Remembrance 2024- (4)- Dr Nihal D Amerasekera

Remembrance 2024- (4).  A note to all. If you look at the "Post category index" on the Right side of the page (the grey section next to the posts), after "Most recent comments", you can see "Remembrance Day(29)", indicating 29 posts in the Blog . If you click on this, you can access ALL the Remembrance Day posts since inception as you scroll down. When you come to the last one on the screen, click on "older posts" and the next lot will appear. Please use this Blog facility to group any of the categories listed. I don't think many of you ate aware of this. Hope you find this useful-Speedy

We continue postings from batchmates to remember our dear departed friends. This is by ND.

By Dr Nihal D Amerasekera

It was with a sense of excitement we entered the hallowed portals of the faculty of medicine in 1962. The wind of change swept across our lives as it conveyed the dynamism of our youthful aspirations.

We remember most fondly Prof OER Abhayaratne, who oiled the wheels of administration. His majestic presence lit up the corridors of power. We recall with gratitude the many who taught us in the Anatomy Block and the lecture theatres of the Faculty.  The senior doctors of the GHC shared their knowledge and educated us beyond the call of duty.  We remember them all with affection and thankfulness. They guided and trained us to alleviate pain and suffering, making the world a better place. After the ‘results’ In 1967, I do remember the exhilaration and the sense of triumph.

Amigos para Siempre – friends for life. How very true. Since Sarah Brightman and Jose Carreras sang this at the closing ceremony of the Barcelona Olympics, its haunting melody and poignant lyrics have stayed with us forever. None of us can imagine a life without friends and friendships. It is human nature to want to meet to reminisce, to recall and to share our thoughts. Our remembrance today bears testimony to that special closeness and bond that began way back in 1962. Although Faculty life was tough, we had that youthful resilience. None of us were scarred by the place despite the torrents of ‘verbal abuse’. Even at the worst of times, there was a bit of sparkle. There are so many fond memories which we have archived forever.

Since those days, our lives have diverged beyond belief. In my long, winding journey through life, I have seen the forking paths. I made my own choices. You may think you can make your own luck, but you can’t. I just call it destiny for want of a better word. Perhaps our moral compass is struggling to keep pace with science!! Thankfully, life has turned out well for all who gather at reunions to recount and reminisce.

Retirement despite its onerous routines came as blow. In a flash I became a layman. All that I have aspired and learnt was left to decay and perish. But I like to think retirement came before I became old-fashioned and institutionalised.

This Remembrance Day may seem a brief encounter. Time has flown. Thoughts like this are just the tonic to remember and also overcome the transience of life. The world is never still, and our lives are a series of beginnings and endings. As Shakespeare said in Romeo and Juliet, ‘parting is such sweet sorrow’. ‘Sweet’ because of the many memories we cherish.

Although Doris Day sang it way back in 1956, those poignant lyrics still ring true:

"Que sera, sera,

Whatever will be, will be;

The future's not ours to see.

Que sera, sera.

Bernard Randeniya

Although we were in the same year, I got to know Bernard when my parents moved to his home town of Wattala in 1963. We travelled daily by train to Maradana with Razaque Ahamath. We began to study together for the intensely difficult 2nd MB examination and struck up a friendship which lasted a lifetime. During those heady days of our youth, there were many fun-filled events like the Block Nite, Colours Nite and other Medical College functions. Those bring back numerous memories of music, dancing, fun and laughter. Bernard always featured in them prominently and never missed an opportunity to enjoy.

Bernard was held in high esteem in the Health Service as one of its most colourful and successful managers and as a man who led from the front and inspired all those who worked with him. He used his charm and skills of persuasion to obtain expensive equipment for the Cancer Institute to benefit the numerous patients who came for treatment. Despite his achievements he was also a modest man, protective of his privacy, embarrassed by praise and with a deep aversion for publicity.

In early 1999, when we met up in Colombo, he gave me the sad news of his illness, which proved terminal. I kept in touch with him and admired the courage which he showed until the very end. He passed away with great dignity in November 1999 at the age of 58 years. Bernard was a devout Catholic. His faith gave him great comfort during his final illness.

His cheeky grin and infectious laugh are precious memories for us all. Bernard was my best friend, and I will miss him. He was far too young to leave us.

May his soul Rest in Peace.

Sivakumar Vedavanam

I write this with great sadness over the unimaginable loss of a close friend. All through those years in the Faculty of hard study and fun, his effervescent character remained his hallmark. As we left the Faculty and went our separate ways in 1967, I thought I would not see him again. But the forces of destiny worked in our favour. We started work at the Central Blood Bank in Colombo in 1970, almost on the same day.

