Appreciations

Mon Repos -- "My Rest" in French -- was the name of the sprawling, gracious house located at number 11, Bethesda Place. Number eleven, was, for most of their married life, the home of Muruthappah and Malini Naganathan, whom my sister and I knew affectionately, as Uncle Nage and Aunty Marnie.

Just sitting at my computer to write, my mind races back over the decades to a time when two little girls would sit on a stone garden seat under a tree in the shadow of the high brick wall that separated our home, number 13, from Mon Repos. Through the grill in the wall, we were fascinated by what seemed to us, a glamorous, fairy castle in a magic fairy tale land on the other side of the wall.

Uncle Nage was the youngest of nine children. He was an old boy of Trinity College, Kandy, a rugger lion. He pursued his accounting studies in England and was one of the first Ceylonese to qualify as an accountant in Britain. He was a favourite amongst his nieces and nephews, and, as the years went by, his grand nieces and grand nephews, many of whom we met at Mon Repos. Others we knew by name, because they were so often, and so affectionately spoken of. Having no children of their own, Uncle Nage and Aunty Marnie had a large family of "adopted children", consisting of nephews and nieces and their children and close friends' offspring, and -- in the case of my sister and myself -- neighbours' children.

Uncle Nage was a quiet, gentle, unassuming man, who adored his beloved wife: she was his "Tootsie". His eyes would follow her as she emerged in some lovely new ensemble, perfectly coordinated from the jewellery that adorned her ears, neck and arms, to the pretty handbag and matching footwear. Aunty Marnie would fly around the house like a colourful, busy butterfly, and he would half-heartedly chide her for overdoing things. Aunty Marnie would respond by calling him her adorable Teddy Bear and telling him not to fuss.

My best memory of Uncle Nage is of him relaxing behind a newspaper out on the patio, clad in shorts and "bush" shirt. Whenever we approached - my sister and I, the paper would be lowered onto his lap, the day's news momentarily forgotten, as, with a twinkle in his eye and that endearing smile, he admired the latest youthful fashions we sported, and asked us about whatever we were currently involved in.

Any important family function at our home, no matter how quiet or intimate it was, would have to include Uncle Nage and Aunty Marnie. The Naganathans were the only non-relatives at my engagement and homecoming. Uncle Nage was always a gentleman and a gentle man. He was quiet and soft spoken and content to leave the chatter and the sparkle to his beloved Tootsie. They did everything together.

I see, in my mind's eye, Aunty Marnie and Uncle Nage setting off for the pola armed with "mallas" on the weekend - or out to a play or a concert. I remember how radiantly happy they both were at their 25th wedding anniversary celebrations. I remember taking my fiancé over to "Mon Repos" before anyone else had met him and the look of joy on Uncle Nage's face that told me how happy he was to see me happy; and I remember how delighted they both were to hold my twin baby girls in their arms.

Three and a half years ago, on my last visit to Sri Lanka, I attended Uncle Nage's birthday party. The fairy castle of my treasured childhood memories had been sold and Uncle Nage and his Toots now lived in a condo building. The faces were the same - the tastefully decorated table with the scrumptious bounty set out on it was the same, but the darling Uncle Nage of my girlhood was far away. He looked at me and smiled that gentle cherubic Uncle-Nage smile and said, "I haven't seen you in a long time - you live in Canada, don't you?" It was a fleeting moment of recollection and recognition and then it was gone. My heart ached for the remembered days and for Aunty Marnie.

Aunty Marnie's letters over the past few years have been full of how her days were spent in tending to and loving her "adorable teddy bear". She bore her tender burden cheerfully and fulfilled her duty of caregiver with gentle love, compassion and heartfelt joy - the joy of serving a beloved soul-mate. Theirs was a love that was above the mundane and the mediocre and it waxed and burned ever strong in sickness and health, for better for worse until death did them part.

Dear Uncle Nage, you will never know how much knowing you and Aunty Marnie meant to a young girl. You will never know how much those long lazy evenings out on the terrace lifted her out of the dullness of everyday things to laughter and fun. Thank you Aunty Marnie and thank you Uncle Nage - you will always live in a special, quiet, hidden place in my heart.

Uncle Nage and memories of a fairy castle