Appreciations

A few days ago, we got the news, here in Melbourne, of the passing of Chris Gunasekera, in Sri Lanka. Chris was my wife’s cousin – one of the closest, and our two sons’ favourite uncle in Sri Lanka. Many were the vacations and weekends that my family and I had enjoyed at Chris’s various “rural retreats” in the North Western Province of Sri Lanka.

Chris was an entertainer par excellence. Being trained in hospitality at Hotel School, he carried the art of entertaining to an entirely new level. Upon arrival at his estate, usually in the morning, we would always be greeted by a new and original form of ‘welcome’. Guessing what this would be was well nigh impossible as Chris’s imagination and sense of humour were entirely his own. On one occasion, we would be greeted by a series of hand drawn posters and sign-boards, from the gate of his estate up to the bungalow, warning us of various hazards to watch out for etc.

On another we would be greeted by Chris and his entire estate staff, including several local village youth, performing a welcome ‘dance’ – dressed in outrageous costumes etc., and accompanied by drums, flutes and assorted musical (and not so musical) instruments. Even his beloved dogs would be dressed up in funny hats and paper bibs. On yet another occasion, he would introduce us to a ‘lady’ guest he happened to be entertaining from ‘Ireland’.

That would be his cook and caretaker – Gnanapala, dressed in high heels, outrageous wig, funny spectacles and frock, playing the part of an eccentric old lady. Once the excitement and hilarity of the initial welcome had died down, a continuous stream of hospitality would pour out – from sweet, fresh squeezed lime juice to drinks of a more “spirited” nature, accompanied by tidbits of various types, cadjunuts from his trees, roasted and salted – hot off the pan, fresh-caught fish – crisp-fried and crunchy, dark-roasted wild boar, the list would be endless, and the day just begun.

On one occasion Chris had happened on an encampment of gypsies not far from his estate and prevailed on them to come along and entertain us with their snake charming and performing monkeys etc. On another, he had invited the local village boys over to play a game of cricket with the visitors. Once when we visited around Sinhala New Year time, Chris had invited the women from the village over to play ‘Raban’, which meant a large part of the village were present and pretty soon, everyone was dancing merrily to the accompaniment of the village damsels drumming!Later in the evening, as night fell and the stars began to come out, so would Chris’s dining table and chairs, and other assorted furniture, together with his stereo and speakers which would be rigged up on the verandah. They would be brought outdoors by half a dozen village youth, who had turned up, casually, during the course of the afternoon.

They would then bring out the barbecue and over the next couple of hours or so, put on what was very simply the best barbecue to be had anywhere in Sri Lanka! We would just sit back, relax and enjoy a level of casual, friendly and totally professional service not to be found even among the best of the five star hotels.

There was something unique and common in all of these visits to Chris’s abode. He always invited people from the village – ordinary peasant folk, too, to meet us and enjoy his hospitality with us on an equal basis. They were his friends in just the same manner as we were. They enjoyed the same fun, the same food and the same conversation. He would welcome our driver, Ranjith, in just the same manner and with the same enthusiasm as he did us. On the occasions when he visited us at our home, he would walk in the door, greet us and then head straight to the kitchen or wherever, to greet our domestic staff.

He was totally incapable of discriminating between human beings and he found and formed many deep and abiding friendships among the simple rural folk he happened to come across.On several occasions he has been known to befriend teenage orphans, who were abused and destitute, and invite them over to his place, where they would stay and become part of his household. He would support them and encourage them to learn a skill or trade according to their ability and after a few years, they would leave as confident young men, with secure employment and prospects.

His personal van, which was his only form of transport, was available to the villagers one day a week, to go to Kurunegala and back, for those who needed to attend clinics at the Hospital for treatment. It was available at any time for anyone needing emergency treatment to get to hospital. He was intimately involved in the lives and trials of his village neighbours. When the village joined together to dig themselves a new well to offset an ongoing drought, Chris’s kitchen supplied the meals and refreshments to all who laboured on the venture. Whenever a youth from the village happened to win a place at University, Chris would provide them with a personal ‘scholarship’ from his own funds to enable them to meet their ongoing expenses. Many were the occasions when he had to cut corners and economize on his personal expenses in order to keep up to his commitments to his various philanthropic ventures.

