Dr C. L. V. Abeynaike
Farewell To A Decent Man And Good Doctor

Cyril Lakdasa Vernon Abeynaike had most of the qualities that a decent man should possess. In his non-professional life he showed extremely humane qualities and as a medical practitioner he excelled in those qualities.

Vernie, as he was known to his friends, went through the joys of life as they came to him – fast driving, watching and playing cricket and enjoying a drink after his day’s work was over at the Old Thomians’ Swimming Club and supporting his Old School in all endeavours. I have rarely heard him raise his voice in the nearly six decades that I’ve known him. Simple in his ways, he had no airs about him, no desire for ostentation or making money and even any other ambition other than practising his profession well and looking after the interests of his family.

The only ambition he had from his schooldays that I observed was his desire to follow his father’s footsteps and be a doctor.

He was a good student and studied hard, always in the ‘C form’, where the youngest and best performers were segregated in various grades at S. Thomas’. At the SSC level he was in Upper Sixth C – which he recalled with much pride – that produced outstanding students who went on to become medical specialists and outstanding engineers both in Lanka and abroad. In sports the class boasted of three First Eleven cricketers and a tennis player who later became Sri Lanka’s tennis champion. It had – if I remember correctly – about 20 students in the First Division – a very rare accomplishment for any school at that time.

At times he was dogged with bad luck but in true Thomian spirit, Vernie carried on undaunted. On passing out of the Colombo Medical Faculty he was happy to serve in provincial hospitals at Ratnapura, Welimada and Mawanella where he learned very much the illnesses of the rural folk and in the early 1970s took to private practice at Mt. Lavinia alongside his father Dr. Felix Vernon Abeynaike who had retired after heading many government hospitals as the DMO.

On his father ceasing his practice, Vernie moved out and established a dispensary of his own with one dispenser and his dear wife Marlene who knew nothing of medicine, as his assistant.

It was a simple dispensary sans any modern trappings but his reputation as a physician, simple and pleasant ways and sympathetic understanding towards the poor, particularly with regard to medical charges, attracted patients from the environs of Mt. Lavinia, Ratmalana and suburb.

He directed his attention towards the poor. Once he observed: “The middle class usually don’t take medical advice from doctors and order their medicines directly from pharmacies. It is the poor that come to me”.

During inclement weather such as during the monsoons when humble shacks by the seashore were lashed by winds and rains and shacks of the shanty dwellers on canal banks and other places where the poor people were inundated, they fell sick in large numbers and sought his assistance.

Over the years he gained rare knowledge about the diseases that affected these people by sheer experience.  He knew the kind of bacterial infections that were prevalent in particular areas and dispensed medicines accordingly.

Rarely did he have to refer them for laboratory examinations. The really good doctor charged the poor the minimal or nothing at all. Yet, he was still able to provide for his eldest son’s higher education for years in Britain and the education of his three sons and daughter at premier Colombo schools while building a modest home for himself.

Perhaps he sustained himself from treating tourists at Mt. Lavinia’s hotels. Yet, his Christian conscience did not permit charging unconscionable fees.

A Christian by birth and conscience, he mixed freely with those of other faiths, even atheists.

Religion was something personal to him. During the month of March his friends found him laying off his traditional drink after work without making any open declaration. He was observing Lent.

He was too good to pass off at the age of 74 and those who knew him would have wished a longer stay.

The demise of Marlene, with whom he had a very close relationship for over 40 year, a few years ago left him rudderless. His friends noted that he was drifting along without a purpose and the end came soon.

It was a paradox to see that many of his friends, whom he had saved from a much early departure, see him off at his funeral.

Vernon Abeynaike died with all saying what a decent man he was. There was none to say anything bad.

Well done Vernie. Esto Perpetua. Yours was a life well lived.

Gamini Weerakoon

Kshirabdhi, you have left a legacy of purity, innocence, love, and unbridled joy (which is the legacy it is our bounden duty to leave). You came, you taught, you left.

You have taught us well Kshirabdhi – so well – that we will never forget.
Your gift of love to all whose lives you touched – is one we will cherish and try to emulate in our lives too. This will be the greatest tribute we can pay you.

Kshirabdhi, you relied most on the power of your mind. You refused to accept any limiting conditions. You affirmed and believed in health, strength, and success, even in the face of contradictory evidence. You were an angel, a butterfly, made on earth and death would have given you no trouble, because, you would have gone with the thought “Lord, I am in Thy Hands”.