In the Blood Bank, we became closer. I recall the many evenings we drifted towards the Health Department Sports Club to put the world to right and enjoy the amber nectar that flowed so freely. That was a time when the Medical Officer in the Blood Bank had to go to all parts of our island to collect blood. On many occasions when he went on these journeys, he asked me to join in for company. We did have a jolly good time. During those trips he showed tremendous kindness to the PHI’s, attendants and labourers who were part of the team. They loved him for his classless friendship and lavish hospitality. Those were indeed memorable years. He will be fondly remembered for the work he did for the National Blood Transfusion Service of Sri Lanka 1970-75.

He came to the UK and qualified in Psychiatry. He worked for many years as a Forensic Psychiatrist in Durham before moving to Bedford. Neither he nor I remained in haematology. Hence our career paths diverged and sadly I never met him again. We spoke briefly on the phone in the 1990’s and rekindled a myriad of past memories. Veda exuded decency, integrity and common sense.

Veda married a Dhushy, a Solicitor, and had two children, a girl and a boy, both of whom are doctors in England. He had his share of ill health. He passed away in June 2015 of a sudden heart attack.

May he find Eternal Peace

H.N. Wickramasinghe

We both entered the Faculty of Medicine in Colombo in 1962. Although being at the opposite ends of the alphabet according to our surnames his inborn ability to make friends easily shone through. We soon became pals enjoying a tea-punt in the common room in the presence of his many of his friends. For a big, tall man, HN was surprisingly soft-spoken. He was witty and charismatic with a vigour and energy that were contagious.

HN was a fine sportsman, a born leader and played Hockey for the University. He captained the Royal College 2nd XI cricket team and the star studded 1st XI Hockey team in 1959with great success.

I was surprised and delighted to see him in the Paediatric ward in Kurunegala to start his internship in June 1967. For the following 6 months, we were to save lives together. I couldn’t have asked for a better colleague. It was such a pleasure to work with HN as he was conscientious, caring and a kind doctor. I remember it so well on our first payday when we did a long walk to the Kurunegala Rest House after work and enjoyed several pints of beer. This became a regular ritual until he left Kurunegala. He was great company at any time, but more so after the amber nectar. We became closer during the internship. He never indulged in hurtful gossip, recrimination or sniping and had a good word for everyone. His commitment, honesty and dignity touched all those with whom he worked. With HN’s gregarious and affable personality, he had no interest in grumbling and complaining about work or people. He never stood for any nonsense and spoke his mind. This enhanced the respect and his popularity as a person.

For my next 6 months, I proceeded to Surgery and HN to Obs and Gynae. But we remained in touch, enjoying the many parties they had at the famous quarters called Ambaruk-Sevana, where HN stayed in Kurunegala. When I hear CT Fernando’s song “Ambaruk Sevanallay” I am reminded of HN and Tudor Wickramaaratchi who sang it at the top of their voices to reverberate in the stillness of the night. Sadly, they are both no more.

After internship HN left Kurunegala and I stayed on. I recall our farewell party at Ambaruk-Sevana and the sad goodbyes. In such situations, HN got very emotional.  On that fateful day, I saw him wiping a tear as he left us. He was one of the few in our batch who never wanted to join the hordes that left Sri Lanka in the 1960s and 70’s with the so-called brain drain. He proceeded to become a successful General Practitioner in Hanwella. Here, he joined the Lions Club to support the local community.

The last time I met HN was when RS Jayatilleke invited a few batch mates to his house for drinks and dinner. This may have been over “20 years ago. HN was broader than before but he had a full head of curly hair lightly greying at the edges. He was his usual self, full of wit and humour as we reminisced our time together in Kurunegala.

He was an inspiration to work with, and a joy to be near. In the end, what gives a life meaning is not only how it is lived, but how it draws to a close. HN had a quiet and peaceful end to his life. He would live in the hearts and minds of everyone who knew him.

May he attain the Ultimate Bliss of Nirvana

Razaque Ahamat

Because of our surnames, “A”, we sat together at lectures, weathered the storms of the signatures and revisals and endured the hardships of those clinical appointments. We both lived in Wattala and travelled daily by train from Hunupitiya to Maradana in carriages packed like sardines. During those years, what stands out is his helpful kindness, his great sense of humour and his charming, convivial nature. All through those years in the Faculty he enjoyed life to the full. He joined in the many dances, Colours Night and Block Nights that brightened up our lives. Razaque was often one of the last of the stragglers to leave King George’s Hall at the break of dawn.

