Remembrance Day 2020 (cont)

By Kumar Gunawardene

ND’S passionate eulogy and Mahen’s soulful music, for those gone before, induced an anguish intensified by the prevalent gloom.

But then I found solace in Khalil Gibran’s words ;

“ When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart and you shall see in truth, you are weeping for that which has been your delight”

Sunna was the first and closest. I paused the video clip at his image and reflected upon the high tide of our friendship, the intern year in Galle. I was lost for words and fell back on W.B.Yeat’s deathless words;

“Think where a man’s glory

 most begins and ends ,

and say my glory was

I had such friends”

I did not walk the wards nor spend sleepless nights in the surgical casualty ward with Sunna as I did with Irwin and our group. Mostly it was gainful learning, but there was also despair at our lapses. We did not observe in that packed ward, a head injury patient closely enough and in the early hours of the morning, he had a fixed dilated pupil. Darrel Weiman was  furious with the intern and threatened dire consequences. Drogo Austin the consultant pacified our man saying DW was my junior, I will sort him out. The hapless intern went onto become a distinguished surgeon.

Years later I met Irwin and his family at dinner in my brother’s home in Canberra. He was a successful GP; we had a great time swapping yarns.

Joyous memories of many others abound.

Chandrasiri, who in his inimitable way taught Bora and me surgery while lying sprawled on my Bloemfontein bunk;

Tilak D with an impish streak behind a gentle facade who twisted my arm to visit a colleague an Audrey Hepburn look - alike;

Russel P and Kamali brilliant but unassuming;

Dawn whose late arrival at lectures was greeted with loud stamping of feet;

Sue R ethereal, who in spite of her sadness was always gracious and helpful;

Desmond  my mate from the School by the sea with a secret sorrow, still sailing buoyantly;

Jaimon, Sidath, HN, and Kunasingham affable, jovial, wearing their sporting laurels lightly;

Rasaque and Ranjit K smiling perpetually and provoking laughter;

The others unsung but honoured nonetheless;

To all of them who touched our lives

I bow my head in remembrance and pray gently; also to all our teachers; many of whom we were in awe of, some whom we feared, some revered, many admired; but grateful to all for their guidance and helping hands, they who in the manner of the potter moulded us to become what we are.

We must remember Wordsworth's words and cherish and foster what we have.

“Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendour in the grass,

We will grieve not, rather find,

Strength in what remains behind”.