Appreciations
View(s):Nihal Corea
In memory of my darling thathi
Beyond the sunset, the most blissful heaven
Angels welcomed you, amidst the triumph
The gates of heaven, opened wide for you,
Where no pain exists, no sorrow , no death.
You were a joy, a wonderful blessing to us
For 66 years, a life so radiant and bright
A sudden end, unimaginable, unthinkable
Broke our hearts, never to be mended.
Blessings from God ,you had so many
A tower of strength you were to us three
Your music, the talent God gave immensely to you
It still soothes the hearts of so many.
A loving husband, father and friend
Your care, which knew no bounds
A humble pianist, a talent so profound
Provided & cared, with great love for us.
A grandfather so precious , a joy to her heart
She loves you so dearly and misses you saying ‘How is my good putha?”
Four years she knew you ,yet the love is so strong
In innocence she prays for your recovery still.
The dawn of the day 24th of March, little did we know God’s plan for you
A golden loving heart stopped beating , the light of our life dimmed forever
In the midst of prayer, praise and worship, in the midst of joyful exaltation
Into His loving arms you were raised with loving tender care.
You were taken too young, so hard to believe, but to God your deeds on earth were done
Bouquets of beautiful memories, sprayed with millions of tears, will linger in our hearts
And your love and advice will be treasured by us
We will always feel your presence always by our side, though unseen,
unheard and far away.
Thathi, we miss you and your love fills our hearts
No words can express how lonesome we are
The emptiness in our hearts – the tears in our eyes , never will fade
It’s so unreal you’re gone, like a dream it’s to us.
Thathi, we give thanks and praise today for the life God gave you
Thank you with gratitude for the sacrifices you made for us
Thank you for raising us to be who we are today.
Thank you for being our father, we couldn’t have wished for more.
Amidst all angels and heavenly music you abide,
May Jesus hold you close to his heart
Adieu darling thathi, you’ll always be loved and missed,
Till we meet again, beyond the sunset, the most blissful heaven.
-Malgini Corea Amaratunga
Hema Perera
A generous and kind-hearted neighbour
‘Aunty Hema’ or ‘Hema Achchi’ as we called her was one of the dearest, kindest and most generous ladies that we have ever known. A friendly face from the time we were toddlers, she had always been around in our lives, on every occasion, be it joyous or sad. As little girls, going to her place, just a walk up a few houses on Queen’s Terrace was quite frequent.
Her home was always bustling with family and friends and no one left without having something to eat and drink. Anything she served was tasty and beautifully garnished from cheese toast, butter cookies to puddings. Always attired in beautiful sarees, her simplicity, kind nature and concern for us made us feel very much at home with her.
Hema Achchi would often stitch a frock, for the two of us, in different patterns with lace and embroidery. One of the highlights from our younger days was that we received a dress on the morn of our birthdays. Each time we had a dinner or a party, Aunty Hema was the first to arrive, always with a pudding or a homemade specialty fit for the occasion. She treated everyone around her with warmth and hospitality. In fact, no one would leave her house without Maliban biscuits. As kids we loved tasting and trying out the new biscuit varieties.
We recall the many times that Ammi would phone her for advice on a recipe or for a home remedy if one of us was sick or sometimes even if it was for an ingredient we needed while preparing a dish or for a matching reel of thread – she was always ready to help. A Kiribath breakfast was at our doorstep on the first of each month. On Sinhala and Tamil New Year we would go to her place and she had the table full of all the traditional sweetmeats. When one of us was away during the past four years she would regularly inquire about the happenings and the experiences of university life.
Numerous were the occasions that we have relied on Hema Achchi for encouragement or words of wisdom and advice.
We were all shocked to hear about Hema Achchi passing away as we were abroad for the graduation ceremony. Although we were looking forward to meeting her and spending some time with her when we returned, it was not to be.
A year has gone by and we remember her with affection, for the wonderful life she led and are grateful and honoured to have known such a kind-hearted and generous lady. Hema Achchi, may your soul rest in peace.