You aimed for the highest meaning that your life could have. You kept faith that inner growth was an unending process, walking the spiritual path with sincerity and hope.

An old Indian adage compares consciousness to a lamp at the door – shining into the house and out into the world at the same time. This is the consciousness you had Kshirabdhi. You spoke your own truth. You saw life as a rich field of possibilities and were eager to explore it. You saw wisdom in uncertainty. You saw being here as its own reward.

You lived in harmony with divine laws. You kept those you loved in your heart and we shall keep you in ours.
My computer is full of meaningful verses, lessons and anecdotes from you.

On the 11th March you sent,

“The world wouldn’t be the same without women and neither would I. When we began this adventure called WOMANHOOD, we had no idea of the incredible joys or sorrows that lay ahead. Nor did we know how much we would need each other – everyday. We need each other still.
Please send this back to me and all your sister butterflies – this is what keeps us strong in hard times”
My little sister, friend, daughter butterfly – I did send it back to you – and I am so GLAD I DID – because it has given me strength to write of you – the beautiful butterfly who flew in and out of our lives.

On 22nd February 2013 you sent me a photograph of Karnan taken for his Year 11 school book. How wonderful he looks and how proud you and Jekhan are of him. How you LOVE him.
On 18th February 2013 was an especially poignant piece.

“LESSONS OF TIME – KARMA
When a bird is alive – it eats ants.
When a bird is dead – ants eat the bird.
Time and circumstances can change at any time.
Don’t devalue or hurt anyone in your life.
You may be powerful today, but remember
TIME is more POWERFUL than you!
One tree makes a million matchsticks.
Only one matchstick is needed to burn a million trees.
So BE GOOD AND DO GOOD.”

In life you will realize that there is a purpose for everyone you meet. Some will TEST you, some will USE you and some will TEACH you. But the most important are the ones who bring out the best in you, respect you, and accept you for who you are.”

In a beautiful gesture of love for you, a tree will be planted, in your memory, at the school you taught at, in a protected area, where a rare breed of butterfly is being reared. It is to be planted by your beloved son Karnan.
In the words of Paramahansa Yogananda,

“After the death of those who are dear to you, always send them your love. By doing so, you can help the progress of their souls and they can help you. If you send them your loving thoughts continuously now, someday you will surely meet them again. You will know that this life is not the end, but merely one link, in the eternal chain of your relationships with your loved ones”.

WE WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU – KSHIRABDHI
Aunty Rouza

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. She was their North, their South, their song, We thought this love would last forever. We were wrong.
(adapted from “Funeral Blues” by W.H. Auden)
I began to love Kshirabdhi very dearly when, as a little girl of about 5, she came to my Speech and Drama classes. Petite and beautiful with wide eyes and buttermilk skin she would sit in class and listen attentively and very obediently. Her voice had a bird-like timbre and at a very early age she was able to bring out the subtle shades of meaning in whatever she read out loud or recited. Now that she is no more, many of those who knew and loved her remember her reciting poetry with such confidence in a clear and expressive voice. I quote from two poems in memory of our shared love of poetry.
Kshirabdhi is the daughter of two of our dearest friends, Sarla and Sega Nagendra. She is the fond elder sister of Prashan and sister-in-law of Chameli. They are a loving and close family and losing Kshirabdhi is a terrible blow.
Like our mothers before us, Sarla and I were together at Ladies College and our children too grew up together. Kshirabdhi was at Ladies College until her ‘O’ Levels. She was a keen student and, like her mother and grandmother before her, excelled in athletics. She then went on to the Colombo International School where she was Games Captain.
Kshirabdhi married Jekhan Aruliah and, after living for a few years in Sri Lanka, the couple and their young son, Karnan, moved to England. Despite the time consuming tasks of running a house and looking after a young child, Kshirabdhi found time to do a course in teaching differently-abled children and began helping out in a nearby school. She continued to work with these children, completely free of charge, until her demise.
While she was in England we communicated mostly via emails and phone calls. It gave me joy to see this young girl grow up into a strong and confident woman who coped remarkably with a crippling illness. Her positive attitude was an inspiration. She never spoke ill of anyone or complained of the excruciating pain she endured on a daily basis.
Karnan was Kshirabdhi’s pride and joy and indeed he is worthy of her great love and sacrifice. He is a brilliant student who has excelled in his academic studies as well as in a wide range of extra-curricular activities. Whenever Karnan won an award of took part in a school event I would receive pictures of him from his proud mother. Kshirabdhi also told me that she spent long hours talking with her son guiding him and instilling in him the right values and beliefs which were so precious to her. I believe her efforts were not in vain, for today Karnan is an exceptional young man, mature for his age, pleasant and caring. In this day where the generation gap widens and clashes between the old and the young seem irreconcilable, theirs was a bond made in heaven. Though for a very short time, Karnan had the very best mother he could have got in this world and, in turn, Kshirabdhi had the best son.
Kshirabdhi herself was aware that despite everything modern medicine had to offer, there was the ever-present likelihood that she would succumb to her illness. It is truly amazing that, in the face of all this she remained undaunted, brave, positive and cheerful. She is a shining example to all of us who grumble with much less cause.
Kshirabdhi was an angel who walked amongst us for a short while. She is now free of pain and despair and back with the angels. While we mourn her death let us celebrate her life and all she stood for.