He had many stories to tell which he related with a slight lisp which enhanced the narrative. He said, with a murky smile, he descended from the Royal family in Penang. Fact or fiction, we will never know just like the other hilarious stories in his repertoire. Razaque brought happiness to our lives at the Faculty when the atmosphere was stuffy and toxic.

Razaque was appointed Consultant Haematologist at the Royal Victoria Hospital, Dundee in Scotland. He served the hospital with distinction and took early retirement after which he worked as a Director of the Transfusion Services in New Zealand. He was greatly respected for his work in the antipodes. His work included much air travel visiting hospitals in the North and South Island. After several years in New Zealand, Razaque returned to Dundee to be with his close family. He and his wife, Farina, created a wonderful garden and enjoyed looking after his plants. We spoke often on the phone, reliving those happy days in the Faculty, of mutual friends and of studies together. Razaque had many cardiovascular problems that needed prolonged care and supervision. He accepted the privations and hardship gracefully and without complaint. We were fortunate to experience his wonderful self-deprecating humour on the blog for several years. He took a liberal and cosmopolitan view of life. When speaking about religion or life, it was often hard to make out if he was joking or serious. 

Those who attended the London Batch Reunion in the 1990s will remember Razaque proudly wearing the Scottish kilt with a knee-length skirt and long, thick stockings. This costume suited the big man to a tee.

‘Inna LillahiVa Inna Ilaihi Rajioon’

“From Him do we come and unto Him do we return"

Zita Perera Subasinghe

After the great dispersal from Kynsey Road in 1967, it took a further 48 years to see Zita again. This time, she was with her husband, Joe. They both seemed jolly and lively.  Mahendra has kept in touch with Zita, and we all met up at Côte Brasserie off Oxford Street in London. It was 2015, and we had all retired from our professional lives. This was a remarkable bonding and there was so much closeness and intimacy despite the passage of years. We retraced our lives since medical school. I remember the clarity with which Zita related the story of her life, work, and family to this day. What stood out was how happy she was with her life. Zita was delightful company, always spoke kindly about people, and there was never a harsh word.

Zita was very keen to meet the batch-mates and joined us in all the Mini London Reunions that were organised by Pramilla Senanayake in 2016, 2017 (one in Spring and another in the Summer), 2018, 2019 and January 2020. At each one of those, she walked around the tables to speak with everyone with such grace and charm. In September 2018, Mahendra arranged lunch at Satay House for Rajan Ratnesar and his lovely wife, Queelan.  They had arrived in London from California.  Zita and Joe arrived like Royalty in a plush chauffeur-driven limousine all the way from Southend-On-Sea. This was a brief encounter, but we had a most memorable afternoon.

To live the life you want to is such a rare, brave and inspiring gift. To persevere and live it with dignity and peace is something to be greatly admired. Zita, you have achieved your goals better than most. It has been a great privilege to get to know you and thank you for being my friend.

May her Soul Rest in Peace  

Priya Gunaratna

In the Faculty many of us were mesmerised by her graceful ways and stylish good looks. Like the rest of us Priya suffered the ‘indignities’ of rags, signatures and the revisals  in the “Block” and took it all in her stride. All through those gruelling years in the Faculty she conducted herself with dignity and was well liked by everyone. In all those years her thoughtful kindness and simplicity shone through.

In 1967 we met again in Kurunegala doing those arduous tasks of internship. We worked together in the Children's Ward with the Paediatrician Dr Chandra de S Wijesundera (who later married our batchmate Manel Ratnavibhushana). There, I got to know Priya more closely, sharing the on-calls and other onerous tasks of a busy unit. While at work she had the great ability to remain calm and in control.  She showed tremendous kindness, courtesy and patience towards the children in her care and also to their worried parents.  I recall Priya had great empathy for the poor, simple rural folk of the wanni who sought our help. She remained a reliable, unpretentious and hardworking colleague throughout.  The passion, integrity, and professionalism Priya showed during the internship was a beacon for us all.  She was indeed a very special person.

Priya was witty and warm and had a tremendous sense of humour. Despite the hard work, we shared amusing anecdotes of day-to-day life in the house officer’s quarters and laughed a lot. What was most striking about Priya was that she never had a harsh word for anyone.

We said our goodbyes in June 1968 and parted. She left Kurunegala for a job in Colombo and finally found her niche in Family Planning.  There again she showed her professional skill, expertise and attention to duty. Until her retirement she became one of the king-pins and driving forces of that organisation.

Priya was enthusiastic about the batch reunions and get-togethers. She organised such events and remained a live wire throughout the proceedings.

