enough of that Alvin let’s go to the beach.”

We did not have to walk far for my uncle had always lived near the sea. The waves were breaking in the shore and the noonday sun was as bright as ever as we walked towards a boat. We got into the boat and I was shocked by what I saw for the boat had a large fishlike tail extending from behind it, and as this long black tail flapped the boat propelled at an incredible speed through the water. “What the hell is that Collins” said I almost jumping overboard. “That’s just the wave powered propulsion system” replied my uncle “I transferred the vertical up and down motion of the waves to the horizontal flapping motion of the tail, there are pods floating just below the surface all around the boat, and every time a pod is moved up and down there is a clever mechanism which transfers this to the flapping movement of the tail, even the smallest ripple is transferred to the tail, that’s why it moves so fast.”  “But Collins there is some law in science like the perpetual machine, or the conservation of energy which prevents such a machine from operating, are you sure that there isn’t a motor attached to the tail?”  to which my uncle replied  “ The perpetual machine is where  the machines movement itself provides energy to move the machine further, so it creates energy from nothing and so cannot exist, but here the waves provide energy for the boat to move. “That’s clever” said I trying to behave like I understood what he meant” “But how can it solve the energy problem”. There was no answer for he was sitting on the boat with his hand touching the water and reciting an old poem that he himself wrote

As I walked along a lonely beach

heard the echo of a jungle tree

Or was it a parrot that tried to scream

Or the unknown shadows of a long dead beach

Was there a jungle left of me

Or just dead tree trunks that tried to flee

The sun was duller than it used to be

When I where can I now be

Suddenly I saw a large Ferris wheel in the beach, ten times larger than the largest that had ever been built. Though we were far it cut a large visual image over the horizon. “Good heavens, what in gods name is that” said I. “That is the solution to the energy problem, you see Alvin there are large hollow metal structures floating in different parts of the sea each weighing hundreds of tons, but these are attached to the sea bed and every time they are moved up and down by a wave, this generates an enormous amount of energy, which is transferred by an hydraulic system to turn the Ferris wheel. Imagine the amount of energy needed to lift a 150,000 Ton structure one feet, how many 1000Kg lifts can you operate by that single wave, and there are countless such structures in different parts of the sea. Why a Ferris wheel you may ask, the answer is it provides a central point where all this energy can be channeled, and also the slow movement of a big wheel transfers into the fast movement of a small wheel, and attached to this huge Ferris wheel are countless small generators, each able to power a million homes and an enormous number of electric powered motor vehicles. This wheel would be more than enough to power all the energy needs of this country” replied my uncle.

“That’s stupendous” said I, “but if so why haven’t we still got electricity?”  To which he replied “That’s because after years of non use most sub stations, transformers and other equipment has been damaged, but within a month all this would be repaired and the whole country will have electricity”.

Within fifteen years every country on earth had electricity, and because wave power does not pollute the environment, the 21^st century saw the beginning of finding solutions to the great environmental problems like global warming, water pollution, and the pollution of the atmosphere and ozone layer depletion. I dare say that the 21^st century was better than the previous century due to a clever idea my uncle once had.

Written by: RJX

The Holy Mountain - Short Story

Many people believe that the Korean conflict or the Vietnam War was the biggest war in Asia in the 20^th century, but it was the 2^nd Sino Japanese war (1937-1945) which merged with the Second World War, that was the most destructive. In a way it was the inevitable result of the 1^st Sino Japanese war (1894-1895) which resulted in China becoming a fragmented land ruled by different warlords, and although it was finally united under one leader, it meant that imperialist Japan would invade China and in collaboration with the warlords tighten its grip over the Chinese people. In the end after millions of bombs which killed tens of millions of people, just two bombs dropped in Hiroshima and Nagasaki ended the imperial ambitions of the Empire of the Sun. It is difficult to say what was achieved by this tragedy of human arrogance, pride, foolishness, greed or whatever good things you would want to call it, but the horror of those days still mingle with the unpleasant dreams of the many still in Shandong.

