REMEMBRANCE DAY 2022- A wistful reflection of times past. ND Amarasekera

 A wistful reflection of times past

 By Nihal D Amerasekera

 “Friendship is the hardest thing in the world to explain. It’s not something you learn in school. But if you haven’t learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven’t learned anything.” — Muhammad Ali

 

Remembering departed friends takes me back to my roots and those distant days. I am deluged by a deep sense of déjà vu as I time travel to the 1960’s. Those of us who live abroad may see those early days in a certain fuzzy sepia light. But our emotional attachment remains undiminished. The quiet Kynsey road, the familiar façade of the grey administrative building and the sentinel Clocktower stand unchanged. I am simply mesmerised by the elegant sweep of those majestic buildings. In that dreamy state it is so easy to be enchanted by the constant whirr of the Vespas in the dusty parking bay behind the Milk Booth and be overwhelmed by the smell of smoke that fills the air. In our mind’s eye the faculty will always remain as we left it in 1967. 

We were a batch of around 150 students and in those days the faculty of Medicine felt like an enclave of privilege, and it was. Entry into the Faculty was the culmination of years of toil and sacrifice. We still had the security of home and our parents paid the bills. There was such a great sense of myopic optimism, we lost ourselves in the adulation. We dreamed it was our passport to fame and fortune. The idyll soon faded as the harsher truths of real life intruded. Life being more like a game of snakes and ladders, always has ways to end that utopian vision and bring us back to reality!! 

The Faculty was our Temple of Wisdom and also our gilded cage. There was an air of confidence and a touch of vanity which came from being a medical student. Life then was a dream. I developed a sinister arrogance and an assured sense of entitlement. I dreamed of living happily ever after. It was not long before part of that charm and fantasy began to wear thin. 

The common room with the canteen was the social hub of the faculty and a very special place. That was our own retreat and shelter from the storms of faculty life. Many friendships were made and firmed within those walls. It was a vital place, where we could gather informally to talk, gossip and pass the time. Racy jokes and saucy humour filled the air. We gathered there to listen to music, play billiards, table tennis and carrom. Cupid was actively busy slinging his arrows in the faculty. The canteen was a haven for couples to whisper those ‘sweet nothings’. There were evening sing-songs in the common room. These were ever so popular and simply unforgettable. I can still feel its pleasure, hear them sing and even picture the dancing. The echoes of our communal past litter our memories. After the passage of half a century much of faculty life has changed. The lively and vibrant common room with its unique ambience would now seem like a dream from a lost world. A dream that can only exist in our memories. 

The stormy dynamics of the ‘Block’ were a baptism of fire. Detailed study of anatomy, physiology and biochemistry filled our days and nights. We were weighed down by signatures and revisals that generated a toxic atmosphere. But there were the Colours Nights and Block Nights to imbibe the spirit of the swinging sixties and liven up our lives. There was also a certain wildness, colourful antics and downright mischief that was associated with being a medical student. Sometimes this badness and madness became tabloid fodder. We did transgress the redline and pay the price. The good, bad and the ugly are well described and documented in the faculty chronicles. Despite our occasional rascality we were blessed with a sympathetic public image. 

Then we embarked on our jagged path from the dissection rooms to the ward classes and clinical appointments across Kynsey Road. My abiding memory of those years are the long walks along those airy hospital corridors in search of patients and knowledge. We strolled like a ‘peacocks’, swinging those knee hammers and proudly wearing the stethoscopes around our necks. Meanwhile in the 3^rd and 4^th year we had a profusion of subjects to comprehend. I still convulse thinking of the sheer volume of facts we had to commit to memory. From all that knowledge what remains now are the daringly prophetic lines of a poem from Clinical Pharmacology by D.R Laurence:

“Doctor, goodbye, my sail's unfurl'd,

I'm off to try the other world”.