-Lasika and Priyanti Jayamaha
N. NIHAL PERERA
A veteran planter and gentleman who sacrificed his life
It was on July 5 (Friday) 2013 that my uncle N. Nihal Perera, a respected senior planter left us in a most unfortunate manner, that he would not have even dreamt of during his 45 years of genuine and valuable service to the tea plantation industry which was his passion. The shocking news came to my mobile phone from my youngest brother Priyantha while I was at work.
It shocked the entire country too, as my Uncle was beaten to death while on his morning field rounds. Above all, my uncle’s sudden loss was an unbearable moment for the poor people of Noori Estate, as when he took over Noori in January 2013, they looked to him to rescue them from the terror that they were facing and also to save their estate from illicit felling of valuable trees, plucking of tea leaves by force, robberies taking place in the factory stores and many more unwanted 
happenings. As my Uncle started putting things right one by one, he received death threats many times from the goons of the political hierarchy in Deraniyagala, thinking that he would quit Noori, but his bravery did not allow him to do so. He never gave up the challenge and continued to work facing numerous obstacles until they got rid of him on that fateful day.
Even though my Uncle is not living today, the poor people of Noori are moving freely now in their day to day activities. As a symbol of gratitude and love for him I was told by his only brother Dunstan that the people of Deraniyagala have put up a monument for my uncle.
My wife Linda, daughter Hiranthi and I have mourned his death during the past year and always remembered him in our daily prayers. At the same time we have thanked and praised the Lord for his precious and exemplary life. The kindness he showed innocent and most deserving people was very similar to the qualities of my parents. He was a man of honesty and integrity who followed his grandfather, a planter during the Colonial period who later owned the High Walton Estate in Matale, as his role model.
My Uncle was very smart and handsome in his attire on and off duty, he looked stern but had a soft heart. He was disciplined and outspoken, never bowed his head for injustice, never gave into fraud, corruption and completely opposed bribery.
When Linda and I recall the happiest day in our life, there are two remarkable people, we cannot forget. Firstly the late Rev. Father Francis Fernando who celebrated our wedding mass and secondly my uncle who sent us three baskets of fresh flowers on the eve of our wedding filled with roses, carnations, gerberas and lilies etc. from Nuwara Eliya to make the altar and the Church beautiful.
I recall how we had Christmas lunch in 2010 when my eldest brother Prof. Nihal (De Silva) domiciled in St. Louis, Missouri, USA came for a holiday. Since both of them were best of friends during their young days but had not met each other for close to two decades, I invited Uncle Nihal also for lunch and they shared many old stories and reminisced about their mischievous deeds.
Uncle Nihal always wanted to keep close contact with the entire family circle and made it a point to call at least one member from each family to find out about the others when he came down to Colombo.
It is with great pain that all the family members here and abroad remembered you on July 5 conducting religious activities and offering Heel Dane to the Maha Sanga to invoke merit. We and the whole industry miss you so much.
May you attain the supreme bliss of nirvana. May the Good Lord grant you eternal rest!
- Dan De Silva
Dr. Shirley Paranavithane
An admirable citizen and kind-hearted doctor
Dr. Shirley Paranavithane, 93, who served as an outstanding medical personality and a ‘father figure’ in Nugegoda, Kohuwala and Pepiliyana areas passed away peacefully a few days ago, in his sleep. He had been brought up in the Anglican Christian tradition and was the son of a postmaster who served with distinction in many parts of the island.
Being clever in diagnosing children’s illnesses, he was always referred to by children as ‘Shirley Maama’ and had an endearing way that appealed to them. The psychological bond he had cultivated with his young patients made them recover quickly. He was loved by children, admired by anxious parents and highly respected by the community.
He was unostentatious. As God’s caring messenger he was there on call, even at night time to relieve human suffering. He cared deeply for his patients wherever they resided- be it in a spacious house or in a wayside shanty settlement. He solicited no high fees, and it was not unusual for the kind-hearted doctor to call the next day to inquire about his patient. Dr. Shirley Paranavithane’s love for humanity of all races whether they were rich or poor, was second to his love for God.
