My First Cousin “ MEKKA”

My First Cousin “ MEKKA”

A morning thought of my first cousin who grew up with me right throughout the college days and beyond until the change of our civil statuses brightened my early morning memory.

Almost a six-footer with a fine built, he was a remarkable athlete and a fine cadet in school even though his academic achievements never reached beyond ordinary levels. He held a few records on the playgrounds while adding a warped feather on his hat by establishing the record for the first candidate in the history of Mahinda College, Galle for the maximum number of f’s at his first and only sitting.

Though I excelled in school, this never deterred me from my close admiration of this jovial character who had made my teenage life quite memorable. I wanted him to be my best man at my marriage in 1970 and he was. His happy go lucky character that filled his life never allowed him to keep up with the Joneses. When we laboured to excel and beat the others, he just enjoyed life as it came to him.

During the early sixties when Roy Rogers, Zorro, Lone Ranger and Tarzan came into our homes through expensive imported comic books at 75 cents each, bought with the painstakingly saved 10 cents per day pocket money, my cousin was my hero who safeguarded me on every bawdy adventure we undertook as menacing rascals.

I had a habit of buying a comic at Lazarus bookshop in Kandy each time my savings reached 75 cents, which always gave me the opportunity to read a few more comic books on stand turning the bookshop into a free library. I always ignored the piercing eyes of the stocky, bow-legged, old codger who detested this habit of mine taking advantage of the fact that as a businessman on Castle street my dad was well known and respected amongst the community.

On this particular day with 75 cents inside my pocket, I went to buy a comic followed unusually by my cousin who insisted that he should come. It was a relaxed day and I took extra time to enjoy the bonus of reading a few more books when the impatient owner came to me and started complaining. I refused to give in and being a good orator in school spent a good 2 minutes defending my rights to select books of my choice.

Ultimately after paying for a Tarzan comic book, I looked around for my live hero who did not bother to defend me and instead had cowardly vanished. At the very far end of the road a good 100 meters away, he was waiting with a serious face for my arrival and the subsequent onslaught of abuse at deserting me at a pertinent time of defence. I walked home keeping my fury to myself and wondered why he did that which was quite unusual for his character.

Upon reaching home it was like St. Sylvester's winning the Stubbs shield when this asshole of a character took out 5 comic books he had quietly stuck under his banian during my commotion with the owner.

PS: I never wore a banian under my shirt and regularly mocked my cousin until this day for his habit for which he never had a plausible explanation.