We were immensely fortunate to belong to a generation taught by a plethora of dedicated and gifted teachers. Like us many called it the Golden Era of Medical Education. Under their influence and tutelage life was not always a bed of roses. In the ward classes and teaching appointments, there were some exchanges too painful to recall. Although seemingly omniscient and more than a tad egocentric, they inspired us. They gave of their best to the students. We remember with affection and gratitude the dedication and commitment of our clinical teachers, professors and lecturers on this our special day. 

Then like a never-ending storm came the Finals. Seeing the name on the notice board was an iconic moment to savour. Success is where preparation and opportunity meet. Success was also our liberation and the passport to freedom. From the glowing embers of those undergrad years a new era was born. 

 “Go West young man” was the mantra that appealed to many. The political turmoil and our sagging economy did not give us much faith or hope. One of the greatest triumphs in life is to pursue one's dreams. Many dispersed far and wide in search of work and opportunity. Those who left the country entered the Darwinian struggle of survival of the fittest.  Amidst the fierce competition for the plum jobs, there were the many unwanted prejudices to contend with. The many who remained in Sri Lanka reached the top of their careers in the fullness of time. I acknowledge the patriotism, loyalty and resilience of those who remained in the motherland to serve the country. They lived through some difficult times. The émigrés too played their role professionally to serve society and the communities wherever they lived and worked. Those who lived abroad made donations to a multitude of Sri Lankan charities. They also provided financial support to Medical institutions and Medical education back home. 

I would like the achievements of our batch to be remembered as one of the most successful. I am delighted in the academic accomplishments and the professional success of our batch-mates. Although I loved it, mine was a career mixed with grit and glamour in equal measure. 

We stepped on the treadmill to carve ourselves a career. Then marriage and caring for our families took precedence. We embraced and adored everything parenthood had to offer. Time passed swiftly and relentlessly. With the passage of years, we met our batch-mates infrequently at reunions. The endless vicissitudes of life have usurped our youth. Our long and demanding professional lives gradually came to a halt. Retirement is not the end but a new beginning. Still sprightly, we hit the golf greens and continue to entertain grandkids as life meanders slowly along. We are now more at peace with our lot in life. 

Fast forward to 2022, we are now living on borrowed time. Despite all that sweating and grunting in the gym, we will leave our earthly abode one by one. On this our special Day we unite across faiths, ethnicity and backgrounds to remember our dear departed friends.  Despite the mosaic of grief that engulfs us seeing those photos, we hold back on our grieving. Let the silence and stillness reflect and capture the moment. As a group, today we remember and celebrate their lives. There are some with whom we have associated more closely. For them it is much harder to banish the feelings of pain, despite the years. There is a wish to capture the essence of the character of our friends to recall the good times. They indeed have left behind “Footprints on the sands of time”. 

As we remember our friends, the inevitable regrets will surface too. We could have done much more to meet or to be in touch. Those joyful memories too will fade as we age. So let us cherish and treasure them now. 

I take this opportunity to remember our friends who are battling through with dementia or now in long term or terminal care. It is our wish they will remain comfortable in their time on earth and continue to receive the love and care they so richly deserve. 

I recall the wisdom of Robert Louis Stevenson: "we are all travellers in the wilderness of the world and the best we can do is to find an honest friend". So thankful we found so many. 

We have all lost close friends from the batch. I lost my best friend in Bernard Randeniya alias Claude Bernard. This has left an echoing void. There was no one in my life-time like Bernard. There is not a week that passes without thinking of him. As a young medical student with his cherubic smile, he was funny, gregarious and an incorrigible flirt. His pranks and foibles can fill a book. Always happy, he saw the world through rose-tinted glasses. I visited him where he worked as DMO-Rattota (he mined for gemstones), MOH-Hanguranketa (he went hunting for wild boar), MS-Kalutara (moonlight parties by the river) and Director- Cancer Hospital Maharagama (holding lavish dinner parties). He had unique gifts as a host and a matchless gift for laughter. Wherever he was Bernard enjoyed good food, generous helpings of the amber nectar and loved a jolly good sing-song. His love of life, amiable kindness and generosity always stood out. Bernard passed away with great dignity in November 1999 at the age of 58 years. The time we spent together were a rich gift. So daring and so cheeky, Bernard’s playful nature and magical presence will live on in all who knew him. To this day I can hear his drawl and see his mischievous smile. 

