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by Nalin Fernando

Last week I visited Salon Nice, Chandare's barber-shop. It is a single-chair hole-in-the-wall adjoining the market and doubles as a collection branch for a Kurunegala bookie. The barber saloon/bookie combination makes it an all-male meeting point for various "habituals" in Wariyapola.

As I sat to get my beard trimmed and the point snipped to perfection, I was in a pensive mood.

That morning I had read the hysterical reports by some of the more profoundly well-informed London correspondents of the local print media that President Kumaratunga had been shot down in flames by Tim Sebastian of BBC Television. They described vividly, perhaps gleefully, how Her Excellency had cut a sorry figure in front of the camera and implied that the nation stood ashamed by her inability to give smart answers to smart questions.

Chandare also seemed to be in a similar melancholy mood. I felt that he, like me and millions of others islandwide who had read the erudite despatches from London were mourning that Tim Sebastian had exposed her failure to study a US State Department circular on human rights. It seemed an act of omission with grave national and political repercussions especially with her party seeking re-election next month.

"I know you are sad, Chandare. I feel the same," I said.

Chandare exploded and his scissor hand shook nearly drawing blood from my upper lip.

"That balla should be shot", he retorted, his vociferous reaction making the race-card readers on the low bench against the wall look up from their deliberations.

I was perturbed but I certainly did not advocate such drastic action against a well-known BBC personality.

"Tim Sebastian was doing his job", I replied. "Maybe she should have...."

Chandare interrupted me vehemently and went on. "There is no Tim Sebastian riding in Newmarket. Pat Eddery is the culprit. He pulled all three horses I had backed".

I gently explained to Chandare as well as the others within listening range that the entire nation was in turmoil after reading the reviews of Tim Sebastian's interview of President Kumaratunga on his "Hard Talk" program and it had nothing to do with horses and jockeys.

"I know, I know," interjected a regular punter, looking up from his Sporting Times.

"Sebastian is the real name of Black Jack who gives the daily tips. He tipped three winners yesterday."

Chandare said that he knew no Tim Sebastian but he was acquainted with Soor Sebastian, a purveyor of high grade kassippu.

I had been pensive. Now I was aghast. How was it that these people did not know, nay care, about the predicament

Tim Sebastian had put Her Excellency in and the impact of that interview in the day-to-day life of all Sri Lankans. They should be shot, not Eddery.

I left Salon Nice and went to the Manoj to buy myself some elixir to alleviate my anxiety, Leaning against the counter was the usual half dozen who like to stand and deliver themselves of a monkey in one gallop before lunch.

"Bad news about Tim Sebastian and his talk with the President," I said to test the wind.

"I know," said Gus Weere, the local climber-plucker. "She should have kicked him out long before he jumped."

"Yakko, that is Dissa not Seba," said Kukul Wije who had come to town to buy his weekly supply of chick mash.

The others nodded sagely and there was some banter about Malu Seba who owned the fish stall and Thora Timma his cutter who were in political conflict over the UNP alliance with the LTTE.

I made my way home and in a desperate last attempt to justify my fears that President had erred I summoned before me Somasiri, Muthu Banda, Sudu Banda, Herath and the two women, Vasantha and Kumari, my entire labour force. They are all literate if not part of the Wariyapola intelligentsia.

I asked them whether they had read or heard about the Tim Sebastian interview.

Their answer was in the negative. So I asked them whether they, at least, knew who David Frost was.

They did not know of any David Poros but they all knew David Porolis, better known as Davith Mama, who had a bullock-cart for hire to transport cattle manure.

I ceased to worry about Tim Sebastian's searching interview and the scotching comments it produced locally. Chandare, Gus Weere, Kukul Wije, Somasiri, Muthu Banda and the rest were not concerned. Why should I be agitated?

Instead, I sat back and recalled the pleasant inter-action I had many, many years ago with another Sebastian (no relation of Tim's) who held sway behind the bar counter at the Bandarawela Tennis Club and later at the Eighty Club.

After all, what difference is there between the B.B.C., B.T.C. and E.C. if there is a Sebastian around

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