”It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done. It is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known.”
I heard these words from H. A. V. A. Gooneratne, fondly known as “HAVA” to his intimate friends, when his beloved wife died, several years ago. I still do not fully understand why he chose those words from the last chapter of Charles Dickens’ “A Tale of Two Cities”. But we could see clearly that he was greatly saddened by the loss of his beloved wife.
HAVA’s occasional philosophical utterances emphasised his role as a duty-conscious government employee who had the welfare of the institutions where he worked at heart.
He started his career as a teacher, although his father wanted him to be a planter. After passing the university entrance examination and a competitive exam, he entered the Maharagama Special English Training College, where he qualified as a teacher. Later, he followed a university diploma course in education.
Hailing from Ratnapura, he felt obliged to render service to his place of birth. Having been appointment as the principal of the Batugedera Maha Vidyalaya, where he did much to develop the school. He never sought political or individual favours, and he opposed attempts at elitism, either at university or at school.
He was always guided by his conscience, and believed that “honesty and sincerity will yield their rewards in the long run.” As a lecturer in English, he was known for his talent for using various techniques and devices to help his students grasp the basics of grammar.
He was also on the staff of the Management Faculty of Sri Jayawardenepura University, where I too was an English instructor. HAVA had a genius for teaching, especially in teaching English as a Second Language. He was a guide, a good teacher, a master to his faithful students and followers, a friend to all, especially to friends in need.
HAVA passed away on April 10, 2011. He was 80 years. He leaves behind two sons and two daughters, and nephews and grandchildren. All of them are well set in life, and are worthy citizens.
May HAVA attain Nibbana.
Dharma Kaviraj
‘No’ was never in
her vocabulary
Delini Peiris
It was with profound grief and shock that we heard of Delini Aunty passing away. I had spoken to her the week before and discussed cricket with her, a subject that was very close to her heart and one of her favourite topics especially when the World Cup matches were at our doorstep – as she herself phrased it. She was ecstatic over the invitation she had received from her friend Bertha (on holiday from Canada) for evening tea and dinner, where she watched the quarter-final match with her , little knowing that it was going to be her last outing. Could she have asked for more – a rendezvous with cricket and a lifelong friend.
Delini Aunty had many such dear and sincere friends – because she had been a sincere and helpful friend to others. She took great pleasure in helping others and you would think that the word ‘no’ was not in her vocabulary. She would assist people in kind and cash and never expected anything in return. A lady Chief Inspector of Police sobbed and told us how she was greatly indebted to Delini Aunty who just by giving her moral support at the NIB saw her through many situations so that she could achieve what she has today.
Whenever a friend or relative lost a loved one, Delini Aunty would make sure to have the grieving family over on a regular weekly basis for a pow wow and a nice home cooked meal. In most instances the extended invitations from her stretched to a year or more, thus making sure that she helped them ease their pain, in her own special way. Her uncle, Uncle Frank was one such person. That was how she helped him cope with the loss of his wife.
Many brides have dressed and left for the exchange of their nuptials from Cecil Uncle and Delini Aunty’s house at Park Street and she was always overjoyed to make their home a wedding house filled with festivity. She would plan everything meticulously and traditions and customs were maintained. The loyal, ever faithful Pema would bear testimony to these large hearted and benevolent acts of Delini Aunty for which she would be remembered forever.
The loving sons of Delini Aunty’s sisters ensured that she was very comfortable and happy during the last few years of her life when she was no longer able to drive about and do things for herself and she would always tell me how grateful she was to them. She loved her nephews dearly.
Delini Aunty never forgot to wish us on our birthdays and our anniversaries and she even remembered the birthdays of the younger generations. The data was not stored on a laptop or desktop- it was her eidetic memory. When it came to her own birthday, she loved to celebrate the occasion.
The ‘hen party’ that she had on her birthday will never be forgotten by her friends and family alike. But this year we could not wish her Happy Birthday and Delini Aunty could not invite us either. Sadly and coincidentally April 7 was her 86th birthday as well as her 7th day almsgiving, following her demise. I miss her and her telephone calls very much.
May all the acts of charity and their merits help her to attain the supreme bliss of Nibbana.
I. Peiris
Malli Baba, you grew up to be
a fine young man, and then
you left us so suddenly
Prabath De Silva
It is one year since you bid us good-bye. Never did I dream that I would have to write an appreciation in memory of our dearest Prabath.
It is one year since you left us, but I could not make up my mind to write this appreciation in your memory. You have left a deep void in our lives, departing suddenly and leaving us in a dilemma. Putha, it is hard to believe you are not here with your dear ones. Your innocent smile will always bring back sweet memories. It is with great sorrow that I pen these few words, when I could have written a book about you, an exceptional young man.
You were our “Malli Baba”, because you lived with us for a considerable period. You were a bonny baby who brought us happiness. Your mother, father, sister, my two children – Harsha and Priyanga and uncle Peter – we were a big family. Everybody loved you and cared for you. You grew up to be a handsome young man, excelling in your studies and achieving your dream of becoming an engineer. Your determination brought you success.