Sunil R De Silva: Sunil was “Sunna” for everyone except perhaps his parents. Although he came from the upper echelons of Sri Lankan society, he had no airs and graces. He was a cultured gentleman, one of the best I’ve met during my years in the faculty. What stands out is the calmness he always showed despite the tough regime in the faculty of medicine. Sunna spent his entire free time enjoying cups of tea chatting with friends, playing billiards, bridge and table tennis. My abiding memory of Sunil is his boundless wit and humour delivered with a poker face. Sunil was soft-spoken, self-effacing and sober. His lifestyle was modest and unpretentious. He was exceptionally kind to everyone and treated all with courtesy and respect. Sunil never entertained any of that frivolous gossip which was rampant in the university. He never took the easier path of following the masses. His views were always well-considered but often unconventional. When I bade farewell on that fateful day in 1967 in the plush lobby of the faculty of medicine, I never knew I will not see Sunil again. His early demise brought great sadness. Although we were together just for 5 years it is as if I’ve known him all my life. I would have loved to see him age like me, suffer the same indignities of the ‘Athey Paye Rudawa’, taking a pharmacy of tablets to stay alive, while showering love to the grandchildren. His was a short life well lived. I am grateful for his friendship. 

Tilak Dayaratne:  I came to know Tilak during the rag in 1962 when we both wore brinjals round our necks and exercised vigorously in the quadrangle. Tilak lived in Homagama and rode his red Moto Guzzi generating noise and elegance in equal measure. He often took me to Nugegoda weaving through the High Level road traffic at high speed. When I offered to pay him for the trip, he wanted to pay me for taking the risk. Tilak was a sensitive and thoughtful man. He was disdainful of hypocrisy, social convention and conformity. His apparent indifference should not be confused with a lack of respect for values and beliefs. On those rare social occasions he ignited interesting discussion and humour. Tilak detested the spotlight. To many, his life was a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. To those who got to know him, Tilak was charming, kind and courteous. We got on tremendously well during our days at the faculty. He was a talented artist. At an end of appointment party, I recall that indelible moment when he stood up and sang about a Dutch girl. Our hostess was from the Netherlands. I do regret not keeping in touch after the great dispersal of 1967. He is now at peace, something that eluded him most of his life. May it last forever. 

Sivakumar Vedavanam:  I got to know “Veda” when we worked together in the Central Blood Bank in Colombo. He was a thoughtful and dedicated doctor. We spent days together making trips to all corners of Sri Lanka collecting blood. During those trips, he showed tremendous kindness to the Public Health Inspectors, attendants and labourers who were part of our team. His modesty, classless friendship and lavish hospitality stood out. On an evening, after our daily chores, we drifted towards the Health Department Sports Club to enjoy the amber nectar and a chat. Veda had a philosophical outlook to life accepting its ups and downs with good grace. He was a helpful and loyal friend and we were close. When my life was in turmoil Veda’s friendship, advice and wisdom helped me tide over hard times. I do regret immensely not remaining close to him in later years. Veda had a heart of gold and treated his family and friends with great reverence and affection. He was a truly remarkable person. Adios amigo. 

