Appreciations
View(s):Allen Eustace Gunawardena
A light that’s shining through
Remembering a loving father and grandfather on his
100th birthday–February 5, 2015
As we look back to the days now gone
And shed tears that he is gone,
We know how much he loved us
He was more than just a thatha and a seeya to us
A devoted, loving husband–understanding and faithful
An adoring thatha, and seeya–who taught us all that was useful
Family always meant so much to him
And still when in need of strength we remember him
We will go forward, knowing you are now at peace
And your spirit now is free
It was time for God to call you home
Your legacy of character, humble, faithful and true
Shall endure for generations
A light that’s shining through
-Your loving daughter and grandson
Group Captain Wasantha Jayawardhane
My brother and friend throughout life
“Malla” is the first word I uttered when I was shown Wasantha when he was born. My mother says that no one ever taught me this word but it had been in my subconscious all the time for some reason.
My first recollection of my brother was when I found him crying in his cot. He was only a few weeks old and I was almost two years old. I knew he was hungry and I fed him a mouthful of rice that I was eating. Of course being an infant he cried until the food was taken out of his mouth. Although everyone disagreed with my action that day, I felt that I was taking care of my brother. The brotherhood and friendship that began on that day remained as a very strong bond between us until his sudden death on February 2, 2014.
Our childhood was not a normal one. Due to the nature of my father’s work, we kept moving from place to place and had to adjust to new environments. Schools were a nightmare for us. However, we were able to cope because we were the best of friends. We roamed around freely from our early childhood. After school Wasantha and I spent the whole time riding our bicycles through the farms, fishing in the lakes and climbing trees. Once we nearly set fire to our house.
When both of us were sent to school in Colombo as boarders we were more dependent on each other. Colombo being new to us and being away from our parents for the first time, life changed dramatically. We were lonely and relied on each other.
As teenagers, we went through a period of rebellion. Although he went to a different school, we never had any egos between us. When Ananda declared war on Royal once, we kept passing information to each other so we knew exactly which bus or road to avoid on the days when clashes erupted. We had a fantastic time at school.
At this point our lives took different directions. I wanted to be in IT while my brother wanted to join the Air Force. He went in as an Officer Cadet in the Pilot Branch and I can still remember our parents’ pride and joy when they knew he was selected. After going through a very difficult cadet training in Diyatalawa (we still have his letters about how he is going to kill the drill Seargeant), he was posted as an Officer Cadet.
Again I remember how proud we were when we attended his passing out parade and got his “wings”. Then he was always in the middle of some war torn area and I got used to getting his occasional calls from the war front. My friends always called me whenever they heard of an aircraft being shot down or when disturbing news came up. I used to call my brother and most often he would say he did not know anything. Later on I understood that he was in the middle of all that but never wanted to discuss it due to his loyalty to his profession and to the Air Force.
I still remember him dragging me one early morning to find a house in Pannipitiya and then later on admitting that he was trying to see a girl he was interested in. He wanted me to go with him, because he was told she had six brothers! Subsequently, we were introduced to this lovely girl Janice who became his wife and the pillar of his life throughout till the end. Wasantha was blessed with a lovely daughter Nadia and a son Darren who were the apple of his eye. He spoke with such pride and happiness about them all the time.
Wasantha became a legend in the SLAF and achieved almost every position that he deserved. As he was engaged in the war during almost all his career, he spent very little time with us but whenever an important event took place, he made sure he was with us celebrating it.
He was never afraid of anything and even when he was diagnosed with cancer, he was optimistic and faced it bravely. He went through operations, therapies, in and out battles with hospitals but never ever gave up. We spent a lot of time together during his last days and even then he was very positive that he is going to pull through. However, as fate had it, he was taken away one evening and I lost a wonderful brother and my best friend forever.
Everyone who worked with him, speaks volumes of his skills as a pilot and how he commanded his squadrons. While his peers and students appreciated his knowledge and how he imparted that to them, his superiors appreciated his honesty and integrity as an officer and a gentleman. Although it is very hard to accept that he is gone forever, God must have wanted him back so much that he took Wasantha away from all of us at such an early age. We will miss his smile, warm heart and caring attention.
Till we meet again someday, as brothers and as the best of friends………..
- Asoka Jayawardena
Rita Perera
You’ve earned your sleep Bamba Achchi
Once upon, in Matara town,
Was a mischievous pretty girl, in a short cotton gown,
Pretty as a pin-up, fair and eldest of six was she…
Loved by all folk, she lived carefree.
Tragedy struck. So she made her way,
To Colombo city due to all dismay.
Responsibility now her middle name,
A brave young lady, life she embraced,
Her hair tight in curls wearing a charming smile,
With rosy cheeks yet a little mischief in her eyes.