In August 1940 Shandong was surrounded and there followed an aerial bombardment like the world had never seen before. During a midnight bombing raid a bomb fell right in front of our house and flattened it, but incredibly we were unhurt. My father went temporarily mad but finding we were unhurt said in an excited voice, “Chang, there are too many bad people here, if we are unlucky before the sun sets on the land of the rising sun, we will all be dead, but if we are lucky we too will turn into bad men, there is an island in the west which they call “the land of the rising moon”, when I was your age I lived in that island, in it there was a mountain which they called “the Holy mountain”, with great difficulty I climbed this mountain once and it is said if a man climbs it his family will be protected three times, and I believe this mountain protected us today, there is no time to lose, we collect whatever we can and leave here within ten minutes. There was no doubt in my mind where my father wanted to go, for he used to mumble about it even in his sleep,  he wanted to go to an island in the middle of the Indian ocean which was then called Ceylon. So my parents my younger brother and little sister and I started walking in the pitch dark of the night, a night that had more stars than I had ever seen, with fires burning everywhere and people shouting and stumbling for the bombing had temporally stopped, and we went in the direction my father always wanted to go - west. Strangely it was very exciting. Confucius said “he who treads softly goes far” but my father didn't seem to know, for he hurried on in such a clumsy, crude way that the four of us who followed him felt embarrassed.

Written by: RJX

A Short Story

During World War II my father had been stationed as a sergeant in the then British colony of Ceylon. It would have made a deep impression on him for when I was growing up he spoke about it at dinner for 20 years. So one day I decided to visit the island myself and see if he was telling the truth.

The Airport is well lit, and the highway from the airport to the capital Colombo about 30 Km away has many interesting buildings quite close to each other, though quite different from buildings in a suburban area in the west. They are rarely over two stories high and have the same flat design, and have the name board prominently displayed, almost all painted in a light beige color.

Colombo borders the sea and its port is one of the busiest in Asia. Almost all the major Hotels are around the Galle Face area which is a large empty ground bordering the Indian Ocean.

After a week in Colombo I decided to go to Matara which is in the southern tip of the Island and is about 170 Km south of Colombo. The road south runs parallel to the sea and this stretch of road filled with palm trees and fisherman’s huts is among the really enjoyable roads to travel on.

Along the way there are Toddy Tapers whose only job is to climb coconut trees and cut the flowering stem and tie a clay pot to it, after a few days the sap from the stem gets fermented and it becomes liquor which has a delightful unworldly taste to it. At Matara we stayed at a rest house which although not hygienic served the best food we ever had.

Although I do not have a degree in psychology I have a strange habit of analyzing the people in every country I go to, so I would do the same here. Sri Lankans in general are intelligent and friendly and not proud. And here unlike in the west there are different degrees of honesty, so when selecting a public official people look for the ideal combination of ability to do the job with the maximum possible degree of honesty, for it’s difficult to find an honest person who is also good at their job.

But for an intelligent people they do not think deeply about some things that trouble at least a small minority in the west, like for example: how was the universe created? Are there things smaller than atoms? Are we related to monkeys? This kind of thinking is absent even among University professors who are qualified to answer these questions. But even here there is an extremely small minority of people who think of such things, but unfortunately it’s so rare that you could spend an entire life time without meeting one.

But I did meet such a person in the island and he was the clerk in the guest house. “Aren’t you Carl Stanton the famous astronomer, and the world authority on supernovas” said he. “Yes” said I a little surprised that someone here knew me. “I’ve been reading the articles you write, it’s interesting and I have used your observations to verify my theories, theories that I think solve all the problems of the universe, including how it was created, and I have written it down in this paper, it would only take a few minutes to read, can you tell me whether it is correct” said he.

I present below his paper exactly as he wrote it without any modification by me:

An atom is made up of protons, neutrons and electrons. These are made up of even smaller particles like muons, pions, hyperons, Higgs bosons, baryons etc. So far about 150 such particles have been identified. These particles are fleeting and have a tendency to move incredibly swiftly. The movement of these tiny particles moves electrons, atoms, aero planes, stars, galaxies and everything else in the universe.