With aching heart, I think of your gentle qualities – you were a true gentleman. Although a bit reserved, you were very concerned about others, especially those in difficulty. You expressed your views frankly when necessary. Your unassuming nature was admirable. Your friends will testify to all this. We admired you and wanted to see you doing very well in life. But our hopes were shattered when, suddenly on the 5th of May, we were told that you were seriously ill. With a heavy heart, we visited you at hospital and realised the gravity of the situation.
Oh death, how cruel of you to take away our darling Prabath, and at such a young age. Our precious Putha was only 34 years. It is unbelievable. The blow is too much for us. But we find solace in our religion. Death is inevitable. We have to accept the bitter truth that this life is only a stepping stone in sunshine.
Darling Prabath, we bestow merit on you, and may you be born again among us.
Aunty Sheila
Exemplary teacher, wife, parent and aunt
Kumari Abeygoonesekera
“Generosity is giving more than you can, and pride is taking less than you need.” These words exemplify the life of Kumari Abeygoonesekera. A rare vein of selflessness ran through this person (as rare as it is for someone to write an appreciation of his mother-in-law).
Kumari was one of 14 children born to P. M. and B. M. Talwatte. And there lies a remarkable tale of how her mother brought up her family after her husband’s untimely demise.
Kumari remembered being thrust into the living room, a child of 10, to play lilting tunes on the piano for her father’s friends. She would rather have been with the friendly elephants, Gunaya, Hurathala, and Sella.
She was born with a classic musical ear and an extremely sensitive nose – she could sniff out the faintest of odours. Everyone said there was something about Kumari that set her apart from the rest. She looked at life somewhat differently, and her heart strings were tuned to a frequency few understood. Her favourite word was “unsophisticated.” Kumari schooled at Mahamaya, Kandy, where she introduced netball – played in lama sari. During her walks through paddy fields to school, her keen eyes met those of Justin (a Dharmarajan), and for many years the two exchanged love notes through willing emissaries. They were finally married, and their wonderful union lasted 56 years, and brought forth three differently talented children: Aruna, Priyamali and Kavan.
She passed out as a teacher from the Maharagama Training College, and her final stint as a teacher was at Royal College, Colombo, where she taught Maths, Music, Science and English for more than 10 years.
While at Royal, she was instrumental in starting the percussion band, which is now a permanent feature during the interval at the Bradby Shield matches. Her students remember her for her special teaching methods, blending kindliness with firmness – a difficult combination to juggle in a classroom full of boisterous teenage boys.
She was a tower of strength to Justin during his career, from the Ministries of Agriculture and Foreign Affairs to the FAO in Rome and Bangkok, and finally as the Parliamentary Ombudsman. She helped him take important decisions and stood by him in difficult times. As a mother, she made sure her children learnt life skills in addition to their studies, and in a practical, sensible manner she moulded and fine-tuned them and helped them achieve their aspirations.
Their house in Colombo was always open to all her nephews from Kandy who needed a foothold to launch themselves after school. Her eagle eye and healthy kola kenda diet did much to keep the boys out of too much trouble. Above all, she loved giving shelter to the incorrigible, and offered them a sense of empathy and compassion that they had never before experienced.
Kumari was a forthright lady who called a spade appropriately, and who fought injustice whenever she encountered it. She had a penchant for offering her love and kindness to the weak, oppressed, unfortunate and differently abled.
She did her best to bring some light, colour and hope into their lives. I remember her somehow making it to Sahanaya once a week to play the piano for the inmates there. But the most significant project she undertook, together with her nephew in the Army, was to build 12 houses in Panama for those displaced by the tsunami.
She made it a family project and got all her sisters, brothers, nephews and nieces involved. Whenever there was a shortfall of funds, she was there with a handful of cash to ensure the work went on. Finally, when it was completed, it gave her and the family great joy to see their labour of love a reality.
She dearly loved her nephew in the Army. When he died, tragically by an act of terrorism, she did not stop grieving. And thus began a slow decline in her health that saddened all who loved and cared for her.
When she passed away, she had given away everything she had possessed. She has left a legacy of love and selflessness that will be hard to emulate, but we will try.
Jomo Uduman
Good Samaritans could not outdo Ananda Aiya
Brigadier M.P. Ananda Jayawardena, KSV
Ananda Aiya was an “older brother” in every sense of the term. He breezed into my life in the latter half of 1997. He and his brother, the late Sundra Jayawardena, were partners of a firm that supplied spares to the Navy.
There was a certain tender that the brothers’ firm won. The problem was that by the time the tender process was completed, the item originally quoted was no longer available. The supplier could provide only an updated version, at the same price.
Ananda called me and asked if he could go ahead with the order. The matter was put to the Tender Board, and it was decided that the tender would proceed in his favour. There the matter ended. Then I remembered seeing the name “Sundra Jayawardena” in my late father’s diary of 1973. I dug up the old diary and found that next to “Sundra” was the name “Ananda”, written alongside.
Subsequently, there were a few calls regarding the supply of various items.
In March 1998, I visited a close friend to condole with him on the death of his mother. There, for the first time, I set eyes on Ananda Aiya. He was a close relative of my friend’s. Thus began a lifelong friendship, deepened by the fact that my father had known him.
