A
blend of thoughts of home and life
By Dr Nihal D Amerasekera
I remember singing the old Scout
song “Row row row your boat,” which ends with that thoughtful and deeply
philosophical line …… “Life is but a dream”. It didn’t seem so in my youth, but
with the passage of years I see the great honesty and candour in that line.
I schooled at Wesley College in
the 1950’s. Baseline road then was a busy narrow road with a steady stream of
Morris Minor cabs, red Leyland buses and bullock carts, all competing for
position. There were no pavements. People walked on the edge of the road with
vehicles whizzing past their toes. The massive complex of the Welikada Prison
hogged the landscape. There was a rather lonely road just in front of the
school gates that went in the direction of Wanathamulla. It ran by the tall
perimeter wall of the Prison. Every morning the prisoners wearing white were
taken along this narrow road by the Guards in Khaki shorts armed with batons.
Being so close to the prison for over a decade, I had often wondered how life panned
out for those in jail. For many of us the prison is a dark and mysterious place
for dangerous criminals. Very few knew what happened behind those grim gates
that swallowed them. Time then was not a luxury but a burden to endure. None
had the benefit of kindness. I just wondered how they faced the world again
when they got their freedom.
My parents drilled into me from a
young age that I would have to earn my own living and find my way in life. There
was no inheritance to follow. On looking back, that was honest and sensible
advice. This encouraged and strengthened my resolve. I worked hard at school
and was amply rewarded to be selected to follow a course in medicine in
Colombo. Medical education was a hard toil in a harsh environment. Just out of
our teens, when my friends were enjoying life, the faculty of medicine became
my gilded cage. Textbooks were my pillow at night. I was too aware of the light
at the end of the tunnel. A sinister arrogance and an assured sense of
entitlement crept into my personality. I dreamed of living happily ever after.
It was not long before part of that charm and fantasy began to wear thin.
In the fullness of time, I
stepped on the treadmill to carve myself a career. My first pay as a doctor in the
mid-1960’s was Rs 450.00. This seemed like a small fortune at the time. It paid
for my ‘extravagant lifestyle’. Within a few months, I saved enough money to buy
a Seiko Watch, a symbol of opulence and elegance. It took a few more months
saving to buy a radio. These were luxuries during the stifling import
restrictions of the 1960’s. For seven
long years I enjoyed immensely working for the Health Service. Professionally I
was simply adrift with the wind. What I remember mostly of those years are of
the simple and kindly rural folk of the wanni, who were my patients. They were so
very grateful for the little I could do to help them.
Being an only child, it was my
desire to live and work in Sri Lanka and care for my parents. By a wicked twist
of fortune, the turbulence and trouble in my personal life made me want to
leave the country for a new beginning. The prevailing political turmoil and our
sagging economy did not give us much faith or hope for the future. Further
education and qualification seemed just like an impossible dream. Many professionals
dispersed far and wide in search of work and opportunity. After much thought
and soul searching, I followed the herd and left the country. From then on, there
was 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. Despite all
that, life was more stable and predictable. There was a new energy and a joyous
appreciation of the status quo. Finally, I found that all-important professional
pride and satisfaction. With secure employment, marriage and caring for my
family took precedence. I embraced and adored everything parenthood had to
offer. Time passed swiftly and relentlessly.
Inspiration for life comes from
various sources. Although I remain an
agnostic, different religions and philosophies, have given me a fine platform
for thought. They have helped me to find
a path to tread. This apparent indifference to religion is not due to a reckless
lack of respect for values and beliefs. We
all need to be guided by a religion or a philosophy. A personal philosophy may
not save the world but will help one to lead a meaningful life. I still remain
immensely grateful for my Christian upbringing.
Retirement has given me time to
think about life, its highs, lows, and its vagaries. The idealism of my early
years is now long gone. The emotional
climate has grown calmer. Spending a lifetime in medicine has the drawback of
allowing hypochondriacal tendencies to surface.
I need some lotions and portions to tidy up my health. We all learn to deal with these issues effectively.
Now is the time to celebrate our achievements and be happy with what we have.
Sometimes, as the night falls and
peace descends on my world, there is a wish to turn back the clock. Those early
years spent with my parents and grandparents were a rich gift. Their presence
in my thoughts brings me great joy and warmth. Although they have all now left
this world their memory remains very much alive. Thoughts of my old school and
friends brings me great pleasure. There is also sadness for those departed. At
times there is a desire to walk the corridors of my old school and step into
those classrooms. On those special evenings I often visit the General Hospital
Colombo of the 1960’s where I learnt my trade to see the progress and the
regress since those days of long ago. Without that burning ambition and the relentless
chase for knowledge, the journey back is nostalgic, fascinating, and a lot of fun.
I have now lived in England for
50 years. Regent’s Park with its lakes and gardens is a short walk away. My
daily walks bring me increasingly closer to nature. The summer sunshine and the
winter storms have their own splendour. I have watched the birds migrate and
return with the changing seasons, bringing up their young with such tenderness.
I listen to the language of the flowers as I walk past the colourful blossoms. It’s
a haven for bees and butterflies. Even the squirrels and blackbirds seem to
know me now as the man who feeds them peanuts.
All through my years I have
enjoyed reading books. Now it is too
much of a long-term commitment. I wish to be outdoors or to do things in short
bursts. I read the newspapers online and
communicate with friends on social media. At this time in my life nothing
inspires me more than the calmness of classical music. There is music for every
mood and occasion. I have always been mesmerised by the crimson glow of the
sunsets that I have witnessed around the world. The combination of the sun, the
clouds and their reflection on the water gives the sunset such a magical
status. The music composed by Massenet – Meditation from Thaïs, transports me
to those pristine sunsets and brings peace to my soul.
Cricket has cemented my love
affair with London. This has been my passion all my life. Watching cricket at
Lords brings me great joy. While seated in the ‘home of cricket’ there are
times when my mind wanders across the vast swathes of land and oceans to where
I spent my childhood. The enchantment of those cricket matches of my youth
still haunts me. The fizz and excitement of school cricket was infectious. Singing
and chanting, I have watched the game under the “Mara” trees at Campbell Park. The
picturesque breezy grounds at St Thomas’ Mt Lavinia was a paradise for spinners.
The lush green turf with that quaint pavilion, Royal College have hosted some
of the finest games I’ve watched. At St Joseph’s, Darley Road the Gothic
columns of the domed chapel provided a fine backdrop for the spectators. While seated
on the terraced lawn at St Peter’s Bambalapitiya I could smell the canal and see
the smoke from the endlessly spewing chimneys of the Wellawatte Spinning and Weaving
mills. These are thoughts and images I have cherished all my life.
Leaving the country of my birth
has left me with many scars and regrets. Losing much of the rich Sri Lankan
culture, music and language is often hard to bear. I am now a stranger to the
new generation that has grown up in my absence. Even to my family and friends so
much has happened to our lives since I left Sri Lanka, it is now impossible to
match the closeness we once enjoyed. Above all not being with my parents at
their hour of need still brings me great sadness that is hard to console. I have
paid a heavy price for my professional ambitions and achievements.
As I look out of the window on
this summer’s day in London, I see the rain beating on the glass panes of my
window. I acquired my most vivid childhood memory as a five-year-old, looking
through my bedroom window in Bogawantalawa and seeing the monsoon rain
transform a road into a river. Although so much has happened in between, time
has flown amazingly quickly. I seek the wisdom of that great Roman poet Horace:
… dum loquimur, fugerit invida
Aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.
(As we speak, envious time is
fleeing. Seize the day, putting as little trust as possible in tomorrow.)