Society has lost an admirable senior citizen who made good during his span of life. He will surely be reborn to serve humanity and to care for the suffering masses.
May his journey in Samsara be short.
-Upali Salgado
Dr P.M. (Sydney) Jayawardena
A good surgeon and brilliant human being
A week ago my grandfather passed away after a brief period of ill health. He was 93 years old. Seeya meant the world to me. He was by far and away the person I learnt the most from and I loved him deeply. He was by all accounts an extraordinarily good surgeon but also more importantly a brilliant human being. A person my whole family and I respected and looked up to.
Six months prior to his death, he was a working man. He, like millions of people across our country, would wake up in the morning, have his breakfast and get ready for the day ahead. A day which involved a visit to Durdans Hospital and a visit to Sulaiman’s hospital in the afternoon. Seeya never cared whether there would be patients at these hospitals to see him, the idea of being ashamed or ridiculed for his age never occurred to him. As far as he was concerned he was going to continue to do what he loved. Even at 92, he felt there was something he could contribute. If you knew Seeya, this would not come as a surprise.
Seeya was by nature a quiet man, the introverted sort. He was an unassuming man who, despite his brilliance, was not arrogant. He was however extraordinarily self-confident and skilled when it came to his work as a general surgeon. He was the perfect example of someone who did what he loved and did it incredibly well. He would often tell us the story of how on his wedding day, he told my grandmother that he was already married. My grandmother, understandably was taken aback, to which my grandfather softly replied, “To my books, Doris”.
Over the years we had innumerable conversations about his work, the details of his operations, those that went well and those that didn’t, the stories of the lives of the patients he treated, their backgrounds etc. He would draw diagrams detailing where he planted an incision, which segment of the gut or organ he removed and what he had subsequently reattached. As young children we would listen with awe, never really grasping the complexity of what our grandfather did.
When we were little he would try and lure me and his other grandchildren into the operating theatre with the promise of food if we stayed and watched him perform a surgery. Watching Seeya perform surgery was to see him truly in his element; to see him truly come alive. It was like watching an artist draw a masterpiece or a musician compose some beautiful music. You knew intuitively you were in the presence of someone doing great work. It is my only regret that I didn’t go more often when Seeya asked me to come with him to the Operating Theatre. It is my suspicion that he wanted to teach us more than just surgery per se, he also wanted to teach us the value of great work. The operating theatre was his canvas and he was the artist.
The things Seeya taught me would fill the chapters of a book. On our birthdays he would take us to a bookshop and let us buy as many books as we wanted. He was a generous grandfather who loved us as much as we loved him. He would write poems for us to recite on special occasions; he would call us on the phone and read to us interesting newspaper articles he had come across.
He had an enviable memory and an intellect to match. He took a keen interest in our lives and wanted us to succeed in whatever we did. When I went to university he gave me a plaque, which was inscribed with one of his favourite quotes, “The heights by great men reached and kept were not attained by sudden flight, but they, while their companions slept, were toiling upward in the night”.
As his time drew to an end and Seeya became increasingly frail, he continued to amaze me with his tenacity and determination to remain independent. One of my last memories of Seeya, a few days before he passed away, is watching him struggle for half an hour to put a contact lens on, much longer after me and everyone around him, told him to give up. That was Seeya through and through.
I remember a conversation I had with Seeya when I was just a child; he was sitting in his armchair, the TV switched on in the background. We were talking about how brief life really was and what happened after we died. As was usually the case, I had an endless list of questions that I knew only Seeya could shed light on. After indulging me for a while, in his very characteristic self-deprecating way, he said, “Putha, soon I’ll be gone and you’ll forget about me also”. I should have said it then and I never did say it. Seeya for as long as I live, I will never ever forget you.
-Your grandson
Dr. Shalinda Kekulawala
Jith De Fonseka
The greatest dad one could ever have
“My father didn’t tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.”