These tiny particles and their ability to move is the only reality in the universe and other things such as Time, Space, Energy or Creation are not real and are how the mind perceives the movement of these particles. Collectively these particles make what we normally call Matter.

According to this theory there is nothing called space, three dimensional or otherwise, for when these particles move, as they always do it creates this illusion. There is nothing to fill, for there is nothing.

Similarly there is no fourth dimension called Time, this is what the mind perceives when these particles move, but it isn't real, for there isn't anything separate called Time. If there is nothing called Time then the universe could not have been created at a particular point in time in the past, this solves the mystery of creation. These particles would have always been and will always be.

Another way of looking at it would be to imagine that every single particle in the universe stops moving, at this point Time is said to have stopped. So there wouldn’t be Time but there would still be particles (although not moving). This clearly shows particles (matter) are the reality, while time is an illusion.

Two sets of laws try to explain the Universe. Einstein’s theory of relativity for the larger world, and quantum physics for the exceedingly small. Einstein’s Theory does not work at the exceedingly small level because it differentiates between matter and energy, but energy is really extremely small particles of matter which move in different ways. This explains why Light behaves as both a particle and a wave.

If you convert all Matter in the Universe, and also all the Energy in it, into a cube of water at 30 degrees Celsius, the size of the cube would have always been the same. This constant would be the Universal constant of the Universe.

So how does this explain Singularity, or what is popularly known as the Big Bang. If matter were to loose it’s ability to move, it would converge to a point infinitely small, but soon the deep tendency to move would lead it to expand outward, which would eventually form Stars, planets, Galaxy’s and everything else that is in the Universe.

So how does this explain Gravitation? It has been found that when a sub atomic particle was moved another particle which was seven miles away moved in exactly the same way, and it has been estimated that however far these particles are separated they would move exactly in the same way. This is strange for nothing moves faster than the speed of Light. This twin movement could be used to explain Gravitation, for if a particle were to move, its twin particle would move towards it.

Note by the author: It is said that a simple law governs the universe, could it be this?

Written by: RJX

The Artist

I still remember my drawing in grade 3. The old teacher really liked it and gave it 99 marks. She held it up and examined it. The truth is it was a weak painting even considering my age, but the other students were worse. Nobody took art seriously considering it a waste of time and a bad career choice. I was the only one simple minded enough to have great enthusiasm for it. And now I think they were right.

I left my small village school and went to a big school and found in that great school not a single person even meekly interested or having the slightest ability in art including the teacher. But its cousin music was still very popular. You see everyone wanted to be doctors and engineers, but still wanted to sing at a social event just to impress the others. But drawing and painting had no such value and parents discouraged children from it.

But the trouble is I wasn’t a good artist. I had the soul of a good artist but the skill of a mediocre draughtsman. But I kept drawing and painting even after I left school. Unfortunately I could not find a job as an artist and instead decided to become an accountant. I passed my accountancy exams but my career as an accountant was a disaster and left me ill.

So in the year 2001 I embarked in a career as an artist. But embarked is too big a word to use if you are poor without influence and start work as an artist in Sri Lanka for it is a struggle. I always felt that my knowledge of art was incomplete so I decided to improve it. The Council Library was the only library then that had good books on art. But unfortunately I could not afford the subscription. To borrow books from the  Council I needed a membership card but they don’t always check when you enter the reference section, so I went there for many weeks and read but did not borrow. One day the clerk got suspicious and asked for my card, I stuttered that I had forgotten the card and rushed back.

I now had to find a new way to read so I got another bright idea. I went to bookshops in Colombo and read the books discretely without buying them. I agree these methods sound dishonest and I am ashamed to admit them now, but I hope the management is not too strict with these practices. For one thing we do not have any good public libraries here where the poor can learn. And also, I think many people whose books they sell at one time might have done this.

From this I was able to grasp such things as Aerial perspective, Linear perspective and Composition. I applied these methods to my drawings and paintings and tried to sell to friends. Alas nobody was interested. As I said there was a general lack of interest in art which pervaded the whole country. People are just not interested to buy paintings drawn by other people, most of whom they consider childish.