A. Satchithananda: Ever curious, he was cultured as he was intelligent. We played table tennis and carrom in the Faculty Common Room and over cups of tea put the world to right. He later emigrated to the USA. We were both Apple Computer buffs. In those early days they were disastrously unreliable beasts. We tried hard to make sense and keep them working. When Satchi was at the height of his fame and success as a Paediatrician in Wisconsin, he walked away from the profession due to ill-health. His journey through life was studded with sadness and tragedy, but he always managed to smile and joke with friends. I remember well his charm and intellect. We met up in an Indian Restaurant in London in the 1990’s and enjoyed a lunch and exchanged gifts. His present to me was a Gorecki’s 3rd Symphony, a deeply sorrowful piece of work. Understandably, the events of his painful past and his own illness had a devastating effect on his life and personality. Despite this, he maintained his dignity and composure remaining a loyal friend to the end. He indeed stood above the common herd. Auf wiedersehen my friend. 

Razaque Ahamat: As medical students, we both lived in Wattala. Razaque was a free spirit. With a personality bigger than his waistline he always had a fund of stories to relate. During those years, what stood out was his charming convivial nature and his wicked sense of humour. Razaque enjoyed life to the full. At the University Dances, Razaque was often one of the last of the survivors to leave the King George’s Hall, at the break of dawn. Those who attended the London Batch Reunion in 1994 will remember Razaque wearing the traditional Scottish kilt with knee-length skirt and long thick stockings. This costume suited the big man to a tee. With his genial presence in our blog, he regaled us with colourful stories from the past. His witty comments lit up our lives. Razaque’s love of a good time never left him. He bore his ever debilitating and restrictive illness, with great courage. He brought joy to our lives. His was a life well lived. Razaque’s cheeky grin and mischief will always be remembered with much affection. Adieu until we meet again. 

H.N Wickramasinghe: We started internship together in Paediatrics at G.H Kurunegala in June 1967. In the 6 months that followed, we saved lives together!! I couldn’t have wished for a better colleague. I remember our first pay day when we walked in the sweltering heat to the Kurunegala Rest House for an ice-cool beer. From the impoverished world as medical students this was a glittering move up the ladder into a ‘land of plenty’. HN had an irrepressible zest for life and added colour and depth to any conversation. My abiding memory of those times are our evening drinks, seated café-style, in the spacious verandah of the House Officer’s Quarters. In one corner there was always a glistening heap of empty arrack and beer bottles. As the party got energised, we belted out those CT Fernando songs shattering the silence and tranquillity of the night. Tudor Wickramarachi poured the drinks. Hence, the glasses were never empty. We valued consciousness less in those days. I wish there were smartphones to capture and treasure those moments. When it was time to say goodbye to Kurunegala and the internship H.N was never shy to show his emotions and shed a tear. Sadly, we met again only once in Colombo. We chatted and reminisced those days of wine and roses. What a guy!! H.N has slipped quietly into the long night but would live in the hearts and minds of everyone who knew him. He was a truly wonderful and inspiring friend. Goodbye my friend. 

Tudor Wickramarachi: was rather restless and intense as a medical student. He always gave as good as he got. I also remember his ebullient and exuberant personality and his zest for life. Tudor and I worked as surgical interns and endured the punishing schedule of hospital medicine together. Amidst the brief tantrums, awful puns and risqué humour, Tudor showed great empathy and tremendous kindness to his patients, staff and colleagues. He was a loyal friend but was never inhibited by sensitivity or shyness when it came to expressing his own opinion.  Although occasionally boisterous he was mostly gregarious, genial and generous. I visited him when he was DMO Dambulla. Call it ‘oriental lavishness’, the bottle appeared before I sat down and to this day remains a blissful memory of a well-lubricated evening. When we met again in London he was much subdued and a reformed family man. I nearly fell off the chair when he refused a drink. Tudor became a respected Pathologist in Bristol. He sadly passed away while doing what he loved best – playing golf. A life well lived but taken far too soon age 66. May he find the ultimate bliss of Nirvana. 

