Bring on the scalpel

There were those journalists whose felicity of language matched anything written by the media in the UK or US. They were stylists and wrote in a manner that bespoke of The Spectator magazine of old and of the recently departed Oberon Waugh, among others.

There were others who were satirists and brought to the clever art of satire, a sharp mind and a linguistic excellence that made even some of those at the butt-end of their wit, applaud. There were still others who were pure humourists and would bring anything from politics to the arts between their sights.

Unfortunately satire is a dying if not a dead art in English journalism today. Writers seem to prefer the bludgeon to the delicate touch of the scalpel, where exposing the skull beneath the skin with surgical skill, has been replaced by crude and heavy handed diatribes against personalities. 

Whatever might have been the other faults of English journalism several decades ago, it was a treat to read the Sunday newspapers of old.

There is no need at the moment to name names, except for one who is intrinsic to this story. He was columnist Sooty Banda who added much spice to our Sunday reading. His name was really W. M. Joseph and he wrote a column called "Take it Easy" which was a real laugh.

The long-bearded Joseph, one of whose haunts was Lion House at Bambalapitiya, introduced what he called trilingual verse. His "Golden Treasury of Trilingual Verse" was written in English, Sinhala and Tamil all mixed together in an achcharu that was an indispensable Sunday relish.

It is, I suppose, our tragedy, that the spirit in which Sooty introduced trilingual verse was not picked up by farsighted politicians and these languages made compulsory in schools. Had they done so then, Sri Lanka's history might have been quite different. 

In fact Sooty often took well known nursery rhymes and made them multilingual. I still remember at least two of them. One was Georgie Porgy Pudding and Pie which became, in his hands, Georgie Porgy Aggala/ Gaanu lamai bayakala.......".

Though Sooty might be credited with versifying in three languages, the use of bilingual phraseology had entered our political lexicon before that. One particular phrase that has added much colour-and indeed veracity- to Sri Lanka's political process- is "Hora vote".

Now, we must not be misled by western media and democratic do-gooders from NGOs into believing that 'hora vote' and other election shenanigans are the sole prerogative of Third World or authoritarian regimes which put on a façade called elections.

Certainly Mr Mugabe's political style will not be that of Mr Lee Kuan Yew or his successor Goh Chok Tong or even perhaps Mr Lee's brigadier son who might go on to be the premier in Singapore.

Chief Executive Tung Chee-hwa's approach to elections in Hong Kong is also very different. What he did was to disenfranchise about two million voters and take their votes away. It might not be accurately called "hora vote", but as Sooty might have said "Tung Chee hwa, eppudi po/ chandey nathikara going to go".

But then look at that great democracy, the United States of America. Look particularly at the state of Florida where George W. Bush's brother is governor. Candidate Bush's electoral campaigner was also the official who decided when to count the votes and what to count and so many legitimate voters were deprived of their vote.

And you think such things don't happen in this country where the Mother of Parliaments sits or stands- depending on your own particular inclination-and ministers are inquiring from government departments about citizenship for dubious businessmen or money changes hands for less than noble reasons.

Since Britain made postal voting easier, it seems there is a flood of voters asking that they be provided with postal voting forms. In fact there has been some hanky panky with a Labour Party trade union or two asking their members to apply for the postal vote.

Just last weekend-about five days before the election- a journalist applied seven times to obtain voting forms under different names. He received the seven he asked for. 

So the British who gave us the Donoughmore Constitution and the right to vote in 1931- the second country in Asia after Japan to have the franchise- is at last beginning to learn. The coloniser learns from the colonised.

But, of course, these chaps here are still at a very primitive stage and will take a long while to emulate our own experts at the game of election rigging.

The Commonwealth Secretariat here arranges seminars and conferences in democratically emerging countries to teach them electoral practices and how to conduct elections. On and off, Sri Lanka's Elections Commissioner also travels for such meetings to edify all about our own clean and fair elections.

The Commonwealth Secretariat might better serve the nations it thinks it is serving, by inviting experts at rigging elections, eliminating candidates and driving away election agents.

I'm sure we have enough of them to provide one each to every Commonwealth country.

Old teachers never die

It is said that 'teachers are born not made'. Gladys, a veteran teacher who passed away at the ripe old age of 88, was one of those. 

After completing her studies at Princess of Wales College, Moratuwa, she passed out as a fully qualified English Trained Teacher from the Government Teachers' Training College in Colombo in the 1930s. 

For many years she taught at Methodist High School in Moratumulla and was a well loved, conscientious teacher who moulded the lives of several generations of pupils. 

To her numerous nieces and nephews as well as her own three children, she was a beacon, guiding them to increase their knowledge, wisdom and understanding. Her exemplary life as a teacher is worthy of emulation. With her pleasant personality, dignified dress and address, she won the hearts of all who came in contact with her. 

As a teacher she loved to travel and widen her horizons. She travelled both locally and abroad. She kept notes of all the interesting places she visited from Madam Tussauds and Westminster Abbey in the UK to Niagara Falls and Disneyland in the US and could describe them at length. She visited all her nieces and nephews in Canada as well as her elder son Jayalal and family in California, in her retirement. 

Her husband, the late Leslie Mendis, was a veteran left leader in Moratuwa and one-time UC member for the Rawatawatta Ward, who espoused the cause of the poor and down-trodden. 