Dearest Kshirabdhi –
Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
… Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have,
And renownèd by thy grave!
(by William Shakespeare)
Fondly remembered by Nirmali Hettiarachchi

In the month of April in which Kshrabdhi passed away I am so sad that I felt compelled to share with you how kindly friendly and genuinely Kshrabdhi touched our hearts. When we received the sad news of her death, we were abroad in the freezing cold clad in borrowed scarf, mittens, wool hats and warm sweaters, all gifts she had thoughtfully bought for our son who was facing his first winter at a UK boarding school back in 2006.

This was just one of many examples of how great her heart was. Before you even think of it, she had done it! I thank you from the bottom of my heart Kshrabdhi for looking after our son like your own when we were so many miles away, and for the numerous ways you and your lovely family helped him adjust to UK life. He has never forgotten it. For sure, you were his guardian angel.

Kshrabdhi never forgot a birthday – I still have every Xmas and birthday card she sent, and she sent them well in time. If she wasn’t able to attend a birthday she would bring presents to the children whenever she came down to Sri Lanka, so that they would have something from her to open on their birthdays. A truly fairy godmother! But I am sure she was all these and more to her young pupils at the school in Surrey where she taught– I know she must have been one of the most popular and dedicated teachers at the school – and true enough, they have honoured her by scattering some of her ashes in part of the school gardens allocated to the special breed of Blue Butterfly. Kshrabdhi was fascinated by butterflies and the walls of her home were adorned with pictures of these extremely delicate beautiful creatures that as we know are here for a brief time.

Kshrabdhi, I miss your lovely long emails – for we corresponded at least once a month – they never hinted at any pain she was suffering at the time. She never complained about her illnesses, she was a born optimist.

I sometimes wish she were more vociferous, so that we could have made more of a fuss of her – but that was precisely what she did not want! In fact, what she did asked me one year when I arrived at her place in the UK were bags of thala guli – which I was too glad to bring, happily emptying the shelves of Keells. Indeed I learned many a thing from her, and I sometimes wondered at her maturity – for I was older, but here she was, teaching me things about life and survival in her gentle way.

Kshrabdhi would speak so much of her family in Sri Lanka and of the family she was married into in the UK (our dear family friends) and she absolutely adored her son Karnan and husband Jekhan – I believe her love for them and their boundless love for her that was so strong, it was what really kept her going – she loved nothing better than to tell me of Karnan’s achievements in school via email and never failed to email me Jekhan’s weekly column in the Guardian online.

She was so very proud of them and I believe the times she most relished were when she was with them alone: going out to a restaurant together to celebrate Jekhan’s birthday; or taking Karnan up to London for a matinee. I would love hearing the joy in her voice as she wrote of such journeys. Now, your emails are no more but you will always live on in our hearts.
May the Lord take care of you and keep you safe, our dearest friend and angel.
Your loving friends Mandy, Suresh and godchildren, Rehan and Francesca

Because you loved…………………………..!
‘You were my strength when I was weak
You were my voice when I could not speak
You were my eyes when I could not see
You saw the best there was in me
Lifted me up when I could not reach
You gave me faith ‘coz you believed
I am everything I am
Because you loved me……’

