What a most curious season this is turning out to be. One cannot help but observe that every tale of consequence seems to involve a lady at its heart, whether it be her dazzling achievements, her delicate troubles, or, most dangerously, her enchanting influence over the gentlemen who flutter about like moths to a flame.
It was the charming wife’s recognition that sent her gallant husband soaring across the skies, proving once again that true love may be the sweetest of maladies, perilous, intoxicating, and never without consequence. Yet one must wonder if Uber or PickMe would have sufficed, for romance can be rather dangerous when the world watches. Let us hope cash was selected, for drivers care little about one’s role in saving the economy.
The health of one most fascinating statesman, none other than Mr. W., has been wavering more precariously than the rupee did when President J. R. doubled its value overnight. Though critics and wannabe prophets, especially of the YouTube kind, chatter endlessly, this author prefers to wish the gentleman good health. Who else has been the island’s ultimate chill lad, ever frowning in photographs yet too dashing to ignore?
Even elephants, it seems, have joined the drama. One caused quite the spectacle in Fort while another appeared in a perehara in Seenigama. A most fitting metaphor for our current affairs, loud, unpredictable, and forever threatening to block the road.
Meanwhile, bromances blossom in court corridors. Old foes sip tea like reunited brothers, and loyal allies declare gratitude with the gravity of ancient poets. How touching it is that one could imagine them as schoolboys once again, squabbling in the playground by day only to share biscuits at dusk. Sirisena has been spotted playing tea-boy at court, while Sagala insists it is time we show gratitude to RW. Well, Sagala, society would say they have a thing or two to learn from you. A bromance or simply a performance? Dearest reader, one leaves it to you to judge. Yet perhaps it is better left to Sudaththa, who knows how to do it better, though without his security detail one doubts his LLB will be of much use.
As for Ranil W., gentleman, statesman, and chill lad, may we kindly request the press to use his more charming portraits. Sad faces do not become him.
Turning now to the society pages, whispers grow louder of a certain foreign royal wedding. Yes, gentle reader, the great songbird herself is said to be engaged. The ring, which appears to be an heirloom, sits daintily on her finger, gifted by her gallant athlete. The flowers are approved, the intentions accepted, though one wonders why the suitor did not first seek the blessing of us, her ever-faithful public.
Should Miss Selena stand beside her as maid of honour? Might they, in a twist worthy of a novel, serve each other on their special days? Such speculation keeps the drawing rooms alight with chatter. Meanwhile, as one Harry takes tea with a lady not his wife, whispers of betrayal towards Taytay abound. Yet this author suspects she cares not in the least and perhaps even orchestrated the entire affair. After all, dear reader, if anyone knows how to compose a symphony of scandal, it is she.
Both stages, political and romantic, deliver an abundance of drama, and drama, dearest reader, is the very lifeblood of society.
Yours most sincerely, TC
