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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.