February 16th, 2013 marks the 10th year death anniversary of my loving father, P. Don Clement Michael. My father was a father figure to many at St Sebastian’s College Moratuwa where everyone called him simply ‘Clement Sir’. He was a teacher of outstanding repute who dedicated his entire life to the teaching profession, out of which 32 long years were spent as a school teacher at St. Sebastian’s.
His retirement never ended his career in teaching as he was involved in many spheres in the society as a marriage and family counselor, lecturer and a life educationist, even after the retirement. He was passionate about teaching and giving his very best to all those who came to him not only as a teacher but also as a counselor, guide and a mentor.
He never compromised or wavered in his principles in any circumstance and he always upheld honesty and integrity. Money never motivated him but the needs of the people who came for his help did. He never thought twice to ‘say no’ to many opportunities which life offered for him to seek greener pastures, as his love for his students and the teaching profession was more than what money could buy.
I was very lucky to have ‘Clement sir’ as my class teacher when I was studying for the Ordinary Level examination and I still remember very well, some of the lessons he taught even today, after 25 years. He was my Sinhalese teacher then and I do still remember a good part of the poetry and literature he taught at the school. He had been blessed with immense talent to make the stories of ‘Guththila kawyas’, ‘Ummagga Jathakayas’, ‘Singhabahu’ etc. very interesting and lively. He was able to teach whatever he taught effectively in a way that it would get registered in the mind of the student. He used humor, wherever needed, to teach something in a way that will never be forgotten.
He was more than a teacher to many. A student recounted how Clement Sir changed his life. He was a bit of a ruffian, good in his studies but also mischievous in his own way. He had dreams of being a ‘writer’, when other kids wanted to be doctors and engineers. Teachers would berate his unfocused ambitions. But the words of beloved Clement Sir – “you can be whoever you want to be, but be honest, believe in God and trust in your self,” – made him believe in himself.
He showed no partiality or favoritism to anyone including his own children. The result was, him being a teacher at the same school that I was studying was to my disadvantage. I remember him using the cane only once in the class room and I was not exempted.
Not only did he teach subjects but also it was part of his teaching to inculcate a value system in the hearts and minds of his students. I remember him emphasizing once in the class that there is no point in one becoming the best of doctors or engineers unless he becomes a good man. Such values may be idealistic in today’s world, but he lived by them his whole life.
Apart from teaching at the school, he was actively involved in various activities as a life educationist. For many of his students, it was a pleasant surprise to meet Clement Sir along with Philomena teacher, his loving wife, for the second time in a classroom when they came for ‘Pre cana’ – pre marital counselling classes with their future partners.
He was a mentor for many youths who came to him for guidance. Many such people have shared with me how their lives, without hope and future got transformed after an encounter with my father. What was unique in him was his ability to show empathy and love to those who came with problems. His house was always open, round the clock for the people in need for help. I always remember how they (my father and mother) sacrificed their time and energy to fix many broken families and marriages that were on the rocks, listening to them and counselling them for long hours. My father could relate to anybody, irrespective of their social status or age. He had very sharp instincts to understand others. I remember, when growing up, I was able to consider him a close friend in whom I could confide in and this helped me to mature and grow. I was always able to talk with him on most things without feeling uncomfortable because of his open minded and broad thinking persona. I think this along with his empathy drew many, who were in various struggles of life, to him for counselling and guidance.
It was when I saw the tears rolling down the faces of adults, unable to control their emotions at the funeral of my father, did I realize the magnitude of the impact my father had had on the people whom he had come into contact with.
He never had any regrets about the consequences of being outspoken, when he saw injustice, not necessarily directed towards him. I remember many instances where he became the voice of the people who were weak and helpless at different levels in society.
He feared the Lord whom he served always and he lived his life in a manner that he had to give account one day to his master. He never worked for position or recognition and the result was positions and recognition followed him. He believed firmly in the teachings of his Master ‘I came only to serve and not to be served’. When he served he never expected anything in return from anyone but from his Lord.
He was not only a great teacher, but he was also a great husband to my mother. There are many a lessons I have learnt from my parents’ marriage. The years and time that had passed had done only one thing; that was, bringing them closer to each other and making them like a newlywed couple, each day. I have witnessed my father helping out my mother in the kitchen on a regular basis doing daily household chores. Whatever he did, he excelled at it and there was no exception in the dishes he cooked.
He sacrificed many things in life, for us, his children and whatever we have achieved in life today is mainly attributable to the sacrifices he made along with my mother. It is he who taught us that there are more important things than money in this world. We learnt that some of the best things we ought to have in life cannot be bought with money. Money is a servant and not the master. He would not have provided us with all the luxuries when we were growing up, but most certainly, he gave us all what we needed to know when we could afford to have luxuries in life.
His life was an impactful one which I always try to imitate. His compassion for people is unimaginable. He showed empathy in measures beyond expression. He lived a life of love. One of his favorite scriptures in the Bible was, ‘And now, these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest is love’ (1 Corinthians 13:13)
He lived his life to the fullest till the last day of his life. He was ready to meet his Master and just a few hours before he departed, his final words to me were, ‘I lived a life of love throughout my life and even now I experience the presence of that love’, which showed how much at peace he was, even on his death bed.
Father, I was so fortunate to have a dad like you. You were more than a dad to me. More than a friend I could always confide in. I still preserve the rose which I removed from a wreath of flowers to keep as a memento, 10 years ago. It has withered now. But the memories of you will never wither from my mind rather they are renewed every passing day. You have been separated from us but the love you showed us will never be. I know that those who love beyond this world cannot be separated by it. Because death cannot kill what never dies.
Thaththa, May your soul rest in peace!