To be a friend of Ananda’s was indeed a lifetime affair. He never lost contact. He found a reason to call you, if not every day, at least once a week. He made it his pleasant obligation to meet you at least once a month. If the going was tough for you, he was there for you, with a helping hand and a smiling face. At such times, he never left your side, to the point of being a pain in the neck.
His practical knowledge and insights were phenomenal. The amazing fact was that he stayed in close contact with everyone he knew. He was equally a friend to your driver or your household help. He would do the same for an ambassador or a secretary. His large circle of friends was his great strength.
Ananda Aiya believed in networking. He would put friends together so that the one who was better placed in society would help the other rise in life and society. When he saw a friend down on his luck, he would go to the extreme ends of his extensive network to help that person.
There was one especially precarious situation, involving two colleagues and me. Ananda left no stone unturned until he had redressed the situation. When the reconciliation was accomplished, Ananda was the most jubilant of the four of us. It was his personal victory.
Ananda was always calm. I never saw him angry. I never heard him use a harsh word. I never heard him say an unkind word about anyone, unless that person had caused hurt to a friend of his. I never heard or saw him fail to extend a helping hand, whatever the occasion, time of day, or class, caste or creed of the person needing his assistance. I have never met a Good Samaritan that could outdo Ananda in good and kind deeds. I never saw Ananda without a smile, despite the many tough cards life had dealt him.
When my son was three years old, Ananda Aiya came home with a pizza. From then on, Ananda Aiya became “Pizza Seeya” to my son. He had a wonderful way with children. They worshipped the ground he walked on. He was always concerned about the future of my daughter. The day she took her oaths as an attorney-at-law, Ananda Aiya was over the moon.
When we sent her a text with the sad news about Ananda’s demise, she replied: “Why does it have to be people like him, oh why, why, why?”
At one time, his eldest nephew Praminda was more a son to Ananda Aiya and Aruni than Praminda’s actual parents. To the very last, Ananda had a very special place in his heart for Praminda.
He understood his two sons and helped them to develop in their strengths. He wanted them to grow up as reliable, honourable and respectable citizens.
Ananda loved a bit of fun. He would subject Aruni to one practical joke after another. He would feign sickness and watch through the corner of an eye to see how she would react. He would test Atthe, his closest buddy, by dropping a controversial word into the conversation to see his reaction, to the amusement of all. We will miss Ananda’s antics.
At this point in time, we can only pray that the burden of grief that lies so heavily on Aruni, Mindika, Dulindra, and relatives and friends, will be lightened. We pray for all who will miss his wake-up calls, especially Aelian and Atthe. We pray that they all to come to terms with losing a wonderful friend, and we wish that we can all be to each other what Ananda was to us.
May his soul enjoy eternal rest, and may perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace.
Rear Admiral Tony
Abeyasena, RNR
Dearest Bunty, your 22 years with us were a holy gift from God
Nipun Rajantha Jayamaha
I call out to my beloved Bunty (Nipun) Putha, having never written a letter or a note to you from the time you were born, in November 1988.
But I spoke many things, advised you on many occasions, and guided you wherever necessary – all of which you followed or acknowledged with a smile. You never spoke harshly or unkindly to anyone, but spoke straight from your heart.
I told you many times that I loved you, and you did say you loved me too, before you left us, oh so suddenly, your thoughts unknown to us. You have left us sweet memories.
As I write this tribute, my heart aches and my eyes fill with tears. It is difficult to see beyond this sorrow, but we will depend on our memories to comfort us tomorrow.
When you were born in 1988, we over overjoyed. Your first cry, first words and first steps brought us untold happiness. And the happiness continued as we followed the many firsts in your life.
We watched you grow to manhood, a well-mannered and kindly young man. You reached out to society, regardless of caste or creed, to friends and to family. Your well-mannered ways, unconditional love, and friendship will be missed by all your loved ones.
Most of all, you were always there to lend a helping hand. I am told you were the first to forgive and forget when there were differences among your friends. They did not want to leave after your funeral, when we bade you farewell, on March 28, 2011.
Dearest Bunty, I long for your voice, your presence, but we know you are now with God, watching all of us from Heaven above. You made friends easily, and you were always very quiet about your accomplishments.
You never carried bitterness in your heart, and without being over-ambitious you achieved great things, the best things in life. You were never jealous or unkind, but you were a down-to-earth boy. You spent just a little over 22 years with us. You have left us with an unbearable pain in our hearts and minds that will continue until we meet again.
I am lost for words to comfort Appachchi, Ammi or your loving Nangi. My heart aches for them. All of us will hold tight to our memories of you – to comfort us and to learn from your exemplary qualities.
Your life was full of loving deeds, always mindful of our needs. Today and tomorrow, and our whole life through, we will love and cherish you. Only those who truly loved understand the heartache of parting without a farewell.
Farewell, my dearest darling Bunty.
Gone yet not forgotten,
although we are apart
your spirit lives within us,
forever in our heart
Until we meet again, may God
Hold you in the palm of his hand.
Nanda
|
E-mail
