Launch of City, in Colombo

I’m going to be at the ICES Colombo next week, July 11 at 4 30 pm, for the launch of City:  A Journal of South Asian Literature in English.

The launch is for the special edition of City which features Sri Lankan literature in English and in translation from Sinhala and Tamil.

If you are in this neck of the woods, join us at the ICES and meet the editor, Ajmal Kamal and the other contributors.

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This is Home is a short story I wrote last year about a Palestinian woman stuck in the middle of the conflict. Check it out here.


2014 in review

Thank you to everyone who visited my blog this year. Hope you have a peaceful and wonderful New Year. See you soon in 2015.

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,100 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 18 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Celebrating Sri Lankan Women’s Writing in English

The English Writers’ Cooperative (EWC) of Sri Lanka in association with the International Centre for Ethnic Studies (ICES) organised an evening of poetry and prose by Sri Lankan women writers to celebrate International Women’s Day. Some of the work can be viewed here.

December 16, 2012 is one of the poems I read out. It was written in January this year and was in response to the horrific event that took place in Delhi, India in December that sent shock waves across the world.

December 16, 2012

They made a movie on a bus

riding around town, no one


heard the songs, or

saw the dances. The action stars


were new. Later, someone threw

in a name – Amanat. On and


on they moved around Delhi’s leafy

avenues, curtains drawn while the engine


kept time to the sounds inside. No cuts

no breaks the actors played their


part. The heroine protested – like all

heroines do. A new face she was dressed


for the part. An item girl they sang as

she danced. Munirka to Dwarka


it purred on its way. The wheels turned

round and round as the winter chill crept


through the leaves on the trees

and a single leaf fluttered to the ground,


torn apart. It fell across the road and no

one took note. Just another


leaf among so many in the city. Action

spent the bus came to a stop but


before they could shoot again the city rose

in wrath to demand a ban on the script’s


repeat. Candles lit, they waited it out, but

the wheels grind slowly round


and round. And while the old men argued

in vain inside colonial walls another


leaf fell silently to the ground.


© 2013  Shirani Rajapakse