She was a firm believer in Christ and never failed in her mission to help the poor and needy. She attended services at Holy Emmanuel Church, Moratuwa regularly and participated in various religious and social functions of the Church. 

As a senior member of the Salgado family union, she was a tower of strength. 

She had written out on her own all the hymns that were to be sung at her funeral service. As a veteran teacher she had specially requested the following verse: 

"Old teachers never die
never die, no never die
Old teachers never die, 
They just fade away". 

When her coffin was being carried to the Church graveyard, there was a Slight shower, to the accompaniment of the hymn 'Showers of Blessings'. 

To Jayalal, his wife Preethie and family now resident in the US, her second son Premal and wife Manthrini, her daughter Sria and husband Ashley and grandchildren Roshan, Dhinuk, Shamil and Manoji, let me offer my deepest sympathies. 

May her soul rest in peace! 

Kingsley Cooray

A visionary veterinarian

My uncle, Dr. Ariyadasa Amarasinghe, passed away after a brief illness. According to his wishes he was cremated a few hours later.

He was born on November 11, 1913 in Tangalle to the late Muhandiram D.S. Amarasinghe and Mrs. Amarasinghe and was the sixth in a family of nine 

Dr. Amarasinghe studied at Mahinda College, Galle and later graduated in veterinary science from the Bengal Veterinary College, Calcutta. 

During the Second World War he joined the Burma Frontier Force as a Commissioned Officer and was part of the British troops which retreated from Burma to India. 

I remember how worried his family was since there was no news from him at the height of the war. One fine day he returned to my father's house, much to everyone's joy.

He then joined the Department of Agriculture as a veterinary surgeon working on the eradication of rinderpest during the epidemic, and served in many parts of the island. 

He was selected by the US Government for a public health fellowship at the University of Minnesota. He gained a doctorate on Brucellosis (diseases communicable from animal to man) and has several publications to his credit. 

He also worked as an advisor to the government of Tunisia. 

On his return to Sri Lanka he held many high-level positions including Chairman and Managing Director, Ceylon Oils and Fats Corporation and Chairman, Committee on Industries based on Animal Products. 

He was largely responsible for the setting up of the spray drying plant (powdered milk) in Ambewela and the condensary (condensed milk) factory in Polonnaruwa. His vision was to make Sri Lanka self-sufficient in milk production. 

Apart from his professional achievements, he had a deep understanding of Buddhism and history. 

He knew English, French, Sinhalese, Hindi, Urdu, Burmese, Pali and Sanskrit. 

The other side was that he was quite a reckless driver and I had a bad experience when once I fell out of his car and fractured my leg. 

After he retired, he lived a quiet life engaging in various Buddhist activities and a little bit of politics.

In the last years of his life I visited him often to drive away his blues. 

He married quite late in life and had two sons and a daughter. He loved his family deeply and was a dutiful husband and father. He had a wide circle of friends who will be saddened by his death. We all miss him. 

May he attain the supreme bliss of Nibbana! 

Patrick Amarasinghe

Safe in His arms

Your cross you bore, throughout this life, 
Always with that charming smile, 
Your loss we'll have to bear long in our hearts, 
Our loving sister sans beguile, 
Loving, kind, sincere and true 

That is how we'll always remember you. 
We will someday meet beyond these shores, 
Where sorrow, hurt and pain, we will ignore, 
Nor will we feel no more, 
But then again now you're safe in his arms, 
Safe and sound from all of Satan's charms. 

Sisters Mano Landsburgher, Isabelle Jacobs, Margie Dharmarajah and Ranee Christie. 

Fall of a gentle giant

"I am the tallest, I am the fattest and I am the youngest," Abdul Sattar Ismail used to say to his friends who were all a few years older than him. But this was not bragging. It was the light-hearted banter Abdul used to revel in. His friends would gape at him in mock surprise and return his jibes with the same simulated seriousness that Abdul displayed. Then they would sit down to chat the night away in a spirit of camaraderie. Abdul's huge shop in Pettah was a transit point for his friends. The only son of a wealthy father, Abdul was petted and pampered by his family. Though he passed away just two days after his 50th birthday, his old ayah still refers to him as 'Bubba'. 

He never had to work while young. His father gave into his every whim out of the immense love that only a father could shower. Whenever Abdul and his friends wanted to go out, his father would give them his chauffeur-driven car and travel to his office in a taxi. 

I got to know him well over the past few years. He had his moods and shortcomings like all of us, but they seem trivial now.

When I saw him after he returned from surgery abroad, he was in high spirits and told me that one kidney short is no big deal. Little did we know that his illness would take such a dramatic turn in so short a time! 

Later I heard he was suffering from cancer. He had told a friend that he would give this dreadful disease a good fight. That was Abdul, never one to give in easily. He was full of pluck and courage, but philosophical too. 

He was a devout Muslim but he didn't wear his piety on his sleeve. The only sign of his devotion to his Lord was a small black mark on his forehead. He gave a large section of his huge shop for religious purposes and constantly contributed to charity.

Abdul was a gentle giant, all of six feet if not more and heavily built. But even giants fall. His friends stood around his Janaza, engulfed by grief. We will miss you Abdul. 

Hameed Abdul Karim

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