To Blog or not to Blog- by Speedy

Keeping in touch- "To Blog or not to Blog, that is the question"

Mahendra "Speedy" Gonsalkorale

This was posted in January 2016, and I thought it might be useful to revisit it. It appears as it did in the original, unedited. Come on my friends, release those thoughts lurking in the background and share them with us!

If I pose that question by dropping the ‘l’, the answer is easy! I was tempted to write as I have been wondering for some time why our Blog is not as popular as I was hoping it would be. This view may be erroneous if we base popularity on the number of hits as nearly 890,000 is not bad for a Blog! But we must remember that this is probably not a true representation of popularity as quite a number are automatically generated by surfing robots, as I have pointed out before. These are automated mini-programs, which search Blogs hoping to dredge useful data such as emails of people. Even if for argument’s sake we regard that 50% are robotic hits, it still leaves a healthy 400,000 plus hits. But if we consider how interactive it is, by looking at numbers who comment, then we do fall short by quite a margin. The total number of persons who have commented is below 20 and of these there are less than 10 very active people.

The questions I am posing are these. Why is the comment rate low? How can we get more people involved? How many of our Batch colleagues actually use it? Is it worth sending a questionnaire by email to get the answers? Does the Blog serve a purpose? Is the time and effort made by Lucky so unselfishly, worth it?

Or is this a wider issue about how school friends or University friends keep in touch? We have moved in different directions and we have built up new friendships and we may feel a need to move on putting our past behind us, especially if that part of our past is something we want to forget. We have formed groupings within us based on where we live and our own interests. Our circles have widened and those who we consider worth keeping in touch, we still do but the criterion has to be much wider than “he/she was my batch colleague”. The bonds that we had then have to be very strong for them to survive the ravages of time. We are pleasant when we see each other, but life has taken us in different directions, and we have moved on. We may not feel the need to rekindle the relationship.

Then there is the question of priorities. There never ever is enough time to do what we wish to do and looking at the Blog may not be a priority. Like a good restaurant, if we enjoy the experience, we will come back!

There are other possible factors such as familiarity with computers and the Internet. I still have friends who get their children to set up their TV, check their email!

How much a person uses anything depends a lot on how useful (enjoyable) it is to that person. The Blog may be an avenue to display their talents (music/poetry with me and Zita, and writing in ND’s). It may be a pleasant way to spend time reminiscing. It may rekindle old friendships (e.g., with Razaque in my case). It gives us an opportunity to rejoice at the success of colleagues (e.g. Lama), it may be a medium to recall with pleasure a time we were together at a critical phase of our life, it can be a way to show our appreciation to our Teachers, it could be a medium to enlist help for a good cause connected with our Medical Faculty. It has also been a reminder of our mortality with the growing number of obituary notices.

I have posed many questions and tried to indicate why I feel that the Blog has a lot to offer. I am a firm believer in putting the past behind and moving on. There is no time like the present moment but the present moment could be enriched by learning from the past, but not dwelling in it pondering on the “what might have been”. That kind of reflection, the “what might have been”, is pointless and corrosive and is a recipe for discontent.

But to me, what is important in the final analysis is not how frequently we keep in touch but the ability to pick up and continue from where we left. I felt that very much at the last Batch Reunion when I met colleagues after so many years.

So come on my friends, pull out your fingers and start typing on your keyboards either as a comment, or as an email to one of us. As for me, I enjoy reading the Blog and contributing to it and shall continue to do so.

With best wishes,

Speedy

The Covenant of Water- Book review by Srianee Dias

The Covenant of Water by Abraham Verghese 

A Review and Recommendation.

By Srianee Dias

The indication that you have just finished reading an exceptional book is the melancholy feeling that you get when a good experience is over, such as after a relaxing vacation or a special concert.  You are sad to say goodbye to the characters who have been your companions for the last few days or weeks.

‘The Covenant of Water’ is such a book.  I decided to read it in spite of its intimidating 700+pages, because Abraham Verghese is one of my favourite authors.  He is a physician and writer who is presently a Provostial Professor and Vice Chair of the Department of Medicine at Stanford University.

The story, which spans about 80 years and covers 3 generations, begins in Travancore, South India, which later becomes part of the State of Kerala.  The author depicts the characters and their surroundings with tender detail and great affection, and one can develop strong connections; because those of us who grew up in that part of the world probably knew people like that.  The descriptions of some of the characters will make you chuckle.

I have not visited Kerala, but people who have travelled there remark on the similarities to Sri Lanka. There are descriptions of hill country tea estates, beaches and villages, which are all familiar to us.