Anuja Srinath

How do you capture in words the essence of a soul that was vibrant, vivacious, joyful, passionate, compassionate, fiercely loyal, deeply loving, creative, and sensitive?
How do you say in so many words that such an early departure left a void in the lives of those around her, a missing that seems endless, an integral part of every moment of each life suddenly gone?
How do you convey the message that the love will never die even when the body does, that the spirit will live on forever even when the world ends and that death is not an end but an interlude to the rest of the best that is yet to come?
Tammy, my aunty was so many things to so many people. To me she was someone I laughed with, cried with, danced with, shopped with and shared my heart with. She was my partner in crime. Hers was the laughter that was the loudest and the hardest. Hers was the heart that beat the tenderest, and hers was the hand that was the most generous. Always the champion of the underdog, never to be silenced at times of injustice. What can anyone say that will ever be enough to sum up the total of all that she was to all of us, and all that she will still continue to be in our hearts?
The wealth of love and passion that she held in her heart was enough to touch hundreds of lives many times over and still have enough left for anyone going a begging for more. That easy smile she so continually bore on her face easily brought on smiles from anyone who had the fortune of seeing it. An indomitable spirit, that was never beaten even in the midst of pain and sorrow. She was brave, humorous and always hopeful. Hers was the faithful, trusting heart towards the Father, who healed her body and took her to eternal health. Her roles as wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, grand aunt and a friend, were taken on with passion and love that always burned beyond herself.  Tam, my darling aunty, it’s been one year since you went on ahead of us to rest in the arms of God. But earthly death is not an eternal end, just a temporary separation till we meet again. So till that fateful day, this is a note to say I love you, I miss you and when I see you again, we shall dance once more, amidst the golden ambers of eternity. “And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” Revelation 21: 4 (NKJV)
Marisa.

