Children of Midnight

had bit of a debate about slums today; on slums from my highly unsuccessful blog.


There is something about slums from one’s birthplace.  They grab you by the balls and do not let you go.  Slums of Bombay, Colombo, wherever.  In Midnight’s Children the new film by Deepa Mehta based on Rushdie’s booker of bookers, when Saleem returns home once again (an Indian by way of London and Yale) to a razed slum looking for another midnight’s child and steps into the glaring ochre sunlight of Maligawatte flats in Colombo (well it seemed like Maligawatte, what used to be and is still arguably a slum) the brilliant light grabs you by all the veins that run in your body and shakes you awake from merely being the constant other to just being – in full living colour and glorious warmth.  I knew at that moment I’d be irrecoverably homesick when I stepped out of the cinema.  I knew my heart was stolen and soon to…

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