Priya Gunaratna: I got to know Priya in 1967 in Kurunegala doing those arduous tasks of paediatric internship. Poised, elegant and looking glamourous she was always immaculately turned out. While at work, Priya was assiduous in her work and had the great ability to remain calm and in control.  Power and authority did not rest easily on her shoulders. The nursing staff loved her.  She showed tremendous kindness, courtesy and patience to the children in her care and spoke warmly to their worried parents. She saw only the best in others and was indeed a very special person. Priya was a breath of fresh air in those days when females were too bashful and overly prudish. We loved her sharp and mischievous wit. Priya was an excellent raconteur and mimic. She lit up our tea breaks with a multitude of stories. Sadly, our paths never crossed but for a brief but warm chat in the swish foyer of The Cinnamon Grand in September 2012. I wish I could have accepted her invitation to join her for tea and cakes. She will be long remembered for her untiring efforts as one of the prominent organisers of our batch reunions in Sri Lanka.  Much loved wife and mother, Priya had a good life. Arrivederci. May peace be with you forevermore. 

From the faculty staff I chose to pay homage to Prof O.E.R Abhayaratne. Amusing and widely respected he maintained the prestige and esteem of the institution as the Dean of the Faculty in a rapidly changing political milieu. Well known for his administrative strengths, by his charm and charisma, he was able to harness the support of some eccentric and egocentric professors and lecturers. His tenure was characterised by his generosity, kindness and sense of humour. The Profs delightfully poetic lectures lit up our Public Health education and also our lives. When we were in trouble after the Castle Street incident, he saved our careers from ruin.  While maintaining his dignity and decorum he graced our Block Nights and supported the clean fun we had in the Men’s Common Room. Larger than life and the monarch of all he surveyed we couldn’t have had a better “Boss”. His sartorial elegance or lack of it, eccentricities, mannerisms and idiosyncrasies have entered the folklore of this great institution. He was so much a part of our lives and of the Faculty of Medicine, his familiar stentorian voice must swirl in the ether of its corridors of power. May his Soul Rest in Peace. 

From the dazzling firmament of fine clinical teachers, I chose to pay tribute to Darrell Weinman. His ward classes were conducted in a room at the NSU which was always packed to the rafters with students. With his mercurial personality Dr Weinman inspired, motivated and entertained us. He thrived on the intrigue and captivated us by the way he extracted relevant diagnostic information from patients. Dr Weinman in his theatrical performances played Sherlock Holmes to unravel the mystery and arrive at a diagnosis. His effortless erudition made whole swathes of impenetrable knowledge seem so accessible. We bowed to his brilliance. He was such a kind man in the pernicious environment of medical education of the time. He treated the students with respect and in turn was held in great awe and esteem. Darrell Weinman had it all - handsome, a fine cricketer, brilliant scholar and a superb neurosurgeon. But these provide no protection from the frailties of human life and the awesome force of destiny. Sadly, when at the height of his fame, fate intervened. Dr Weinman emigrated to Australia. This was a great shock to us all and an enormous loss to Sri Lanka. He gave up his beloved neurosurgery to work in general practice in Sydney. There he was known for his kindness and compassion and was well-liked and highly regarded by his patients. Darrell Weinman passed away in 2018. Requiescat in pace 

At this time we think of the spouses and families of those who have departed this life. They have had the difficult and painful task of coming to terms with the ensuing loneliness of living without their loved ones. We admire and commend their courage and efforts to maintain contact and join our gatherings and reunions. They are an integral part of our community and will always be welcome. 

Despite the crowded candles on the birthday cake, some of us are more resilient to ageing than others. But the main problem is that gravity takes over our lives and the body never allow us to forget the passage of years. There are now a multitude of well-heeled pathways to a longer life. A sad consequence of living long is that you have to say goodbye to a lot of people you care about. By now we have all learnt to live with this. We still have much to enjoy. As we end our life’s fandango, those glorious and treasured undergraduate years will always remain “misty watercolour memories, of the way we were”. 

“Look not mournfully into the past, it comes not back again. Wisely improve the present, it is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart”.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow