By Dr
Nihal D Amerasekera
In 1958 my father moved to Kolonnawa. We
could see the Government Factory from our verandah. The factory chimneys spewed
smoke all day and all night. We lived constantly under this cloud of
pollutants. At the edge of our property was a tall perimeter fence of the
Kolonnawa Oil Installation. For 3 years we lived next to this ‘time bomb’ which
could ignite any minute with devastating consequences. In those days we
believed the Government was trustworthy and worked for the benefit of the
people. We’ve been let down so many times.
After 10 long years at school I had reached
the top of the pile. I was now a 6th
former and a prefect with all its trappings of prestige and privileges. On a
cold January morning I climbed the wooden stairs by the Physics lab. At the top
there was the unmistakable pungent smell of acids and alkalis wafting from the
Chemistry lab. Down 2 steps and I was on the corridor leading to the Biology
lab where the acrid smell of formalin greeted me. This was to be my domain for
a formidable and forbidding 2 years.
The time between 1960 and 1962 was a crucial period
in my life when I was engulfed by darkness and despair. It is a weird experience
to allow those years to flash before my eyes.Then I was a pimple faced,
self-conscious teenager with raging hormones chasing my dream to become a
doctor. Soon after I had overcome the challenges of a plethora of subjects at
the O-levels, I was thrust into the 6th form to sit for the most
competitive exam of my life. During those 2 years all I saw were the
laboratories, classrooms and the fragile landscape of the 4 walls of my bedroom.This
also became my study. I have often worked deep into the night going on until I
heard a lone cockerel heralding the dawn.
I grew up in a loving family. In the best
traditions of good parenthood they made me eminently aware of the struggles of life. They also
impressed on me that my future lay in my own hands.There was no huge inheritance
to receive. I recall their advice with genuine and touching affection. I
embarked on my perilous journey with the acquired stoicism of my father’s tough
upbringing and the inherited steely competitiveness of my mother’s Kandyan
ancestry. The great and the good persuaded me that the hardships endured to
pursue a career in medicine was a worthwhile goal with rich rewards.
I embarked on my journey mindful of the tough
times ahead.On looking back I couldn’t describe my feelings better than Charles
Dickens in ‘A Tale of Two Cities’:
“It was the best of times, it was the
worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was
the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of
light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the
winter of despair.”
I offered Botany, Zoology, Physics and
Chemistry for the examination. The syllabuses were huge and the task simply monumental.
Each of the subjects had a theory paper and a practical examination conducted
by the University of Ceylon. The examination was held at the end of the year
with the results posted to the candidates around April time the following year.
The successful candidates were called for a Viva Voce examination held at the University
at Reid Avenue. There was a Medical School in Colombo and another
at Peradeniya. The total intake was 300 students per year. To say the entry into
the medical schools was fiercely competitive is a gross understatement.
The examination papers were the same for
all the students but the practical exam was a lottery when some had an easier
time than others. The teaching and the facilities provided by the schools varied
immensely.Hence the examination was not on a level playing field. This resulted
in a thriving private tuition industry. Tuition soon became regarded as a vital prerequisite
for a successful outcome. Teaching students at weekends and evenings the tutors
became widely known, respected and revered. They earned a small fortune on
tuition. Although I would have benefited enormously from private tuition,with my demanding
and strenuous regime of study I just couldn’t find the hours in the day to fit
them in. This indeed dented my confidence somewhat. I took every opportunity to
speak with those who had been successful in previous years to learn the shrewd tricks
and the essential do’s and don’ts.
My bedroom had a large window. As I pored
over my books this was my only contact with the outside world. I could hear the
birds sing all day. The sun came streaming in the evening. The noise of the
children playing at the bottom of the road brought some life into my soul. Buxom ladies gossiped and sang while having a
bath at the communal well. I was loathed to shut the window even as the monsoon
rains lashed the glass pane not wanting to lose my world beyond.
Meanwhile, outside my bubble, there was a
vibrant world of teenage fun. It was indeed the swinging sixties. There were parties
at weekends with the luxury of drinks and dancing. Mini-skirts were the craze
and we all craved for the company of girls. Some went on trips to the beach and
visited the cinema. The fun continued at a furious pace by those studying the
arts and sciences and also by a few bold aspiring medics. I’ve always been an avid follower of school
cricket but sadly this wasn’t possible now. I loved music and listened to the radio in
short bursts while my collection of 45 RPM vinyl records gathered dust. These
pleasures were sacrificed hoping for better times ahead. I was eminently aware
of the wisdom of the age-old proverb “There is many a slip between the cup
and the lip”.
I worked tremendously hard in those two years
to give it my best shot. The examination came and went like a tornado. I was
never one to be satisfied of my performance at examinations, but was delighted
that it was all over at least for now. I slowly slipped back in to the calm and lazy
life I was used to enjoying school cricket at weekends, visiting family and
friends and going to the cinema. Once again loud music filled our home.
Time soon passed. I was pleasantly
surprised to receive a letter from the University asking me to present myself
for the Viva Voce examination.This was held at the Senate Room of the
University. It was a nerve-wracking experience. Seated around a polished wooden
table in a poorly lit room were half a dozen grumpy elderly academics. As I
walked in they observed me intently and fired a barrage of questions. They were
polite but poker faced all through my ordeal. I was so pleased to be released into
the afternoon sun.
My debut performance was a success. By the
end of the challenge I was physically and mentally exhausted. I found this a most
remarkable achievement against all the odds. I thank my parents for their encouragement,
love and wise counsel. This wouldn’t have been ever possible without the dedication
of my teachers and the inclusive all-round education at Wesley College, Colombo.
I recall most vividly the euphoria on being
a doctor in 1967. I dreamed it was a passport to fame and fortune. There was
such a great sense of myopic optimism, I lost myself in the adulation. Life
always has ways to bring us back to reality!!
I spent a marathon of 40 years in medicine.
Time did pass swiftly and relentlessly. Then I looked forward to retirement
with the same excitement and euphoria as to the beginning of my career. It is
devastating to give up the profession knowing how hard I’ve worked to achieve
my youthful aspiration. I left the medical profession with a heavy heart but
also happy to be free again. Life is better without the night calls and the onerous
routines of a hospital doctor. The long years of toil has taken its toll but I
have emerged more philosophical, having witnessed the spectrum of human life from
cradle to grave.
In the calm of my retirement I continue to
embrace all that life has to offer: family, my passion for sport, music and support
for my burgeoning interest in technology. Still there is a part of me that harks
back to the times passed. Despite the good life I’ve enjoyed thus far, there is
a vague sense of yearning for those two teenage years lost when I was in solitary
confinement, burning the midnight oil and being a prisoner of conscience to those grandiose
and extravagant ambitions of my youth. As I convey my sense of disillusion of
those years, I now wonder how on earth I coped with it all so young. It also
gives me a tremendous sense of achievement and accomplishment.
