Crime reporter who reached great heights

Kirthie Abyesekera

Kirthie Abeyesekera, was among those rare persons who had a late calling to journalism. He entered the tournament of the press as a middle-aged bureaucrat from the Local Government Service, unlike the majority of us who were schooled in the art from an early age. I came into journalism around the same time or thereabouts as Kirthie. But there was a difference. Kirthie was a mature man of the world, with the demeanour of a person hell-bent on succeeding in his new found occupation. I, as a brash, callow youth, although perhaps inflamed by the same idealism, was carefree and directionless. We came into journalism at a time when the profession boasted some of the biggest and brightest stars in the business. We were under the guidance of "The Skipper", the celebrated Denzil Peiris.

But Kirthie's ability and talent, compounded by his propensity for hard work, even under the most trying circumstances were soon recognised. He had a natural aptitude for the craft and his faculty of extraordinary quick insights and highly-tuned instincts earned him the reputation as the greatest crime reporter, ever.

His competitors pounding the crime beat for rival newspapers were hardly in the same league. He scooped them incessantly and he did so with panache. But despite his many successes, he did not become a head-swelled prima-donna. He was aware of the vital importance of being equal to the daily grind. The key to his success was that he did all this with an incredible persistence and unbending discipline, to say nothing of the absolutely crucial need of being at the right place at the right time. As a police reporter of the "Observer", he covered some of the major crimes in the sixties and seventies. 

He will be best remembered for his penetrating exposes of the underworld. 

He covered some of the most sensational court cases of the time, including the "Kalattawa murders" and the "Kirimbakanda killing". Kirthie was not a big man, physically. He was of average height and build. Yet, he was feisty and adventuresome and stood out among the bravest in the fraternity. During the first JVP insurrection of 1971 and the ensuing reign of terror, Kirthie was in the thick of the drama. He was the first local journalist to report from the front-lines of action. His reports, complemented with superbly illustrated pictures by photographer Chandra Weerewardena for the "Observer" were prize-winning material by any standards, anywhere.

Kirthie's array of contacts on both sides of the crime beat was imposing as was his unrelenting perseverance to capture the essence of the characters who lived on the edge and who usually preferred to remain elusive. He was a brilliant investigative reporter with an inclination for off-beat stories and an inordinate curiosity for news. Possessed with a fluent writing style, he was trusted by his wide range of contacts among both "cops and robbers", an invaluable asset in journalism.

Although he moved around with a vigorous efficiency, most would acknowledge that there was a demeanour of quiet professional solidity about Kirthie, which made his very presence inspiring. Kirthie cut a dash and was conspicuous with his greying mane, his features enhanced by twinkling hazel eyes. He was always elegantly attired. Kirthie exuded the look of the cultured class, rarely encountered among the fraternity, even during those enchanting times. Even when he strode with measured tread along the vast corridors of the Lake House Editorial, entering or making his exit, he exuded the air and walk of a man who knew where he was going - even if he was only heading for his favourite pub.

But for Kirthie, family affection had been the greatest gift in life. Yes, he was essentially a family man, a steadfast friend and both an idealistic and kind person. Still, for a hard-boiled newsman, Kirthie, manifested a singular innocence, a sort of gentle ingenuousness. In those heady days with the "Observer", there was always the presence of Kirthie's wry and sardonic humour. 

Whenever Kirthie became overtly conspiratorial and mischievous, we immediately suspected that someone would become the victim of his rapier wit. He would unleash his verbal thunderbolt with that characteristic twinkle in his eye and a deadpan face. And then he would throw back his head and chortle uncontrollably, prompting an infectious roar from those around him.

Kirthie's literary gift was but one of his extraordinary endowments. His outstanding record of aesthetic talents include a mellifluous singing voice and the intellect of an eloquent bilingual public speaker. Few were aware that he was a graded professional Radio Ceylon artiste in the forties and sang in his own concerts. Among his contemporaries at the time were Chitra and Somapala, C. T. Fernando and Susil Premaratne.

Few among any of his peers had hardly a quarter of Kirthie's vivacity, his eager interest in the world, or the ability to stir the feelings of his friends and loved-ones by his sincere and passionate displays of demonstrative emotion. 

Goodbye, Kirthie, beloved big-brother, crony and confidante. Rest assured your many buddies and I all mourn your passing. We are privileged to have been counted among your friends. For us you made the world a better and happier place. Be assured you will constantly be in our prayers and thoughts. And at every reunion, until the last of the Knights of the Old "Observer" remain, we will always raise our glasses to you in a ceremonial toast of thanksgiving for enriching our lives. And Kirthie, always the merry old soul, certainly will like that. 

Gaston De Rosayro