Of mind, not belly. And props, very tacky props.
I am not especially afraid of terrorism. In my day-to-day life I’m more scared of cops, minister’s sons, and ex-girlfriends. The LTTE doesn’t inspire terror anymore, just sadness. Now they’re just sad-ists. Throwing grenades in the zoo? Bombing a crowded train station? Are you fucking kidding me? What year is this, and how old are you people? The LTTE’s juvenile attacks prove nothing but the organizations own brutality, accomplish no particular end, and appear especially bankrupt after 25 years of the same-old, same-old. Vellupillai Prabhakaran is like an aging rock star, going on one last tour to pay his kids’ college bills. It’s like Bryan Adams decided to kill everyone promising on the charts and periodically blew up his band with pyrotechnics. In such a horrible parallel universe I would be doomed to hear “Summer Of ’69” every time I went out.. oh, wait. In the horrible parallel universe I do live in VP has killed every promising Sinhala and Tamil leader and continues sending bands of Tamil teenagers to die at shopping malls and bus stands across the country. It would be laughable if it weren’t so sad. The summer of ’83 is over and everybody has moved on. But Uncle P wants one last tour, playing the same broken record.
I remember seeing a photo of VP with a leopard cub. It looked fucking ridiculous. He looked like Michael Jackson in Thriller. Apparently he had a leopard cub named Sita, whom he stroked lovingly. He had some romance about him, he was still thin, and he had some hits. The assassination of the Jaffna Mayor on his way to temple as a street thug. The bombings of the Temple of the Tooth and Central Bank as a terrorist. The repulsion of the Indians as a guerrilla. The peace talks as a human being with some vestigal reasoning capability. Now Prabhakaran is diabetic, obese, and wears his belt around his nipples. And he’s still trying playing the same oldies but badies. The same-old terrorism, over and over again. Bombing buses, shopping malls and train stations. Killing innocent people, mostly the poor. And throwing away Tamil teenagers as human bombs. It had some novelty in the 80s, some shock value in the 90s, and reached its peak with Al Qaeda’s suicide attack on the World Trade Towers. But now suicide bombers are a dime a dozen, and Prabahakaran is just a pathetic old man, banging a drum on the bus and wailing a sad song while everyone else is trying to get to work.