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A Well with No Water

A Well with No Water Meeting of the Fishes Ink on paper, 2006, 219 cm x 114 cm. Photo by Oceania Centre staff. A Well with No Water Brij V Lal Ram, my best friend, is unwell. High blood pressure, failing kidneys, and rampant diabetes have all taken their toll on his health. “Not long to go, Bhai,” he said to me the other day, managing a characteristically resigned smile. He is living by himself, alone, in a one-bedroom rented apartment in Bureta Street, a working-class suburb of Suva. I visit him most evenings, have a bowl of grog, and talk long into the night about the old days. Both he and I know that the end is near, which makes each visit all the more poignant. As Ram often says, repeating the lines of Surendra’s immortal fi fties’ song, “Hum bhor ke diye hain, bhujte hi ja rahe hain.” We are the dawn’s candle, slowly going out (one by one). Ram and I go back a long way. We were fellow students at Labasa Secondary in the late sixties. He was easily the best history and literature student in the school. He knew earlier than anyone of us what Lord of the Flies http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Contemporary Pacific University of Hawai'I Press

A Well with No Water

The Contemporary Pacific , Volume 21 (1) – Feb 11, 2009

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Publisher
University of Hawai'I Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2009 University of Hawai'i Press.
ISSN
1527-9464

Abstract

Meeting of the Fishes Ink on paper, 2006, 219 cm x 114 cm. Photo by Oceania Centre staff. A Well with No Water Brij V Lal Ram, my best friend, is unwell. High blood pressure, failing kidneys, and rampant diabetes have all taken their toll on his health. “Not long to go, Bhai,” he said to me the other day, managing a characteristically resigned smile. He is living by himself, alone, in a one-bedroom rented apartment in Bureta Street, a working-class suburb of Suva. I visit him most evenings, have a bowl of grog, and talk long into the night about the old days. Both he and I know that the end is near, which makes each visit all the more poignant. As Ram often says, repeating the lines of Surendra’s immortal fi fties’ song, “Hum bhor ke diye hain, bhujte hi ja rahe hain.” We are the dawn’s candle, slowly going out (one by one). Ram and I go back a long way. We were fellow students at Labasa Secondary in the late sixties. He was easily the best history and literature student in the school. He knew earlier than anyone of us what Lord of the Flies

Journal

The Contemporary PacificUniversity of Hawai'I Press

Published: Feb 11, 2009

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