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Sainted and painted - True blue and black
Sometimes I wonder whether a piece of writing can be bioengineered to make it glow. In Taiwan, one man is making "fluorescent fish" that are one of the products of the growing global fascination with biotechnology. Now, I read... let alone write, and I sometimes wonder how on earth the crabbiest and drabbest of books written by bores come my way, in "marketable" covers that should be ashamed of the sham they hold within.

Then along comes a nineteen-year-old Thomian, and out of the darkness and drabness I find a work of tremendous appeal that seems to have been genetically modified to glow in the dark! A spirit-lifter, to be sure and yet, I am rather at a loss to tackle this review. To begin with, the young whipper-snapper is a Thomian and I am a Royalist. Maybe we can glow like hell in a common fish tank, but what worries me is that he says his style is inspired by novels such as my ‘Spit and Polish’.

That makes this review even more dicey. If I give fulsome praise, I could be accused of "being nice". If I were to say his style is like popcorn that won’t pop, am I not saying that my own popcorn does just the same? Devil of a business, don't you think?
I have Sainted Blue, Painted Black before me and I can see why my own ‘Spit and polish’ has been given a stylistic credit. Maybe my own Navy songs were the most offensive ever (even my friend Rajpal Abeynayake said there was more spit than Polish!) but Suneth tells us of the woman from Swiss and the man from Madras.

What is of particular charm is that this book will find a certain place in the very fibre of every man who must remain a schoolboy at heart. Schooldays mean so much to us all. Suneth says it so well in his prologue:

"All those good things were there only to help us to part - and go our own ways and leave behind an epoch of our lives that will never admit us again… A farewell to playgrounds, big matches, pranks committed in glee, punishments borne with a halo of heroism and the wrath of headmasters… The flood of nostalgia that swept over us was devastatingly sweet… (as we) rediscovered our treasure chest of memories. We prised it open and browsed through the pages of priceless and delectable recollections with both sorrow and pride welling up within our hearts.

Indeed nothing is forgotten.
Nothing is ever forgotten."
What is so good about reminiscent writing is that it is heartstrong and vibrates with soul-chords deftly played. This is why I find Sainted Blue, Painted Black of particular appeal. The epilogue is written with an intensity that carries forward the writer's love for his country, just as the book wears this aura of filial love for the College.

Suneth does not question the manner in which he chose to leave his land. He does not elaborate on what propelled him to take the crucial step. "I ponder upon the sequence of events which led to my exit from Serendib. After all, it is our choice that makes us who we are, and it was sincerely my choice to leave. To forsake a country and a love that had forsaken me".

"Mind and body is heightened by the simple knowledge that regardless of whoever I become over the years or wherever my travels take me, I am a son of S. Thomas'. As long as I have Her in my heart, I am complete".

He has shown us how well he can write as a schoolboy for schoolboys and not as some uptight outsider with the click of a disapproving tongue. Take this excerpt from his chapter "Middle School".

The first one to stamp his authority was our Maths teacher. He was built like a bull with a mask of terror to match his bristling black beard, which gave him a buccaneer-like air. He walked in on his first day, brandishing his weapon.
The cane.

Long, sleek and evil, it swished as he waved it about to get our attention. He had it all with more to spare. We stood up and greeted him rather shakily. "G...g... good morning, Sir."

"Morning boys, morning." He paused for us to taste the potential wrath of his voice. It had a melodious, almost feminine twang to it. He spoke slowly, with premeditation.
"I'm Mr. Nirmal Fernando. A.E.N. Fernando. You may not…" SWACK! He whacked his desk with his cane to emphasize his point,"…call me 'Alien' or 'Raula'. Not even in your dreams. I have a name. Use it."

Here was a man who knew his nicknames. Which meant he was in constant touch with the hearts and minds of those who were under him. He had his finger on the pulse. Our pulse. Testing his temper would be dancing with the devil. He went on to introduce us to the officers in his army: Corporal Punishment and Major Pain.

"This,” he swished again and underlined the obvious, "is a cane. I will use this on you at each and every opportunity I get. I don't care who you are or what your fathers do. It doesn't matter to me. You have left Lower School, which means you aren't little kids who piss in their pants any more. I expect you to behave. To respect your teachers.…
This is the tone Suneth has adopted - true blue and black, so to say, and it celebrates tall stories of exploding pappadams in Panadura, smooth and hairy balls, the ape King Kong who died while playing ping pong.

Some observations merit note:
Sinhalese, sadly, is the perfect language for insulting. It has a resonant tonal balance and ring for all profanity. It was meant to hit hard. Such was the power of Hela Basa.
It also rends my heart to see the special bond that we as a class unit shared then is non-existent today. It is now decayed to a world where every man's for himself. The bygone honour and chivalry… is simply missing.