So fell in love with her… A man who would be,
The best Obstetrician, the island had ever seen.
Their love bore fruit, came forth offspring of four,
They travelled to England back and forth.
At a tender age the eldest called to heaven,
Her daughter was lost, to the arms of an angel.
With God’s graces and blessings, She moved on to be,
A coveted housewife and an unpaid secretary.
An amazing homemaker and cook was she,
A grandmother of seven she went on to be..
Short on criticism, ever so gentle yet firm,
An inborn listener, to everyone’s concerns.
For me, she was one who never grew old,
A devout Catholic with a solid heart of gold.
You taught me to love and also to fight.
Still miss that Friday phone call, that gave me much might.
My darling Bamba Achchi, you’ve earned your sleep.
You’ll be in my heart eternally, So rest in peace.
- Dr. Tehasha S. K. Perera
S. A. Jayawardene (SAJ)
Gentlemanly scholar who lived a long and fruitful life among books
I first met SAJ, as he was known to friends, relatives and countrymen alike, at school where he was a friend of one of my elder brothers. Before that he was a familiar sight at annual prize-givings, gaining the platform to receive his prize from the Governor. He was an outstanding student at the University College as well, from where he graduated in mathematics with first class honours, following the splendid example of his brother P.A. Jayawardene (PAJ), who had graduated a few years earlier with a first class in mathematics. 
The following year SAJ walked into the Income Tax Department where he served for ten years before retiring under the provisions of a concession given by Prime Minister John Kotelawala in 1956. SAJ was known to have had a few hobbies (after he gave up stamp-collecting as a schoolboy), which were reading and sampling the then exotic fare at the Chinese restaurants in Colombo – he was well paid and he had no wife to keep an eye on his proclivity for eating out with his friends of similar bent, particularly Baku Mahadeva who was also a first class in mathematics.
The scene shifts to a London underground train in 1960 where I met SAJ fleetingly and told him that I was studying “outstation” and wished he would visit and meet me leisurely. When he did arrive at our lodgings in early 1961, he was confronted with the spectacle of a bawling baby and her unflappable mother. SAJ had come to do some research at the Bodley Library on an elusive 16th century mathematician known to the erudite as Bombelli of Italy, expert in algebra. After a few months of being our guest, having “scorned delights and lived laborious days” SAJ wrote a definitive paper on Bombelli. Later SAJ was awarded a fellowship by the British Academy in Rome to follow Bombelli’s trail (which had grown cold through a few centuries) in the Po valley. After finishing his paper he demonstrated his expertise in preparing delectable items of food, memorable among which was his salade Nicoise, the cost of which went through the ceiling! And then there was malodorous but immensely palatable Camembert cheese to be taken with biscuits after dinner. SAJ was generous in buying books for us, and gifting old editions in French on the ancient civilization of India.
SAJ found gainful employment in the library of the Science Museum, South Kensington and he published two annotated bibliographies on the history of science. His wife Padma, nee Gunawardene, died two years ago. He leaves behind his son Satish, who has become a highly qualified Consultant in kidney diseases at King’s College Hospital, London, daughter in law Catherine and two young grandsons, Cahal and Fionn.
Whenever he sojourned in Sri Lanka SAJ would travel to the South and renew his old acquaintance with the ways and lore of the village by the sea, Unawatuna. He would frequently regale us with tales and kavis derived from life in the village.
Last month at the age of 92, SAJ fulfilled his wish to return to Sri Lanka. He brought many of his books with him and was extremely happy during this short period. Sadly, he passed away after a short illness on December 2. SAJ was a soft-spoken gentlemanly scholar who lived a long and fruitful life among books, keeping close to the tenets of his religion, about which he was very knowledgeable. He would be sadly missed by all his friends in England and his relations in Sri Lanka.
-Raja de Silva
Lilanthi Fernando
I can’t believe you are gone
At what age does it get easier to say goodbye
Is it at 5 like dada, or 34 like me
I can’t help but ponder over and over again
’Cos I think the fact of the matter is that
A mother’s touch can never be replaced.
The same hands that gently and lovingly cradled me as a babe
Rebuked me and even spanked me as a child,
Striving to teach me the lessons of life and make me what I am today
Are the same ones that although lifeless I wished I could have held onto.
I never knew how much I loved you till you were no more
I can’t believe you are gone and it still hurts
Even though the lessons of life you taught are embedded within
I still miss the teacher, the one who gave me life and taught me how to live it.
The months have gone and life has changed
I pray I do as good a job as you did with me
I thank God for the memories I hold and for the life you led
And for most of all the assurance that I will meet you again!