Chris had a first hand view of the devastation that the Northern war was causing among our rural families and youth as he bade farewell to many of his village friends as they joined up, only to greet them upon their tragic return as amputees, or worse. It was then that he realized that none of the homes of these amputees had appropriate toilets which they could use with any sort of dignity, on their own, and he set about building disabled-friendly toilets for them.

He didn’t bother to go looking for funds – he just started by spending his own and gradually, as the wider community of his friends and family got to know of his efforts, they began to chip in with donations and financial support. He helped build toilets, houses, wells, children’s playgrounds and play equipment for schools, provided wheel chairs, walking aids, etc. When someone from the village required specialist surgery in Colombo, Chris took him down himself, admitted him to a private hospital and got a surgeon friend to treat him, waiting in Colombo, himself, until he could bring him home again. When the doctor realized that Chris was paying for everything out of his own pocket, he not only waived his personal fee, but took up the hospital charges as well.

Such was the effect Chris had on his friends. Plagued by ill luck, ill-health and incurable, progressive illness himself, he busied himself with the burdens of others and rarely, if ever, looked to his own. He consistently denied himself, the luxuries that others among his family and friends enjoyed, to be able to provide the necessities of his less fortunate friends so that they could live with dignity. His life was short, but incredibly rich: Rich with human experience – the experience of giving – without reservation; of himself, his time, his efforts, his energies, his friendship, his humour, and his love.

My seven-year-old son remarked recently at dinner, as we remembered Uncle Chris together and the fact that ‘he had gone to heaven to be with Jesus’, “Thathi, he would be partying away in heaven with Jesus, wouldn’t he? So why are all the adults so sad? They should be happy for him!” They should, indeed…….!

Harin Corea

Father was a born teacher and scholar

Tiddy Munasinghe

Almost all parents are loved, admired and adored by their children. I can modestly say that our late father was loved and adored, not only by his children, but by all of his relations and associates alike.
He was born on April 14, 1909 at Maha Induruwa, and died on November 28, 2009, having led a simple yet contented life for more than 100 years.

He studied first at Dharmasoka College, Ambalangoda, and later at Richmond College, Galle. After completing his London Matriculation, he joined the Department of Education in September 1930 as an assistant teacher, aged 21. He was promoted to the post of Headmaster (as school principals were then called) and posted to K/Waradiwela Junior School in March 1948. He served in the same capacity at Bd/Medagama Junior School, and was promoted to the Inspectorate in August 1954.

In 1942, he married Rani, a school teacher and the queen of his heart. She remained by his side for 44 years until she departed this life in August 1986. As his faithful partner, she saw to his every need and comfort. They had eight children.

As an Inspector of Schools, our father had to supervise a number of circuits in Moneragala, Welimada, Matale, Pelmadulla and finally Kandy. He would recall how he would often park his car and walk miles, often braving bad weather and leeches, in order to reach a remote school that had never been visited by an Education Department official.

In June 1965, he had to choose between Jaffna and Batticaloa, and he chose to go to the education office in Jaffna. He said his happiest years in service were the three years he was stationed in Jaffna. Years later, we had the privilege of touring Jaffna with my father, and how warmly we were received by his friends there. He had to study Tamil for his efficiency bar exams, and he continued to study the language long after. He had a great admiration for Jaffna, its people, and their “beautiful” language.
His career with the Education Department came to an end when he retired from service in March 1968, his last station being the Anuradhapura Regional Education Office.

He must be one of a very few public officers who completed close on 40 years in public service and then remained a government pensioner for more than 40 years. This may be a record of some sort.
Our father could never get away from teaching, which was his one great passion. Whenever he was transferred to a new place, he saw to it that a part of a wall of the dining room in the new house we moved into was made into a blackboard. No matter how tired he was after a hard day’s work, he would patiently conduct a class for us.

It was a treat to listen to him quote from the works of Longfellow, Goldsmith and other poets. He had a melodious voice. He was equally at ease rendering a Pali stanza, a Christian hymn, a Sanskrit shloka or a verse or two from his favourite Selalihini Sandeshaya.

He was a voracious reader to the end. His collection of books included the complete set of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, and books on almost every subject, ranging from History, Geography and Economics to Ayurveda and Astrology.

At dinner, he would often get one of us to read selected passages from a school text while the others listened. He had a good knowledge of Latin, which he studied at Dharmashoka and Richmond; of Pali, which he offered as a subject for his London University degree, and of Sanskrit.

