oyate pissu de??
The paradoxical being of Tushan; beginning with an extraordinary speech and ending with a Toronto subway fire.
Tushan was small. He was a thin brown Tamil man with an interminable smile and large red sandals. He walked with airy bounce and though his hair was graying, he carried the presence of a giddy 14 year-old boy.
The day I first met Tushan he was laughing his way towards an aneurysm. His lean body shook, his skinny arms flailed, teary-eyed and beet-red he slapped his knee with ruthlessly genuine delight.
I couldn’t resist, “Hello sir, may I ask what’s so funny?”
He looked up quickly, in complete sobriety sticking out his hand, “halo. I am meestair Tushan. Who ardyou?”
Before I could respond he had already turned his back to me and was strolling wide-legged into the woods.
His character seemed almost surreal to me then and as time passed, his eccentricity bred exponentially.
The night of our meeting, Tushan delivered a speech so unforgettable, so unbelievable that no soul in the room could either believe or forget it. His words were so incredible that their credibility equaled zero.
The room was filled with ten young Canadians, ten Sri Lankans, and five program facilitators. As I scanned the room, I saw 25 people; Mi’qmaq, Tamil, Sinhalese, afro-Canadians and Canadian Caucasians all at the edge of their seats with enthusiastic anticipation.
In the center, Mr. Tushan stood ready to speak.
His mouth opened, his first words cracking. He began slowly with a thick Tamil accent gaining momentum with every syllable, his words blending and mixing he invented verbs and nouns with the roots of conjunctions. he spoke swiftly while we listened for 30 minutes understanding perfectly nothing. He kept on for another hour and I finally decided that his discourse was most likely either about NYSC (National Youth Services Council) or something else.
Absolute butchery of the English language,
For a total of one hour and 45 minutes, the entire room sat confused and engaged as Tushan spoke vividly and enthusiastically about quite literally nothing. Between amused giggles, he imparted his words with unprecedented energy and confidence, making huge spanning gestures followed by tiny mouse-like physical articulation.
Finally he delivered his last hanging words, dramatically making absolutely no sense.
The speech had encroached upon the previously planned discussion. It bulldozed over our snack-time and the allotted orientation. We went to bed hungry and confused and with an exact preface of what was to come through our affiliation with Mr. Tushan Iroshan Halgamuwa.
…and I never discovered why he’d laughed so hard the first time we met.
Join me next time for The conclusion of Tushan and his apparent experience with a Toronto subway fire
Tushan was small. He was a thin brown Tamil man with an interminable smile and large red sandals. He walked with airy bounce and though his hair was graying, he carried the presence of a giddy 14 year-old boy.
The day I first met Tushan he was laughing his way towards an aneurysm. His lean body shook, his skinny arms flailed, teary-eyed and beet-red he slapped his knee with ruthlessly genuine delight.
I couldn’t resist, “Hello sir, may I ask what’s so funny?”
He looked up quickly, in complete sobriety sticking out his hand, “halo. I am meestair Tushan. Who ardyou?”
Before I could respond he had already turned his back to me and was strolling wide-legged into the woods.
His character seemed almost surreal to me then and as time passed, his eccentricity bred exponentially.
The night of our meeting, Tushan delivered a speech so unforgettable, so unbelievable that no soul in the room could either believe or forget it. His words were so incredible that their credibility equaled zero.
The room was filled with ten young Canadians, ten Sri Lankans, and five program facilitators. As I scanned the room, I saw 25 people; Mi’qmaq, Tamil, Sinhalese, afro-Canadians and Canadian Caucasians all at the edge of their seats with enthusiastic anticipation.
In the center, Mr. Tushan stood ready to speak.
His mouth opened, his first words cracking. He began slowly with a thick Tamil accent gaining momentum with every syllable, his words blending and mixing he invented verbs and nouns with the roots of conjunctions. he spoke swiftly while we listened for 30 minutes understanding perfectly nothing. He kept on for another hour and I finally decided that his discourse was most likely either about NYSC (National Youth Services Council) or something else.
Absolute butchery of the English language,
For a total of one hour and 45 minutes, the entire room sat confused and engaged as Tushan spoke vividly and enthusiastically about quite literally nothing. Between amused giggles, he imparted his words with unprecedented energy and confidence, making huge spanning gestures followed by tiny mouse-like physical articulation.
Finally he delivered his last hanging words, dramatically making absolutely no sense.
The speech had encroached upon the previously planned discussion. It bulldozed over our snack-time and the allotted orientation. We went to bed hungry and confused and with an exact preface of what was to come through our affiliation with Mr. Tushan Iroshan Halgamuwa.
…and I never discovered why he’d laughed so hard the first time we met.
Join me next time for The conclusion of Tushan and his apparent experience with a Toronto subway fire