From as long as I can remember, there was a war in the North. I recall the earliest awareness in 2nd grade - I forget what subject we were being taught - it was probably Social studies (we called it Parisaraya) and a someone wanted to know who the 'Tigers' were and why they were in a war with us. The teacher (I remember she was a plump and motherly dear) said the 'Tigers' were some very bad people who wanted a piece of our country for themselves. And all of us were completely outraged - as much as it was possible for 6 year old little girls to be outraged - that the teacher had to slap her desk to call for silence. As we grew up, our generation sort of learned to overlook the war. It was always there. It was like an incurable sickness that was growing inside us for so long that we did not know what it would be like to be cured. Indeed most of the time, we did not believe it would ever be cured. Terrorists became a part of our lives. I remember hearing the bomb blast in...
Just some random arrows of thought...