The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida

by Shehan Karunatilaka

The heave of humanity is never picturesque.

Many seem dressed for a wedding, because that’s how undertakers decorate corpses.

The same place the flame goes when you snuff it, the same place a word goes when you say it.

None of them went anywhere. They were, and then they were not.

There may come a time when homosexuals can kiss on the street, get mortgages together and die in each other’s arms. Not in your lifetime. In your lifetime, you meet a stranger in a dark place and never see them again. Or you have secret affairs that end with no time for heartache. Or you do something radical, like have a girlfriend, live with her, and sleep in the spare room with the landlord’s son.

How ugly we all are when reduced to meat. How ugly this beautiful land is,

‘From a young age, we are brainwashed into calling mediocre people “hamu” and “sir”. It is part of growing up poor.

But forgetting cures nothing. Wrongs must be remembered. Or your murderers will roam free. And you will know no peace.’