The other reason was cost. Materials used in fine art are really expensive and even if the artist made a very modest profit the price would be very high. Assuming the paint, canvas and the rest cost 1500, to frame it, it would cost 2000 and if the artist only made 500 on it, the total cost would be 4000. For 4000 rupees the customer can buy a large ornament or a clock or other solid object that they consider valuable.

I decided to tackle the problem of cost by using inexpensive material to draw impressive paintings. One method I tried was to use only pen and paper and do drawings that resembled etchings. The cost was less than 10 rupees but they still looked good.

I also used cheap oil pastels to draw impressionist paintings. Another method I used was to use water colours applied thickly so that they resembled oil paintings. To cut cost I also framed my own pictures. These methods meant that my cost was now very low and many people could afford to buy my paintings. I also used a wide range of styles from impressionism to abstract expressionism. Soon I became popular for my unusual methods.

I make a living but I am not rich. Some people call dreams illusions. As we become older these illusions dissolve, leading to despair. But how much better is it to have an illusion than it is to despair. I also want to write a book called “How to use inexpensive materials and make impressive paintings”. However it might turn out I know one thing. I really like art and I am my favorite artist. 

Written by: RJX

The Robot

Toko built the Yamomoto 2000 (a robot that did household chores) and sold it to a major manufacturer. The Yamamoto 2000 was a top selling robot which made Toko rich. But unfortunately Toko was a careless spendthrift and after two years was left in abject poverty. So he built the Yamomoto 2012, which used Artificial Intelligence. Unfortunately during this period technology had moved so fast that Toko, who was a free lance designer, could no longer compete. There was a time when science was the purview of individuals who were usually not educated but were creative, From Galileo Galilee to Edison and almost all scientists in between fell into this category, but as science moved towards the infinitely small and infinitely big individuals were left behind. Now the only people who could come up with a major discovery were well trained scientist, often working together for a large organisation, using the most advanced tools, and with a profit motive. Toko tried to sell his invention but he could not compete, so the Robot stood idle in the container that he lived, and was used only to take the dog for a walk. But one day Toko decided to connect Yamamoto 2012 to the internet. He put a special circuit so the robot could make sense of the words and pictures in the internet. The robot used Artificial intelligence, where it interacts with the environment and learns and improves, sometimes from its own mistakes. But however sophisticated it is a robot does not have a consciousness or will so it is not dangerous. Yamomoto 2012 surfed the internet from morning to night, and tried to make sense of what is essentially an endless array of both useful and useless information. But one day a strange thing happened. The trillions of Bites or information or knowledge it processed somehow came close to number of neurons in a human brain, and roughly matched the way the human brain worked. In millions of computers across Japan a strange messages started to appear. Many people thought it was a harmless virus sent by a hack.

I am the Prime Minister of Japan and as I transmit this message the building shook as if an enormous hammer hit the ground nearby, but let me continue with this message.

What happened after that is what belies logic, phones started to ring all across Japan in the middle of the night, but when answered there was only a strange beeping noise. Computers switched themselves on and could not be switched off. All electronic and electrical items started behaving in the most erratic and strange manner. Traffic lights malfunctioned in such a meaningless way that Tokyo was clogged in traffic jams. Then the lights went out all over Japan, but the electronic items continued to function. There were several air crashes as radar and other equipment failed.

Wait there goes that thud again only this time it is louder, now it sounds like an earthquake, but let me continue,

           

There have been rumors that car plants are used to make robots that look like Yamomoto 2012, but who operates them is still not clear. Chaos has rained in every part of Japan, but it is not clear what exactly is happening. The security forces have reported that strange robots charge towards them in the most annoying manner, but of course this is no major threat since these robots are only three feet tall, but still it only deepens the mystery. I wonder why General Takahiro didn't contact me, he should report every hour but we lost contact with him for the past 8 hours. We are in an underground facility which is safe, but of course there is no major threat.

 Communication with the outside world has come to an end, so I am transmitting in this emergency frequency, hoping that someone outside will receive it. I wonder whether this problem is encountered in other countries, for we are all connected by the communication network.