The story is chronological and feels like short stories featuring the various characters woven together in the narrative. There are many references to the history of the times, the British occupation of India, World War II, the struggle for independence, the activities of the Communist Party in Kerala and so on.   It is a family saga with joyful celebrations and heartbreaking tragedies, all described in exquisite detail with great sensitivity.

While reading this book there were times when I felt that I was re-living my past.  In the early part of the story, in 1933, a young Scotsman recently graduated from Medical College joins the Indian Medical Service in order to develop his skills as a surgeon.  Coming from a working-class background, he felt he didn’t have the right connections to get ahead in his field in England.  The description of his first appointment in Madras in Longmere Hospital (a fictitious hospital) took me back to my first appointment after my internship in Karawanella!  Two crowded wards were assigned to him filled with Indian patients,  while his boss, a Senior Civil Surgeon, looked after the almost empty ward reserved for British and Anglo-Indian patients. 

In Karawanella, the set up was rather similar, where the DMO only allowed his ‘private’ patients to be admitted to his ward, by underlings like us.  These patients had paid him a fee privately (Illegal for a government medical officer).  We were given strict instructions not to admit any ‘floor’ patients to his spotless ward.  We didn’t always follow the instructions, but that is another story!

Similarly, when Verghese describes the experiences of a medical student, I was transported in time to the formalin reeking anatomy block, and the pathology lab with shelves stacked with specimens in glass containers.

There are many medical details throughout the book,  because I think Dr. Verghese cannot completely shed his role of a teacher of medicine. Perhaps it is a bit too much detail for the average reader, but I enjoyed those sections immensely.  One does not have to be a physician to relish this book.

There were many passages and sentences which I read over and over again because the language and the imagery were so beautiful.  (That is why I don’t enjoy listening to audiobooks.)  An example: writing about a matriarch who relates family stories, he writes “…such memories are woven from gossamer threads; time eats holes in the fabric, and these she must darn with myth and fable.”

From my reading this book, I learned about the St. Thomas Christians of that region.  Their ancestors converted to Christianity following the visit of St. Thomas, one of Jesus Christ’s disciples, in AD 52.  They are some of the earliest Christians. There are many biblical and literary quotations in the book, faithfully acknowledged in the notes.

I hope some of the readers of this blog will pick up this hefty book sometime soon and start reading.  It will be difficult to put it down.

The Late Anton Navam Chinniah MD. On 3rd August 2023

 Sad news of Navam Chinniah passing away.

Navam is the 50^th in our batch to say goodbye. He passed away peacefully on Thursday, August 3^rd. 

The following note was derived from the Obituary Notice on the Abriola Parkview Funeral Home website. It was sent to me by Srainee (Bunter) Dias, who was the first to inform me.

Navam will be remembered as one of the brightest students in our Batch. He always had a very assured and confident manner, and a warm smile. He emigrated to the USA in 1968  and enjoyed a very successful career.

Obituary of Anton N. Chinniah, MD (From Abriola Parkview Funeral Home in Trumbull, CT)

Anton Chinniah, MD, age 80, of Trumbull, beloved husband of Sriani Selviah Chinniah, passed away peacefully on Thursday, August 3, 2023 with his loving family by his side. Born in Colombo, Sri Lanka, he was a son of the late Wilfred and Grace Jayamaha Chinniah.
Doctor Chinniah immigrated to the United States in June 1968, starting his life in Bridgeport, CT and settling in Trumbull, CT. He had a successful career in medicine spanning over 50 years at Bridgeport Hospital. He had his own private practice in Bridgeport where he treated each patient with love and compassion, always listening and giving them proper treatment and sound advice. He worked for his community not just for himself. He instilled these values in his children.

Navam with Indra Anandasabathy
at a Party in CT, Oct 2016

Of all his roles in life none was more valuable than that of husband, father and grandfather. He loved spending time with his family, creating memories to last a lifetime. He was at his best when his grandchildren were by his side. He had a special relationship with each one and was always there to cheer them on at sporting events, school plays or any of their activities. He especially shared his love for the New York Mets with his family. The unconditional love he gave and the values he taught will forever live in the hearts of all who knew and loved him.
In addition to his beloved wife of 55 years, Sriani, survivors include his three loving daughters and their families.

 A Catholic Mass and burial will be celebrated on Thursday, August 10, 2023 at 11:00 a.m. at St. Theresa's Church, 5301 Main St., Trumbull. Interment will follow in Gate of Heaven Cemetery in Trumbull. Relatives and friends may greet the family on Wednesday, August 9, 2023 from 4 – 7 p.m. in the Abriola Parkview Funeral Home, 419 White Plains Rd., Trumbull. 

A blend of thoughts of home and life by Nihal D Amerasekera

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.)