Daydreams on a winter’s day
By Dr Nihal D Amerasekera
"Carpe diem, memor praeteritorum"
"Seize the day, but remember the past". - The
Roman poet Horace
When my professional tenure ended I moved away from a leafy
suburb in Hertfordshire to an apartment in the heart of the big city. I was
born with the tropical sun on my face and the rhythms of the seasons remain
alien to me. As the wild winter storms tighten
its grip and the snow covers the landscape, I settle readily into the comfort
of chintz cushions and the gracious curve of my rocking chair. With each
gentle, deliberate sway, I feel an irresistible pull toward the dim and distant
past and the happy and uncomplicated present. There is a quiet warmth in
leafing through the archives of my mind, a soothing pleasure in memories gently
stirred.
When I snuggle up, thoughts and memories of the past, the present
and the future seem to swirl in my head. Those childhood memories and the time
spent with my parents take pride of place. It has created an Aladdin's cave of
wondrous memories. We spend our
formative and impressionable years at school. Those memories of friends, fun and
laughter are stored and archived to last a lifetime.
Connecting to the present moment helps me create a little
space in my mind to deal with its concerns and controversies. People have long
dreamt of an egalitarian society. Despite human existence for thousands of
years, all the religions and philosophies of this world have failed to inspire
and encourage us to live in peace and share our wealth. There is a high level
of economic inequality in the world which is shocking and obscene, and it is
getting worse.
Politics is the bane of society, but we need politicians. The
origins of the art and science of governance is not clear. But sleaze,
corruption and criminality in politics is old as the hills. Extreme power and control over people corrupt
and destroy societies and lives. But we never seem to learn from history. As I
look around there is not a single country in the world where politics is clean
as intended. In the West, there is unacceptable political corruption, but it
lies below the surface and far less conspicuous. In some countries bribery,
deceit and deception are accepted as the norm. This causes tremendous hardship
to the people.
We humans have caused global warming. Glaciers are melting,
sea levels are rising, forests and wildlife are dying. There is a sense of
foreboding of an impending apocalypse. Humanity is undergoing an existential
crisis. As we defer, delay and prevaricate, time is running out. The tropical cyclone
Ditwah made landfall on Sri Lanka leaving a major humanitarian crisis in its
wake. This is blamed on global warming. I do wish more is done to prevent
further catastrophes.
The past never truly goes away. Still, my yesterday’s walk
with me. My life changed forever as I entered the faculty of medicine in 1962. Much
of it remains a haze but there are a few memories that still live on. It’s been
said before; ours was the golden age of medical education in Sri Lanka. I feel
greatly privileged to have been taught by some remarkable teachers. I still
consider our professors, lecturers and clinical tutors as some of the best in
the world. I marvel at their clinical skills and recoil at their egotistical
arrogance. We soon learnt to survive in that air of toxicity. We tread
cautiously and endured the arrogance and conceit in silence in the hope of
better times. Surprisingly, I don’t feel resentful. The tough life gave us
self-reliance, confidence, grit and determination. I am told; the atmosphere
and attitudes have evolved significantly to reflect changes in society. I
remember our teachers with much affection and gratitude and thank them for
their commitment to teaching.
From the comfort of my rocking chair, I often find myself
returning to the General Hospital, Colombo, of the 1960s—where I learned my
craft. Despite the inevitable progress and regress, I see it as it was all so
long ago. Without that burning ambition and the relentless chase for knowledge,
the journey back is poignant and nostalgic. It gives me such joy to walk those long
corridors again. I see the wards as they
were and remember my teachers and friends with much affection, many of whom are
now with us no more.
My professional journey began with an internship in
Kurunegala. This was followed by seven years in the Health Service. It was, in
many ways, a rewarding period. But professionally, I was simply adrift with the
wind. What I remember mostly of those years is of the simple rural folk of the Wanni,
who were my patients. They were so very grateful for the little I could do to
help them.
Many of my professional colleagues were encouraged by the
famous phrase popularised by the American journalist Horace Greeley, “Go West young man”. They 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 came marriage and a
family. Then caring for my family took precedence. I embraced and adored
everything parenthood had to offer. Time passed on swiftly and
relentlessly.
The sands of time have moved on. I have progressed from youth to middle age
and way beyond. 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 have learnt to deal with these issues effectively. Now is the
time to celebrate our achievements and be happy with what we have.
Cricket has cemented my love affair with London. The game has
been my passion all my life. Watching cricket at Lords brings me such 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 games under the majestic “Mara” trees at Campbell Park.
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. So much has happened to our lives since I left Sri Lanka. It is
now impossible to match the closeness I once enjoyed with my family and friends
back home. 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.
It was the Roman poet Virgil who wrote, “Tempus fugit”
— time flies. Indeed, it does. Despite life’s fleeting tumults, none of us is
here forever; our time will come. Now I find myself in the grip of events, many
beyond my control. As an octogenarian, my mind is calmer. There is no longer a
burning ambition, no desire to chase money or position. I have fulfilled my
duty to care for my progeny.
Worry never helps; it only destroys and pulls the mind into
darkness. I seek the serenity to accept what I cannot change, the courage to
change what I must, and the wisdom to know the difference—so I may remain calm
and be at peace.
I look to the future because that's where I'm going to spend
the rest of my life. Once I have made the necessary choices for my parting, it
is important that I return to my regular routine. There is no purpose in
dwelling on death and dying; I will deal with it when it comes. It is true — I
will not pass this way again. And so, I must savour the beauty of nature, the
birds and the bees, and the company of family and friends. Only then can I
truly sing that familiar refrain, “Que sera, sera” — whatever will be,
will be.
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