Appreciations

The death of Laal Wickramasinghe early this month brought together an assemblage of family and friends, who while mourning his loss, celebrated his life and times by swapping their cherished memories, of this outstanding man.

Although fighting the ravages of illness, nothing could dampen Laal’s gallant spirits or his zest for life. True, some of that boundless energy and vivacity appeared to have been missing. But that was to be expected in the circumstances, in terms of terminal illness. Yet, his strength of character is exemplified by the fact that he did not allow his debilitation to interfere with his normal activities. He underwent the rigours of medical treatment with his usual good humour and without complaint.

Certainly, he had many low points along the way. But, somehow, he kept going, kept his dignity and learnt to get something out of just about everything. And throughout, his sense of wit was never far way.

Laal, was a man of many parts, a splendid family man with an ideal marriage and a wide range of interests. He was a warm, intelligent man who loved his family and friends. Laal had time for people and built many a rewarding friendship.

He possessed an original frame of mind, not the least conventional, and had a quixotic sense of humour. I remember from his earliest days, one of his charms was that he never seemed to change. Some men become pompous as they grow older and give themselves airs, but this could never be said of Laal. To me he remained the same delightful person throughout his life, always full of bonhomie. He was often master of a telling phrase and always entertaining, amusing and at times hilarious, but never malicious. For his family and close friends accepting the burden of his illness was an ordeal that they bore with undiminished spiritual faith and prayer. As such, Laal died surrounded by love from his beloved wife, Dagma, his children, his sons-in-law, his grandchildren and numerous relatives. He had heartwarming support from Dagma, who somehow managed to remain at his side throughout his prolonged illness, nursing him like a guardian deity while keeping the family going through unbearable stress.

In the same vein Dagma, a scion of the redoubtable Tissaaratchi clan, influenced by her robust Christian faith was sustained by the presence and prayers of her family and friends. Both Laal and Dagma Wickramasinghe moved in a truly remarkable circle similar to those affectionate family groups that always maintain an intimate sense of union. And that selective group was at hand when they needed them most.

Despite the physical discomfort and mental anguish of one condemned, Laal did not lead a diminished life. He was on guard to spare his loved ones the pain to the last against the numbing shock of the inevitable. In particular, even during the final stages the shadow of death appeared to be cheated of its terrifying sting and the grim grave also was denied its gloating victory. That is primarily because he had crossed the threshold of what most mortals fear most – to dread death. Astonishingly, right to the very end he had managed to conquer the phobia of anxiety.

Where others would have succumbed to self-pity and been reduced to crumpled, crawling wrecks, Laal was vibrant, sustained no doubt by his deep and abiding Christian faith. Yet, even at the worst of times the compassionate friends’ saccharin was not for him. His end was a classic saga, both sad and heroic. With characteristic courage he kept winning a little bit every day, flashing a benign smile followed by a reassuring word for those who turned up at his bedside.

There was always a simple directness about Laal that endeared him to most people. It was something to do with his combination of winning personal charm and vitality. In all, Laal’s life was one permeated with cheer and inspiration. Yet, it was a profoundly rich life with so much joy, happiness and satisfaction, the type of contentment that money can’t buy. He loved life and the joy of living. His world was certainly a decent and happy one. He had a genius for sustaining camaraderie. He was fiercely loyal to those he loved and cared for and his carefree hours were his most delightful ones.

Laal was an extremely keen traveller and did so often, holidaying abroad with Dagma. He felt they should have at least one trip booked annually. They were often our guests when we were domiciled in Singapore and Hong Kong and we looked forward to their visits. Still those of us who were close to Laal and Dagma, such as my wife Thelma and I, are dealing with a more personal loss, as we have always considered them part of our clan and we, theirs. The gracious Tissaaratchi sisters, Dagma, Rhona and Caryl, have for decades been my wife’s closest friends and confidantes and the sorority has endured through the years.

While I pen these thoughts about someone who I was proud to count as a very close friend, I have been pondering over what makes two people from quite different career backgrounds forge into such an inexplicable bond. I am sure it had to do with a shared sense of humour. And there was that complicity in which we observed the world in a similar way and perceived the same ironies and absurdities, as if life was too big a joke to be taken too seriously.

I remember attending his last birthday celebrations at his youngest daughter Chutie’s home. He was clad nattily in a colourful designer sarong with a matching kurta. I observed him purposefully making his way towards me trying to conceal a curled lip that betrayed the beginnings of an impish grin. Finally, accosting me, he gave his sarong a slight raise and said: “I am in a mood to indulge in parliamentary behaviour.” That set off the hilarity as he threw back his head and chuckled with unsuppressed glee.

In the end, I think the quality of an appreciation can be measured by how much it makes those who knew someone such as Laal feel as if they have lost something infinitely precious and how much it makes them aware that they have benefited from associating with a personage with such an admirable, sunny disposition. But, we are consoled by our special memories mostly those happy sunlit recollections of which we have had a disproportionate share. He was an important part of our lives and of our family, and we miss him.

He cheated death of its sting, and the grave its victory