On May Day 1993 and Evans and President Premadasa in Bhutan

The profound sense of loss I was to feel upon news of his death was not simply because Uncle Evans was a relative. He was so much more than my uncle; Evans Cooray, he was my friend. I pen these lines, therefore, not merely as his nephew, but because of the profound privilege I had to call this remarkable man a friend.
When my uncle Evans told me he was going to write a book about his relationship with President Ranasinghe Premadasa, under whom he served as press secretary through his premiership and presidency, I made one request. I asked that the account be truthful about the late President and narrate his strengths and weaknesses in equal measure. I made this request because I saw my uncle as someone who saw President Premadasa as infallible and devoid even of human weakness. For this reason, I must be true to my conscience in this brief memoir of Evans Cooray, for I believe that to gloss over some of the characteristics of our relationship and aspects of his life would be a grave insult to his memory.
Evans Cooray was an extraordinary personality. The ability to work 16 hours straight, with no sign of fatigue or weakness alone was one of the most remarkable things about him. That he rose to fame because of his relationship with Ranasinghe Premadasa is no secret and something he often acknowledged. For 30 years, he worked in Premadasa’s shadow, standing beside the politician through thick and thin. My uncle’s journalistic skill and ability to write in both English and Sinhala, made him indispensable to the former President in getting his message to the people.
Anyone who knew the inner workings of the Premadasa administration, about the stories that became popular legend: the 3 a.m. phone calls from the President to his staff and working hours that stretched from before the break of dawn often until midnight, knows that working for such a man was no mean task. Ranasinghe Premadasa was a perfectionist. It was Evans Cooray’s innate desire to constantly strive for perfection in all things that made him such a key member of Premadasa’s team. His work was not just a job to my uncle Evans, it was sacred duty.
Something that always struck me profoundly about my uncle was the humility he maintained throughout his life, despite his share of the spotlight. He would tell everyone that it was Premadasa who taught him some of the greatest lessons of his life. Despite being a member of Ranasinghe Premadasa’s inner circle, my uncle always spoke to and of the former President with the utmost respect. From the moment he began working for him, my uncle used every one of the considerable connections and relationships he had built as a journalist over the years to further the cause of a leader he believed in. As far as Evans Cooray was concerned, Premadasa was not just a man; he was an institution.
His unswerving loyalty to Premadasa was most apparent to many of us, during the attempted impeachment of the President in 1991. It was my uncle Evans that first heard whispers of signatures being gathered for the motion. His extensive contacts across the political spectrum meant that he often had information about political machinations well before anyone else in the administration. When Evans Cooray first told the President about the proposed impeachment motion, an incredulous Premadasa refused to believe it. Nevertheless, in the ‘constitutional revolution’ attempted during Ranasinghe Premadasa’s regime, Evans Cooray stood steadfastly, unconditionally on the side of his leader. Despite his loyalty to Premadasa, Evans had been no stranger to Lalith Athulathmudali, the man who gave leadership to the impeachment attempt. My uncle often used his good offices to mediate in ongoing tussles between the President and his Minister. I recall vividly my uncle’s reaction to Mr. Athulathmudali’s attempts to win him over to the side of the rebels. “If I come over to your side and work with you, you will never trust me because I would have double-crossed once. All my life I have worked for President Premadasa and I will never abandon him to work for another politician,” was his response to Minister Athulathmudali. The memory of his statement of loyalty is etched in my mind and it is a standard of faithfulness to which I try to aspire and prize above all else in my own life.
For my part, it has always been my belief that there was a great dichotomy in my Uncle’s unwavering loyalty to Premadasa. It proved to be both his greatest weakness and his greatest strength. While Ranasinghe Premadasa’s premiership showcased him as a dedicated and even talented politician, his presidency was a different story altogether. He may have gone down in the annals of Sri Lankan history as the leader that best served the interests of this country’s most desperately poor and needy, but there were problems inherent in his leadership that resulted in great disillusionment for the majority of Sri Lankan society. This writer too, suffered from the same disillusionment during Premadasa’s tenure. It was at this point that major ideological fissures appeared between my uncle and myself. We simply failed to see eye-to-eye on any single matter of policy or politics. In his eyes, Premadasa could do no wrong; in my own, the President was full of irredeemable flaws. As a young man who had once seen great potential in Ranasinghe Premadasa I just could not understand why those closest to him, like my uncle Evans, did not seek to put him on the right course during his presidency.
It took me many years and a great deal more maturity to understand the type of man Premadasa was and to come to terms with the fact that he had not been as pliable an individual as I had imagined him to be. In my idealistic youth, I also could not help but feel disillusioned and disappointed at my uncle’s constant involvement in politics, although he was technically a public servant. While it has become customary for the most senior of public servants to engage in political activity with absolutely no qualms in the modern context, back in the 1990s, it was still a practice that was viewed with some disgust. That my uncle was engaging in this practice with seemingly no reservations, was a mystery to me and something I could not come to terms with. As a result, the majority of our conversations during this time were heated arguments about policy and political conduct in the Premadasa administration. Uncle Evans never took these debates personally, but their frequency and fervour resulted in some distance between us that was only restored following the assassination of President Premadasa in 1993.
He remained humble enough throughout his life to respond to every email communication he received, always attentive, always helpful even from miles away from his correspondents. His life’s motto was that ‘life is short and in that short time, we should try to help as many people as we possibly can.’ His entire life was committed to maintaining and fostering human relationships. Evans Cooray was a man who could walk with kings and commoners and treat them all exactly the same. He imbibed a great deal from his leader, who also had genuinely loved and worked for lesser privileged sections of society in his lifetime. My uncle always believed that people only asked for help when they found they could not help themselves. And so he strived to help everyone in whichever way he could. Helping people always afforded him the greatest satisfaction in his life. It was during his funeral that I realized how popular he was, as tributes arrived from every corner of the world, from people of all walks of life, people many of us barely knew, who wanted to pay their respects to a man who had been a pillar of strength to them over the years.  Despite his fame, my uncle Evans remained as unassuming as ever. His lifestyle had always been one of humility and simplicity and it remained that way till his death. When he lost his job due to political reasons during a SLFP regime, politicians could do nothing to break his spirit. During that time, he bought some land and decided to take to farming in order to keep the home fires burning. He was a person who could find dignity in any kind of work. When he was unemployed in England he managed to find a small job to keep himself going. During my years of exile following my stint at Rivira Media Corporation, Uncle Evans sent me a letter in which he had inscribed words that will stay with me throughout my life. “Keep your spirits up, no matter what happens. It is only if you allow your spirits to be broken that you will truly fall. Sometimes we pay a price for doing the right thing,” he wrote.
Through the years, my uncle Evans and I had many political discussions, some of them as heated as they were when Premadasa was still alive. With him being so far away, many of these arguments took place via email. After one particularly harsh email from me, Uncle Evans replied with a message that genuinely embarrassed me about my conduct. “Your email was painful to read. I felt so sorry for you when I read your letter, not because it contained so much harshness towards me. No matter how gravely we disagree or how much you scold me, the love and attachment I feel for you will never change. But I was afraid that if you reacted in anger and sent such an email to someone else the response might not be very good. So when you get angry write a letter if you must, but don’t send it immediately. Place it under your pillow. Read it again once 48 hours have passed. I know that if you send it then, you will do so having first reduced the harshness of it by at least 50 percent. Try that technique. When you hurt someone there is no point regretting it later,” his email said.
Evans Cooray’s love for his wife and children knew no bounds. He was very close by when President Premadasa was assassinated and his life was saved by a hair’s breadth because he received a telephone call from his daughter moments before the bomb exploded. For the rest of his life he believed that his daughter saved him that day.  Uncle Evans’ commitment to his family never wavered, despite the demands on his time from his work.
Many people did not know that my Uncle Evans was also an artist. He wrote many popular songs some of which were sung by Dr. Victor Ratnayake. So it was not just politics in which he was well versed, but in arts, literature and culture and his ability to converse on any subject was unparalleled. I often joked that he was like a walking encyclopaedia.
Of all the things I admired about my Uncle Evans, it was his humanity that I treasured most. To him, other peoples’ problems often became his own and he believed that living in accordance with one’s conscience was the most important thing of all. I will never forget the last conversation I had with Evans Bappa. I knew then that he had realized that he was not long for this world. I promised him that I would be there to see him soon, but it was my misfortune that he passed away before I reached London. In so many ways, his death came far too soon. That last conversation with Uncle Evans reinforced my perception of him as a humble and yet exceptional individual, the likes of which I am unlikely to ever meet again in my lifetime.  It used to be my habit to let Uncle Evans know that I was coming to London because to not tell him would be to wound him greatly. On each of those occasions, he would ignore my entreaties and be at Heathrow to receive me. Similarly, I have never left London without his presence there in person, to say his goodbyes. I know that London will always be full of memories of Evans Cooray for me. And London without my uncle Evans will never be the same. Much like my life, which will be immeasurably poorer and so very lonely without him in it.