– Clarence Budington Kelland
I never imagined that day would come…it was always the four of us. We would laugh together, learn together, sorrow together, share private jokes together, reason together and simply do life together; but six months ago, that day did come, when no longer would it ever be the four of us, on this side of eternity.
To most people, Thathi was the chilled out, jovial guy who didn’t have a care in the world and was ever willing to have a good laugh, anytime. He was that. He had an amazing ability to focus on the lighter side of things and brighten up another’s day, no matter how chaotic it may have been. He never took himself too seriously and was able to even laugh at himself at times, a quality I most admire. The jokes and rhymes he has taught my brother and myself, ranging from ‘world issues’ such as our soldiers, parties of dogs and picking up parcels are simply hilarious and of course he claimed he learnt them all from his dad!
But there was far more to Thathi than the jokes and the humour, as good as they were.
Thathi was truly a man of substance and depth; a gentleman to the fingertips. Beneath the layers, was a treasure chest of precious rarities and I am so glad I discovered Thathi for who he really was.
Through his life we have learnt volumes about what really matters. Thathi was never too busy for us. Absolutely any time of day or night, he would abandon anything he was doing and come, if ever we needed him.
I will never forget the chats we used to have when he would take me to school every day. I was Thathi’s ‘Dot’ and he would in a very serious tone ask me whether I was his ‘Bottle-dotty’ or ‘dottle-botty’, and of course I would seriously contemplate and ponder what I wanted to be. He used to sing to me constantly “But I love you Dotty. You’re too hard to scold, ‘cause you’re my five year old…”I will not forget how he sang that beautiful song to me just a couple of weeks before he went to his new home.
Thathi was never afraid or ashamed to tell us how much he loved us. In a world where the norm seems to be covering up emotions, Thathi showed me that real men have feelings too and that demonstrating love was perfectly okay. Oh how much I miss those goodnight kisses and hugs where he would make me feel so safe and sheltered! At times, when I was lazy to give him a hug, I would quietly creep into the room, hoping he would not wake up, but there was no chance…he would quietly summon me and kiss me goodnight!
Thathi truly treated me like his little princess. He would patiently cart me to school, classes, university and work almost every day and never did he ever grumble! He was always my biggest fan and would encourage me in everything I did. He took great pleasure in focusing on the little details of life. I will always remember the ‘De Fonseka Certificate of Excellence’ he awarded me after my O’ Level results, one which he had personally made with himself as the Chairperson of the award. He knew my fascination with eagles from the time I was a kid and would not miss an opportunity to buy me a book or picture of an eagle, or a look-alike!
Thathi would always talk to anyone regardless of their caste, creed or background. As far as he was concerned, that was absolutely immaterial and what mattered was that each person was to be respected and treated with dignity. He never preached a sermon to us, but his life spoke volumes. What I admired about him was his gentle, quiet wisdom. I terribly miss our father-daughter chats which lasted for hours quite often, when he would share such amazing pearls of wisdom with me. I wish they never ended, but I am grateful I got a chance to enjoy being my Thathi’s Dot.
What I cherish most about Thathi is that he taught me the most important thing in life. He taught me how to be a child….simply a child of the Greatest Dad one could ever have, of our Father God. To him, faith was a matter of unshakeable confidence in Jesus.
He was ever so grateful for the new lease of life he received from Jesus 47 years ago, when he was given just three hours to live after a serious accident, and was confident that nothing or no one could ever take his life, until the time appointed for him was up…and I sincerely believe, January 11, 2014 was that appointed time, and in as much as I cannot imagine life without my Thathi, I rejoice in the glorious hope we have of being re-united again as a family on the other side of eternity, because our Redeemer lives.
Thathi, thank you for teaching me to live for an audience of One. Thank you for passing the baton onto us and yes, the legacy will continue. Thank you for being you.
I will always be your Dot.
Ammi, Aiya and I love you and can’t wait to be with you again.
-Sarita
Colonel Fazly Laphir
My heart is still waiting
In memory of Colonel Fazly Laphir, PWV, RWP, RSP Commanding Officer, 1st Regiment Special Forces, who died in action on July 19, 1996 while on the rescue mission in Mullaitivu.