The joys of youth are many, its troubles are few and equally hard to forgive or forget.
The Fifth Form (eighth grade of S. Thomas') is presently littered with boys whose anti-social, dog-eat-dog behaviour is a direct insult to the very essence of Thomianism itself.

Yes, the castigations are there, well masked, yet most evident and that makes the book more readable than ever. It is not just a litany of schoolboy pranks. It does have a full quota of that too, even masters who threaten: "You can't lie to me, I know psychology".

This book is an excellent read and brings us all, back to our own hellion days at school. There is little else I wish to say except perhaps to the eternal Thomian Suneth, this is a tribute from one who is eternally Royal. Let's swim proud in our own fish tank. I don't know much about bioengineering but we could have a whale of a time genetically modifying the hopelessly drab to give writing a new iridescence!

Journey through a life lived to the full
This autobiography is an account of an extraordinarily full and successful life which began in the halcyon days of 1915. Born into a well-to-do Tamil family with a distinguished medical background, "both my grandfathers were doctors, followed by my father, who was the first surgeon in Ceylon to obtain the F.R.C.S. of England in 1901," the author spent his early years in his parents' elegant Colombo home. This was during the British rule of the country as a crown colony, when all key administrative posts were reserved for the British.

His mother was a Colombo Chetty, a descendant of a Catholic merchant from Nagapatnam in India, a deeply religious, well-read, artistic lady who was also an accomplished musician. His maternal grandmother was the daughter of an Anglican Bishop in England. This may have accounted for the strict Victorian upbringing of the large family, where "there was no free dialogue between parents and children, and you only spoke when you were spoken to".

Paul was the youngest in this family of nine and there was a gap of five years between him and his siblings. He virtually lived in a world of his own. When he was ten years old, he entered Royal College, Colombo, where according to him, he spent the happiest days of his life. His classmates came from all the different ethnic groups, and "they studied and played together as one family. No hint or suggestion of racial difference or ancestry." There was no pressure on studies. Sports had a premium value and friendships that lasted a lifetime were made.

He joined the Ceylon Medical College in 1935, having graduated with Second Class Honours from the Ceylon University College. In 1940, he qualified as a doctor with First Class Honours and distinctions in Surgery, Midwifery and Gynaecology.
And so he set out on this 'Trek to the heart', in a lifetime of "endeavour, trials and tribulations." One might also add, of courage and integrity in the face of many unusual odds.

His spirit of adventure led him into a number of dangerous situations - six brushes with death is really tempting the fates. But he survived. In 1939, England declared war on Germany, and in 1940, Paul joined the Army as a Volunteer Captain in the Ceylon Medical Corps "because of his loyalty to king and country."

However, five years later, he resigned after an argument with General Pownell, General Officer commanding the Armed Forces, over the discrimination in the treatment towards Ceylon soldiers. He was accused of "inciting the Ceylonese troops against the British in Trincomalee".

And so back to civilian life, marriage and a career in the medical service. As he had no fixed appointments he was sent to fill in vacancies around the country until he was offered a scholarship in Thoracic Surgery in London. This proved to be the first step in a journey which led to his becoming one of the earliest cardiac surgeons in the world, and the first in Asia.

The book describes this journey, which began at a time when cardiac surgery such as valve repair and replacement, coronary by-pass and heart transplants would have been unthinkable, to a time nearer the end of the century when transplants became almost routine.

The story of this rapid and fascinating development and the accompanying problems is interlaced with accounts of travels that spanned the globe, meetings with pioneer heart specialists worldwide who encouraged and supported his efforts to bring cardiac surgery to Asia, and his stay and work in Africa.

At the same time he allows us a glimpse of his talent in the area of portrait painting (several of his paintings have been reproduced in the book; they have also been shown at exhibitions); his varied experiences in the field of the supernatural; and of his hobbies.

These encompassed the building and flying of odel aircraft, and also of boats. Maybe there is a connection between the manual dexterity required in the delicate craft of heart surgery and the construction of a flying or sailing mechanism.

He does not omit the problems he met on his way; the difficulties faced when working under primitive conditions - the frustration, experimentation and intrigues. And the 1983 racial riots. He briefly recounts the historical background to the ethnic conflict, and how he was personally affected; and the importance he places on the observance of human rights.

This book sub-titled 'A cardiac surgeon's story of adventure and endeavour between 1920 and 1980' is not only interesting, enjoyable and informative but also a valuable record of an era that has passed; of an enquiring mind and a life lived to the full.

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