Dr Carmel Indranie Ernest- wife of Cyril Ernest, by Kumar Gunawardane

 An Incomparable Friend; Dr Carmel Indranie Ernest

Published on Island on line on  2023/11/26 

Indranie with husband, Cyril and daughters, Cheryl and Melanie 

 

“WHEN SOMEONE YOU CHERISH BECOMES A MEMORY,

THAT MEMORY BECOMES A TREASURE”   –ANON

The email from Cyril was short and simple. But the effect was seismic . It hit Kanthi ( my wife) and me with the might of a sledgehammer blow. Indranie, his lifelong partner, had passed away after a brief illness.

Cyril was one of my closest friends, and also my roommate in our final year in Bloemfontein, the boisterous medical student’s hostel adjoining Carey College. We got to know Indrani well in that eventful year in Los Angeles where I did an Echocardiography Fellowship with an outstanding Sri Lanka born cardiologist, Dr Tony Chandraratne.

Indranie was born in 1942 in Moratuwa, a town hallowed in history; 1942 was also the year that the Japanese bombed Colombo and Trincomalee. Moratuwa which escaped the bombs was the birthplace of heroes who bravely stood up to the British conquerors, peerless philanthropists and also skilled artisans who fashioned furniture from local hardwoods; these surpassed the best European fitments.

She would no doubt have imbued this heritage as well as those of her parents; her father was an accountant and the mother a dutiful housewife. Indranie was the second of five siblings and was noted always for her placid temperament, charming smile and friendliness. She was also deeply religious. However she also was adept at separating wheat from the chaff; one of her favourite sayings was ‘all that glitters is not gold’.

At school she shone academically but was also proficient in sports particularly netball and athletics. In 1962 she was among the first recruits to the newly established medical school in the sylvan surroundings of Peradeniya. It was here that the champion cricketer, Cyril, bowled over the pretty colleen and embarked on his longest partnership. They married 53 years ago and could echo Winston Churchill’s words “we lived happily ever afterwards”.

Both graduated in 1967, she from Peradeniya and Cyril from Colombo where he had relocated on account of his many sporting commitments. In 1973 they emigrated to the USA for further medical training; Cyril qualified as a cardiologist and Indrani as an Internist . They then moved to Lancaster in California in 1977 where both established outstanding practices . ( Indranie was a popular and successful physician as many of her former patients would attest. One very eloquent tribute states “her warm smile, quiet demeanour and even temperament made everyone who encountered her feel comfortable in her presence”. She remained a caring and dedicated physician to the end of her days. But the family was her first concern. Cyril and the two beautiful and accomplished daughters Cheryl and Melanie were her primacy.

ANNUS MIRABILIS

I arrived, unannounced , in Los Angeles in 1988. Cyril somehow got wind of my coming, and on a Friday evening fronted up in the Howard Johnson Hotel in Boyle Heights. With few preliminaries, he bundled me into his luxurious Mercedes sedan and drove onto their elegant mansion in Encino the suburb where Michael Jackson too lived. Indranie was at the door with a warm welcoming smile which made me feel at home instantly. A delicious meal followed, the first of many.

It was my first meeting with Indranie. I had heard about her from our mutual friend and fellow hosteller Ganesh. Cyril and he traveled to Peradeniya on their free weekends.

Being a very private person, Cyril , never breathed a word about his mysterious sojourns; neither did he say anything about his many sporting accomplishments.

There were many other visits to Encino at weekends; they would guide me around the myriad shops in LA, and Indranie in particular helped me to get the household goods I needed for an unfurnished apartment which I had rented in South Pasadena, prior to Kanthi’s arrival.

One weekend they drove me to an orange grove outside the city, where a friend resided.Indranie graciously let me sit in the front , so I could enjoy the sweeping vistas and Cyril’s commentary.

Even after Kanthi came we were regular visitors. Cyril would invite eminent cardiologists who he felt maybe useful to me; also some colleagues from our year of 1962 in Medical school. Kanthi being a good cook , we were able to reciprocate their hospitality.

Their sincerity and affection was never more evident, as when Kanthi fell ill.

She had a severe upper abdominal pain; I imagined the worst and visualized removal of the gallbladder which was a major undertaking in the pre-laparoscopic surgery era.Indranie being the skilled internist she was, pacified us and telephoned a pharmacy near us to provide appropriate medications.

Next day we went over to her rooms where she performed a detailed examination and got the needed scans. Then we were seen by a surgical colleague who reassured us that it was an intestinal colic. Our relief was immeasurable. The year ended on a happy note.

We had a farewell dinner in our apartment which was graced by Cyril and Indranie. There were many encounters since. Once both of us were stranded in the Los Angeles airport as the friend who had promised to pick us, failed to turn up. We then called Indranie who promptly invited us home. Cyril was away in Lancaster as he was on call.

Our last meeting was in the Anantara Peace Haven Resort in Tangalle in Sri Lanka in 2020, just before the Covid pandemic broke out. We along with Cyril , Indranie and Melanie and others were attending the wedding of Lareef Idroos and Nabila’s daughter.

All of us had a grand time with friends and colleagues. Sadly it was also our last rendezvous..

We can now only seek solace in Jalaluddin Rumi’s wisdom.

“Do not grieve. Anything you lose comes around in another form”

And the deathless verse of Mary Elizabeth Frye

“Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I’m not there I do not sleep,

I’m a thousand winds that blow,

I’m the diamond glints on snow,

I’m the sunlight on ripened corn,

I’m the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush,

I’m the swiftly uplifting rush,

Of the quiet birds in the circled flight,

I’m the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I’m not there. I did not die.

Farewell our dearest Friend.

May the good Earth lie softly on you.

May God hold you always in the Palm of His hand.”

Kumar Gunawardane