I never saw Priya for many decades until we met by sheer chance in the lobby of the Cinnamon Grand Hotel in September 2012. She had come to take ‘Patas’ Ratnesar for tea to her own home. We had a bear hug and a long chat about old times. She called me to join them for tea, but sadly, I had another engagement. Then she looked lovely and charming as ever.  When we said goodbye, I somehow felt this would be for the last time, and I was overcome by emotion. At the time, I knew about her long battle with cancer, which she had accepted with characteristic grace. Priya endured her final illness with much courage and great dignity. I feel greatly privileged to have known her and worked with her. We will treasure our memories of her zest for life and the many good times we shared with her.

May she find the ultimate Bliss of Nirvana

J.C Fernando

Janaka Chandana Fernando (J.C)– the name raises a smile on everyone’s face. He is a force of nature that brings happiness to everyone around him. Gregarious, sociable and flamboyant are all descriptions that come to mind to portray a person whom we have all come to know and love since our medical school days. He had that irrepressible bohemian flair which was associated with medical students of the 1960’s. In our citadel in Kynsey Road no one epitomised the era more than JC. He enjoyed its trappings abundantly. Being from that great institution, Royal College, he knew the large contingent from that school that filled our batch and almost filled the rest of the Faculty of Medicine. JC became a part of the Faculty sooner than most.

Many will remember JC arriving at the Faculty cycle shed every morning in his Honda 50 motorcycle. The Canteen was his first port of call for the customary Tea-Punt. He was a popular guy in our batch and spoke with everyone and was friendly to all. With his affable ways, JC made friends with the girls more easily. This made the rest of the boys envious. JC was never shy to speak his mind and with his loud voice he stood out in a crowd. Born to blush unseen, we always made fun of his jet-black skin which he accepted with civility. For his regal demeanour, I often called him the ‘Dark Knight’. All through medical school he wore white shirts and trousers. This enhanced the contrast no end.

He had tremendous enthusiasm for the social events in medical school. Being a fine musician, many of us got to know JC at the social functions. We sang and danced at the memorable and raucous evening booze-ups in the Men’s Common Room. My abiding memory at these events is the lithe figure of the ‘Dark Knight’ strumming his guitar, singing in graphic detail the itchy tale of “the dance of the phthirus pubis”. His signature song was “Saima cut wela”, a tragic tale of a beginner’s hangover and an effective home remedy. He sang “Suranganee-ta malu genawa”, tempting fate long before they became a pair!! Those songs have never left my recall. As I listen to them now on YouTube, I’m transported to those happy days of our youth. He was ever-present at the dances held at the King George’s Hall of the University’s Science Faculty, twisting the night away to the music of the Harold Seneviratne Combo. Those evenings generated much gossip and scandalous tales of adventures. He capped it all with an enduring contribution to the Final year trip, making the days brighter and the nights merrier. This will remain a special memory.

In the rigid and grim environment of medical education, the Men’s Common Room was our refuge from the storms of life. I can still picture JC in that setting with a fag between his lips, holding a cup of tea. He joined in the billiards, table tennis, carrom and the never-ending chit chats. He was an entertaining talker. If the truth be told, he could be prickly and argumentative, and there were frosty moments too. All through medical school my memories of JC are of a colourful, jolly guy ever ready for a chat and a laugh. He could talk about anything and everything. I associate him with much of our faculty jargon like ‘tea-punt’ and ’pol-mess machang’ and numerous vivid unprintable expressions delivered with a mischievous smile. These words he used frequently and to great effect. I could still picture him walking the long corridors of the GHC greatly animated, waving his arms and relating a story. His tales were peppered with esoteric facts and his own brand of humour brilliantly embellished for good effect. I loved listening to his tales no matter how outrageous. Whether one agreed or disagreed with his views he presented them in such an amusing manner he could even make nonsense sound like a genuine and alluring revelation.

We all miss JC

May he attain the Ultimate Bliss of Nirvana

Tudor Wickramarachi:

He 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 of amber nectar 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.

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.

Although not a Christian he listened every Christmas to the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols sung by the Kings College Choir in Cambridge on Christmas eve, broadcast at 3pm GMT which he said was a ritual since his schooldays.

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 filled with sadness and tragedy, but he always managed to smile and joke with his friends. I remember well his charm and intellect. We met up in an Indian Restaurant in London in the 1990s and enjoyed 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. 

Asoka Wijeyekoon alias “Lubber”

I have recently written a tribute for him on the blog and will briefly describe it here. He was one of my closest pals and one that I miss a great deal. Meeting him even as an octogenarian, the conversation was always current as he was well-informed. He expressed his views and opinions without fear or favour and brought a good deal of lateral thought to any discussion. I sincerely hope one day we will meet again in another realm. Perhaps it is au revoir and not goodbye. I know he will have a lot to say about that, too.