Krishantha Prasad Cooray

M. D. (Tony) Saldin
Vice President/Social &
Cultural Affairs &
Past President
MABOLE MALAY
ASSOCIATION

It will be four years on August 25 2012 when God called Victoreen to rest. We got married on October 8, 1968 at All Saints Church, Borella and spent a happy and peaceful wedded life for almost 40 long years, with fun, laughter and joy. She gave life to our children and when I needed hope and inspiration she was always strong. Victoreen was loving, caring and my only consolation and the greatest blessing in my life. She placed gold on my finger and brought love like I have never known and gave life to our children. We prayed together as one from the day we got married until she left this world with precious memories time cannot erase. I still remember the tender words and the loving things she used to say.
Through the years I had you to keep me happy. We thanked our lucky stars we found each other and from that time our lonely days had ended as we stood close to each other for the rest of our lives. We faced the good times and bad and together our love grew stronger and stronger every moment, every hour. Hand in hand we faced each other with no fears as we were so sincere and faithful. Side by side we walked the roads together and each step we took together drew us closer through the years. Victoreen was my one shining star. I walked beside her, loved and guided her and I was always beside her until her untimely death. Fate has been unkind and I had to lose her and that is the day it broke my heart. She has gone far away and left me all alone, my days and nights have turned so lonely since that day.
I only know how much you meant to me and how much I loved you. Memories are all that Victoreen has left for me and no more will I see the love light in her eyes. I am missing you with every breath I am missing you with every step I take.
As my memories turn back, I can remember the happy days we spent together. Now the love that kept my heart beating has been shattered without her by my side. But remember Vicky, although you are gone so far away, the love in my heart for you will always stay as you are forever in my mind and I hope and pray we will meet again.
It has been so many years ago we met each other and that was the time happiness began for Victoreen and me. You were mine all the time and we were faithful. My life is so lonesome without you. You were always there for me in everything I did, and my life was so complete when you were with me. Through the years you dried my lonely tears and made me smile again, as only you could do. As the years went by, together you and I faced the good times and bad, come what may.
Finally, thank you, Victoreen for the wonderful and generous sacrifices you made for me, our children and all the loving care and affection you showered on us. I remember not what I did for you, but what I was for you and what you were to me. Thank you for loving me and being what you were. Darling Vicky, our special years will not return but with love within our hearts you will walk with me together. Till we meet again!
Sadly missed by your loving husband.

