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.)