That noise, terrible, louder than ever, it shook the whole building, something heavy fell nearby. I am going up to see what it is,

My god what the hell is this, there are more than forty metal structures each at least  two miles high, and they all look a lot like Yamomoto 2012, and are able to walk briskly in a terrifying way, they seem to have spotted us, I wonder what their intentions aaaaaarrrrrrrr

Written by: RJX

The Painter

Many years ago I tried my hand at painting, like most people who start out my paintings weren't always good, and many of them were just plain bad, but of course they all looked good to me. I was one of the people in this world who can’t see anything bad in anything they paint, and unfortunately I had this weakness. It was perhaps an inability to judge rather than a high opinion of myself, in any case it felt good to draw hundreds of paintings almost as good as Vincent van Gough and a few even better than him. So I wanted to see the Director of one of the few companies that buy paintings. It was perfectly built building with several floors of Teak and it did not have an elevator but a finely built staircase. In every floor there were marble statues and paintings of every kind, oils, acrylics, water colors and drawings that took my breath away.

But there was also certain coldness, perhaps it was the air conditioning, but the receptionist was so distant that I felt she would have regarded me a little better if I had worn shoes and worn my best shirt. And the sales girl though friendly was nervous, and I wondered whether it was my overly enthusiastic way of speaking or whether she was looking over my shoulder to see if someone was coming. And strangely there were few people in the building but the people who worked there. Assertiveness is something I was practicing on then, and I wanted to give the impression I was important in case they take my position lightly, so in my best voice I asked the sales girl how many paintings they sold everyday. She thought about it for a minute and said “the question you must ask is how many paintings we sell a month”. The manager of the fifth floor a big middle aged man with a thick moustache spied on me, perhaps he was worried I would lift a painting, he walked up to me and was engaged in small talk, but lost all interest in me when he realized that what I really wanted to do was to sell rather than buy, and he walked away without a word.

But what really surprised me was the director, a women of such singular plainness that I wondered whether she was perhaps the head mistress of a leading girls school who was a near relative of the director, who was standing in because the director was ill. She considered the paintings poorly and at first rejected one of the paintings, and seemed to accept the other three. She considered again and rejected another, and a while later decided all four were not good. She said that compared to the paintings they had on display some by well known artists two of my paintings looked childish, and the other two looked like posters so the customers might think they are not genuine paintings. What I really wanted to ask her is which customers was she talking about for in the three hours I spent in the building I hadn’t seen any. Then she said “I could accept it but they would end up in a corner in this building and probably get lost”. And then she said in her perfect accent “If you come again make sure you make an appointment first.”  But what really blew the wind off my sails was as I was walking away the paintings tucked and heavy in my hands she asked in a very firm voice “weren’t you the one who called and complained about our water color paper.”

About three years earlier I did complain but I was impeccably polite and I did not know that she was the director. I went home disappointed and did not paint for another week, but then a strange thought came to my mind. What if the director was right, what if my paintings were really not good. And in any case assuming that she accepted it, and it was eventually sold to a customer (I get my 70 percent and the company gets 30 percent only if a customer buys it), I would make very little money on it because the materials used for fine art are very expensive, and in the island I live in few people would buy a painting and the few that do would pay very little for it.

I decided to paint something that would cost very little, but at the same time look as good as an expensive painting. I tried for a month but could not achieve it, but one day in a small shop I bought a pen, which was only as expensive as an ordinary ball point pen but the flow of ink was so fast that it could be used for quick drawings. I used this pen to draw on paper larger than the A4 size. I also developed a quick method of drawing which meant my output would be at least 5 drawings per day. My drawings resembled etchings and had a strange energy to them, and as far as I know I am the only person who uses this method of drawing.

When the director saw my drawings it only took her a few seconds to accept all ten. And a customer bought all ten the very next day. The drawings cost only a hundredth as much as my earlier paintings and I can draw fifteen times as many, and because it is so cheap almost everyone wants to buy. And the lesson I leant from it is “if at first you don’t succeed try again, but make sure you use a different method and also you never fail until you fail to try”

Written By: RJX