M. Kamil. A. Hassan

In lieu of the 15th death of Anniversary of the former editor of The Observer, Harold Pieris, below is the reproduced appreciation written by Gamini Weerakoon that appeared in The Island on June 1 1997.

Former editor of The Observer, Harold Pieris, was a quiet, sober and well committed journalist in a profession which is known for flamboyant and even rumbustious characters both in their lifestyle and writing. Harry, as he was known in the profession, joined Lake House on graduation from the University of Peradeniya. He immediately came under the tutelage of that political dynamo Esmond Wickremsinghe who as Managing Director of Lake House was considered to be kingmaker of the times. Esmond Wickremasinghe was a press baron in the mould of Lord Beaverbrooke of Britain. Esmond played backroom politics and effectively with the nation’s most powerful press at his command. He had his own in Lake House comprising mostly of those who had graduated from Perandeniya and Harry was an important member of that team.
Harry was the News Editor of the Ceylon Daly News, the flagship of Lake House. And this post, in those times, it is said, was one of the most tough and gruelling jobs in journalism. News editors are responsible for producing the front page and other inside news pages and to do that even though he had the best team of reporters and photographers of the time at his command; it was indeed a rough assignment. Directing reporters and photographers who play by their own bohemian rules, while meeting the demands of news editing, up with the latest news, accuracy and meeting deadlines are the daily formidable challenges. His contemporaries say that the methodical Harry went about this challenging job in his own quiet way, unruffled amidst the heat, smoke and din of the Daily News room.
Harry was in Lake House at a time which is said to have been the most hectic days of the establishment. It was the time the government of Mrs. Bandaranaike was defeated by one vote over the Lake House takeover bill. And Harry was said to be at the epicentre. Rarely did he speak of those exciting days. When Esmond Wickremasinghe moved out of Lake House Harry went along with him and worked for a short spell at the Virakesari. He was soon back at Lake House, this time as the Chief Administrative officer. This once again was a tough assignment. The CAO in Lake House in those days was the conduit to the Chairman. He had to approve various claims made by journalists and look after the general administration of the editorial departments as well, editors being freed of administrative work. Harry did his job fairly and squarely and it was only when he moved over as the Editor of the daily Observer as well as the Sunday Observer that his fairness as the CAO was appreciated.
As editor of the Observer he went about his duties in his usual meticulous way. He proof read practically every page and on Saturdays was there till the Sunday Observer went to bed around midnight. He built up a network of Sri Lankan correspondents- mainly ex Lake House journalists settled abroad and also encouraged middle ranking and junior journalists to venture into new fields.
Despite all his meticulous ways as an editor, Harry landed himself in one of the biggest controversies in journalism when he found himself in the well of the parliament chamber with his associate editor Mr. Philip Cooray on a charge of breach of parliamentary privilege.
A sub editor mixed up the caption of Jane Fonda in a sailing boat with that of the then Foreign Minister A. C. S. Hameed engaged in some other activity and Mr. Hameed claimed it was a breach of privilege. Those in Lake House at the time were well aware of the political skulduggery that went behind it and how the spineless management stood still while those two journalists were made scapegoats. Harry took the beating he got without a murmur and continued to edit the paper for many more years.
His was a time when Lake House had a surfeit of flamboyance characters such as Tarzie Vittachi, Clarence Fernando, Mervyn de Silva, Ernest Corea, Ira Amarasekara and D. B. Wettasinghe to name a few of the outstanding seniors. Among this crowd was Harry, the sober teetotaller, dressed in immaculate white and carrying on his gentle manner. Harry will be remembered by his colleagues as a gentleman and a dedicated professional.