My dearest, darling Fazly,
It’s been too long
Since the last light was on
Now it’s way past midnight
The moon passed by
Ocean waves cry
Shadows play games
With the night’s sky
Stars are all gone
It’s almost dawn
Early morning train
Just blew its horn
Birds have started singing
Tender sunrays dancing,
‘Sepalikas’ falling,
my heart is still waiting…
-Your ever-loving Ano
Dr P.M. (Sydney) Jayawardena
A good surgeon and brilliant human being
A week ago my grandfather passed away after a brief period of ill health. He was 93 years old. Seeya meant the world to me. He was by far and away the person I learnt the most from and I loved him deeply. He was by all accounts an extraordinarily good surgeon but also more importantly a brilliant human being. A person my whole family and I respected and looked up to.
Six months prior to his death, he was a working man. He, like millions of people across our country, would wake up in the morning, have his breakfast and get ready for the day ahead. A day which involved a visit to Durdans Hospital and a visit to Sulaiman’s hospital in the afternoon. Seeya never cared whether there would be patients at these hospitals to see him, the idea of being ashamed or ridiculed for his age never occurred to him. As far as he was concerned he was going to continue to do what he loved. Even at 92, he felt there was something he could contribute. If you knew Seeya, this would not come as a surprise.
Seeya was by nature a quiet man, the introverted sort. He was an unassuming man who, despite his brilliance, was not arrogant. He was however extraordinarily self-confident and skilled when it came to his work as a general surgeon. He was the perfect example of someone who did what he loved and did it incredibly well. He would often tell us the story of how on his wedding day, he told my grandmother that he was already married. My grandmother, understandably was taken aback, to which my grandfather softly replied, “To my books, Doris”.
Over the years we had innumerable conversations about his work, the details of his operations, those that went well and those that didn’t, the stories of the lives of the patients he treated, their backgrounds etc. He would draw diagrams detailing where he planted an incision, which segment of the gut or organ he removed and what he had subsequently reattached. As young children we would listen with awe, never really grasping the complexity of what our grandfather did.
When we were little he would try and lure me and his other grandchildren into the operating theatre with the promise of food if we stayed and watched him perform a surgery. Watching Seeya perform surgery was to see him truly in his element; to see him truly come alive. It was like watching an artist draw a masterpiece or a musician compose some beautiful music. You knew intuitively you were in the presence of someone doing great work. It is my only regret that I didn’t go more often when Seeya asked me to come with him to the Operating Theatre. It is my suspicion that he wanted to teach us more than just surgery per se, he also wanted to teach us the value of great work. The operating theatre was his canvas and he was the artist.
The things Seeya taught me would fill the chapters of a book. On our birthdays he would take us to a bookshop and let us buy as many books as we wanted. He was a generous grandfather who loved us as much as we loved him. He would write poems for us to recite on special occasions; he would call us on the phone and read to us interesting newspaper articles he had come across.
He had an enviable memory and an intellect to match. He took a keen interest in our lives and wanted us to succeed in whatever we did. When I went to university he gave me a plaque, which was inscribed with one of his favourite quotes, “The heights by great men reached and kept were not attained by sudden flight, but they, while their companions slept, were toiling upward in the night”.
As his time drew to an end and Seeya became increasingly frail, he continued to amaze me with his tenacity and determination to remain independent. One of my last memories of Seeya, a few days before he passed away, is watching him struggle for half an hour to put a contact lens on, much longer after me and everyone around him, told him to give up. That was Seeya through and through.
I remember a conversation I had with Seeya when I was just a child; he was sitting in his armchair, the TV switched on in the background. We were talking about how brief life really was and what happened after we died. As was usually the case, I had an endless list of questions that I knew only Seeya could shed light on. After indulging me for a while, in his very characteristic self-deprecating way, he said, “Putha, soon I’ll be gone and you’ll forget about me also”. I should have said it then and I never did say it. Seeya for as long as I live, I will never ever forget you.
-Your grandson
Dr. Shalinda Kekulawala