At the age of 82, on the eve of leaving for a pilgrimage to India, he started to study Hindi, as if to show that age was no barrier to learning. He loved to keep in touch with his near and dear, and wrote them long letters when he found the time. No letter was complete without a quotation from a famous writer or poet.

His passion for teaching did not diminish even after his retirement. He taught English at home to children getting ready for the GCE Ordinary Level Exam. He was a practising Buddhist with a good knowledge of the Dhamma. He was presented with books on Buddhism by people who knew of his thirst for knowledge. He read carefully, underlining sentences and making notes in the margins. In later years, he gave away most of his books to temples and aramayas and deserving persons.

He lived to be a centenarian, and to see 15 grandchildren and seven great-grandchildren. He was happy and healthy in mind and body to the last.

An adoring child

Remembering another noble son of Matale

Major General Saliya Kulatunga

Matale lives on in the collective memory, thanks to the contributions of a long line of distinguished Matale men, headed by the legendary hero, Keppetitipola Dissawa.

Besides this fearless patriot and warrior, Matale nurtured others who also contributed to the wealth and welfare of not only parochial Matale but the entire country. These include, notably, the three Aluvihares, Sir Richard, Bernard and Alick, whose names are synonymous with Matale; and William Gopallawa and Richard Udugama, who brought fame and lustre to Matale’s heritage.

Matale’s latest loss of a worthy son is Major-General Saliya Kulatunga. Saliya was the scion of an ancient family, going back to the times of King Rajasinha II. He received his education at St. Anthony’s, Kandy, a school that produced many distinguished alumni in many walks of life. Saliya was an outstanding senior cadet. His transition to the national Army was smooth and quick. In due course, he gained experience and promotions, ending up as a Major-General.

Destiny ordained that he participate in the epic struggle to rid the country of the scourge of terrorism.
During his period of service in the war zones, his Gajaba Regiment made a significant contribution towards ousting the terrorists from the North and the East.

After the strains and stresses of Army life, and of confronting the LTTE in the impenetrable jungles of the North and the East, Saliya retired from active Army service. He was looking forward to a quiet life of retirement with his family in Matale. It was not to be. His passing away, one cold and windy day in November 2007, was a reminder to family and friends that “there is no armour against Fate”.

While wishing him happiness in the Celestial Realms, may we perpetuate the name of Saliya the Good Samaritan – especially among the old and the infirm.

D. E. Ranaweera

A day does not pass without a prayer for you

Bryan Paul Senanayake

I still cannot believe that four long years have passed since I last saw you, Dada. … I miss you so much. I can say with the utmost confidence that a day has not passed without thoughts of you and a prayer for you. … I talk to you often in my head, sadly more than I did when you were with us.

I wish more than ever that you could have seen your grandchildren and given them the love you gave me, taught them all you taught me, shared with them all you shared with me. I often think of those precious moments, and thank God I have those memories to cherish.

It breaks my heart that I was not with you, holding your hand, when you decided to leave this material world. I do not understand why you did not wait for me.

I know you are happy with Jesus and Mother Mary, free from all pain and suffering. I long to see you, Dada, and have you wrap your arms around me. I will continue to look forward to that day.

I guess I just wanted to remind you how much I love you and miss you every single day. …

With all my love, always, Shima

Precious memories never end

Elmo Benedict

On his 11th death anniversary
The brilliance of the stars fade away
The blackness of the still night
Melting into fingers of light of daybreak
Dispelling all gloom and darkness
When visions of your warm smile
Radiates my soul
Echoes of your tender voice
And wonderful memories of your loving heart
Overflowing with fullness of Christ's life within
A blossom alive in our hearts
Whose fragrance lingers in our thoughts
Precious memories never end
For love which inspired the inner self
Still riding the waves of life.

Loving wife Lourdeslin Benedict

Dad, you were our pillar of strength

S. Dissanayake

You were our pillar of strength on this earth;
You were the tree under which we took shade from our birth;
You were our role model that found every ship a berth;
You were our life and mentor billions worth.
Devoted father and dutiful husband so pure,
With your sound advice, at all times we felt secure;
With all our efforts, we could not find you a cure;
We have no choice, so the pain we endure.
A strict disciplinarian yet understanding and kind;
Your honesty and integrity instilled in us you will find;
You were so forgiving, with no axe to grind;
We’ll abide by your principles, your fatherly advice in mind.

Shanti Jayasuriya