-Taanya
Mrs. Prenitha (Senanayake) Rajasingham
She did not demand, but commanded, our utmost respect
I write this in tribute to a dear teacher, Mrs. Prenitha (Senanayake) Rajasingham (fondly called Mrs. R by students of my vintage), who passed away recently. In a long career in the noble profession of teaching, Visakha Vidyalaya was her second home, perhaps even her first. She taught me, my mother, my aunt and a countless number of grateful students English Literature, as well as Greek and Roman Civilization Studies.
To me (and I realized after speaking to different generations of students I met at her funeral, to many others too), what stood out about Mrs. R as a brilliant teacher was her unconventionality and broadmindedness. She did not demand, but commanded, our utmost respect.
In a school which prides itself on a “Buddhist” identity, Mrs. R, more than anyone else, showed us the true nature of Buddhism and made us see through and beyond the overt, hollow rituals of religion and morality. She gave me the comforting reassurance that piety cannot be judged by the daily chanting of pansil in parrot-like manner, but by genuine acts of loving-kindness and tolerance, that modesty cannot be judged by the length of one’s skirt (this one has particular resonance for me), but by the breadth of one’s humility, that wisdom cannot be judged by 8 distinctions at O/Ls or 4 As at A/Ls, but by the ability to understand and engage with the real world, including the extra-curricular, that respectfulness cannot be judged by the number of times a student falls in worship at the feet of a teacher (the first and last time I attempted this with Mrs. R, she felt very awkward and told me never to do it again!), but by how much a student looks up to a teacher as a role model, and that leadership cannot be judged by election to the post of Head Prefect, but by the level of inspiration a person naturally exhudes.
And so, in Mrs. R’s mighty shadow, I learnt the important, but often missed, distinction between an enlightened person and a sanctimonious humbug. She herself was not a prim and proper prig. Therefore, she did not try to dampen the liberal, rebellious spirit in me and stood by me when a few found cause to raise alarm and eyebrows alike for my acts which had apparently crossed “boundaries”.
In the rote learning system that Sri Lankan education is unfortunately shackled in, it is easy to teach the dry contents of a subject. However, the true hallmark of a teacher lies in imparting the love of learning and challenging students to think critically. This is exactly what Mrs. R possessed. She developed my love of literature, harnessed my writing skills and opened up to me the world of drama and debate. I can never forget those exciting preparations for English Days, Shakespeare Drama Competitions and Debating Competitions, as she steered us through to successful performances. She also introduced to me the phrase “ignorance is bliss” (from Thomas Gray’s poem, Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College), which was how Mrs. R described those who did not dare or care to know or do more than the bare minimum.
As the country and its education system dangerously descends into the gloom of a nationalist abyss, where the knowledge of English is declining, all things western are branded as immoral and any voice of dissent is labelled “a western conspiracy”, Mrs. R shone like a beacon. For the same reasons she had only few likeminded colleagues as her confidantes, especially those kindred spirits Mrs. Vajira Nanayakkara and Mrs. Janaki Wanasinghe. I was privileged to have spent the major part of my school life at Visakha Vidyalaya with this calibre of teachers under the flourishing stewardship of Principal Mrs. M.N. Edussuriya. So it was a fitting tribute that former Vice Principal, Mrs. Sita Siriwardena, another of Mrs. R’s close associates, organized a guard of honour by the Visakha Vidyalaya prefects at the funeral.
I kept in touch with Mrs. R even after I left school and visits to her house (and the last time, to a hospice) were filled with interesting chit-chat. We laughed and lamented at the tragic-comedy of Sri Lanka’s political situation as she drew parallels with the dictatorships of ancient Greece and Rome. I loved and admired her to bits for being a cynic who had not lost her sense of humour, for being a disciplinarian who was not didactic and, above all, for being a teacher who was also a friend.
Mrs. R did not always have an easy life, but never once have we heard her complain. She had the stoicism of the classical heroes she taught us about. She was immensely proud of her daughter Dharini and remained supportive and loyal to her family until the very end. She entered hospital after the end of term, after sending off corrected test papers, after all her teaching duties were completed. She left nothing undone and had no more miles to go before she slept. Ever guided by a sense of detachment, she was ready to leave.
Dear Mrs. R, thank you for having given me the privilege of being your student. I miss you terribly. But I will always carry with me that precious memory of how you walked daily into the school premises, in a cotton saree and sleeveless jacket, with short, silvery hair and a nimble step, with your slender and seemingly frail presence which hid a strong personality. Afterwards, you took your seat in that breezy classroom upstairs and we sat in awe and wonder of you, learning and laughing with you. May you be happy and continue to provoke thought wherever you are.
-Dr. Avanti Perera