I never knew my mother. In fact, I do not remember her at all. She died in her early thirties, after a short illness, when I was four years old. She was a daughter of the illustrious ayurvedic physician, Pandit G. P. Wickramarachchi of Yakkala.
I yearn to know what she was like, what her hair looked like, what her skin and touch felt like. My only vivid memories of a parent are of Thaaththi.
Thaaththi was my hero, my world, my life, my everything. I fiercely clung to him during my mother’s last illness and for a long time after her demise. I slept in the same room with him, followed him around the house and when he went to the toilet I would stand outside the door and wait till he emerged.
I made sure he took me along wherever he went. I did the same things he did. Like him, I wore a little red striped sarong at age five. I visited the same barber he went to. Sometimes he took it upon himself to give me a trim – something I was shy to admit to the grown-ups, especially the ladies.
I would perch on the parapet wall to hear the toot of his car horn when he returned from work in the evening. As soon as he took the bend near our house, I would leap down to open the gate and greet him.
A great feeling of loneliness would overcome me if I was left alone in the evenings. I would wail and call out for Thaaththi till I fell asleep through weariness. My wails could be heard throughout the silent, dark neighbourhood (Joseph’s Lane in those days was a quiet place).
Thaaththi’s dreams and aspirations for my sister and myself were grounded in the good education he gave us. I believe he felt his dream was realised when we both graduated with university degrees.My father was extremely happy when I decided to send my son to S. Thomas’ Preparatory School. He was an old boy of S. Thomas’ College, Mt. Lavinia. He gave me a sound, well-rounded education at Ladies College, Colombo.
The day before I went for the interview, he gave me his S. Thomas’ College Old Boys’ Association membership card and two character certificates he had obtained in 1943 when he left school. One was from Canon R. S. de Saram, warden of S. Thomas’ College and the other from Canon A. J. Foster, the school chaplain. He also gave me a photocopy of the famous letter President Abraham Lincoln sent his son’s headmaster.
In his day my father was tall, good-looking and smartly dressed. He was highly articulate and charismatic. In fact, you may say he was a dashing socialite!
As a child I never understood why he remarried, when he and I made such a “great” team and were so “happy” together. Only now do I see how difficult it must have been for him as a widower with two little girls, managing a household and working as headmaster of Isipatana Junior School.
I was different to Thaaththi in my ways. I was the one who upset him the most, with what I said and did. I now realise why that was. I suspect I am much like my mother and perhaps I reminded him too much of her.
Due to circumstances, the only parent I knew was a “father”. I realise that the paternal model I followed sometimes shows in the way I discipline my only child and the way I drive the shiny black Terios my husband Aruna gave me.
I salute you for surviving the turbulent times, and holding yourself together as you put us on our feet, my younger sister Indu and myself. You helped us take pride in our place in life.
May you attain Nibbana.
Dr. Suchitra Sindurika,Kulatunga |
E-mail