Appreciations

He did it his way

Just before Christmas 2001, I was listening to American singer Christy Lane. My son, Destry had registered some of her songs on my computer and he seemed to like her voice and, especially, the songs she sang. 

Christy Lane has no spectacular voice; but she sang of the love of God and of the sheer humanity of the Saviour who was born among men. "Softly and tenderly," she sang, "Jesus is calling...."

When Destry answered that call on the fifth day after Christmas, December 29, he knew no softness or tenderness. The winds of God must have roared and buffeted my house as Destry's spirit left his broken, lacerated, 21-year-old body.... and with him went dreams, hopes, all happiness. How does one ever understand? How does a father, a mother, loving sisters and a brother come to terms with death? 

My son Destry was born in Dubai in 1980. The moon over Karama was big and bright and he came to us, softly and tenderly. We watched him grow - a child who was slow to talk, even slower to read or write because he possessed that amazing gift which enabled him to memorise every word read to him by his sisters. He would then take the book, read back the story flawlessly.... but he never recognized any of the words he supposedly read. Why should he? They were all in his head. 

As he took hold of his own education on our return to Sri Lanka, he became strong of opinion, of conviction; and it was my privilege to see a mind blossom. To my own exasperation, many were the times I had to strive to understand, but I saw a son so brilliant that he seemed to carry his own halo of ethereal light wherever he went and into every boyhood scrape he got into. The home soon had to accept it. There was the family way and Destry's way. The ways never parted, but always there was that distinct recognition of the difference. 

At the Ecole International Kandy, his schoolmates called him "Destroy". He would actually do that, but not in the common sense of the word. He had that special knack of "destroying" the specious, the trite, the boring obvious. He was a seeker. He believed that behind all truth lay a greater truth. "Blind acceptance," he would say with impatience, and argue his way through life. 

Home became a place of return as he explored, roamed the hills and jungles. He selected his friends with care and fashioned them, I suspect, to his will. He would roam the Knuckles massif for days - alone against the sky, breathing in the grandeur, the solitude of nature, then return to tell of his nights in a cave, or sleeping with a pillow of rock with the stars on his face. Unafraid - always unafraid - swimming the cold waters of the Teldeniya reservoir, riding his motorcycle up Hantane, leaping his machine from rock to rock in the moonlight, sitting to look on a sleeping Kandy at three in the morning and telling his friends, "The only thing I am afraid of is being afraid." 

He began to excel as a photographer and was a wizard at the computer. He stacked my computer with so many programmes and applications of his choice that it now keeps complaining, "Too many parameters." Destry would chuckle. "Stupid machine," he would say and was particularly charmed to see it automatically correct his name to "Destroy" each time he keyed it in. He told me then: "This computer is so like people everywhere. It is afraid of the unfamiliar. It is afraid to take a chance and admit that there is a Destry." 

I think this was becoming true of his very life too. To many, Destry was a factor that could be disturbing. Devastatingly forthright, alarmingly honest, he disarmed many and left his mark in his comings and goings. Professor C.B. Dissanayake, speaking at an exhibition of his photographs at the Alliance Francaise, Kandy, said: "It will not be long. Destry will soon outshine his father." My eyes were particularly bright that evening because of a proud tear in each of them. 

His reading embraced mysticism, philosophy, humour and prophecy. His poems are grave, fervent with each thought seeming to burst at the seams. His was an all-sorts mind and he was just as happy with trowel and mortar as he was with wires and batteries and regulators and with a copy of Tolkien or Terry Pratchet or with writings on man's quest for immortality. He was convinced that this life was of little worth and the world was a sort of cosmic dustbin into which all dreams were consigned. Why is there no peace? Why is there so much horror and hatred and pollution and why is nature victimized so? And he would tell his mother, "This is no place for me. I hate this world of hatred and jealousy and the hot breaths of fools who have no love for anything but themselves." 

He did not care for nice clothes. "If that's what the world insists on, then the world is run by tailor's dummies." He did not care for money either. He earned it, and his photography brought him much... and he would spend it all on the poor, the helpless. Each day he would stuff the saddlebags of his motorcycle with parcels and we never asked. It was not our business to ask. He would carry gifts to homes of refuge, orphanages, elders' homes. It was only when we brought his body home that we knew, to some extent, of his love for the helpless, the deprived, for those bereft and alone. The numbers that swarmed my home came from places in the district I never knew existed. They came to tell of my son's love, his support, of how he worked for them, helped them, knit his soul with theirs. That night I wept and wept. What else could I do?

Destry was struck down by a private bus barely 500 yards from home at 10.00 in the morning of December 29. He was pronounced dead at 2.00 p.m. We brought his body home the next day and consigned him to the earth on the last day of the year. Beside his grave, tall trees greet the sky and the wind sings and dry leaves bless him. A place he would like being in where dreams can be seen. 

Our rainbow has lost its band of gold but he is locked close in the hearts of us all. No, son, it will never be goodbye. 

Carl Muller

Humble man who held many posts

Ranapala Bodinagoda departed to the 'life beyond' on January 9, 2000. It's time to reminisce on this illustrious gentleman. Here was a man who had a unique personality, commanding respect and admiration from all those around him in the multitude of appointments held by him concurrently!

Ranapala began his career as a teacher in 1940 at Anuruddha College, Nawalapitiya. He soon left the profession where he was popular, to be in charge of a people's depot in the hill country during World War II. 

Bodi as he was popularly called began his upward career under politician J.R. Jayewardene in 1947, as his Private Secretary. He continued the role when J.R. became Minister of Finance (1947-1952) and subsequently Minister of Agriculture (1952-1956). 

From 1957 to 1976 he was Manager of Dinamina, Janatha, Silumina and Daily News and concurrently functioned as Chairman, Press Trust of Ceylon Ltd., and Lanka Puwath. 

Every organization or association he headed was well managed due to his strict discipline. 

Bodi was a product of Ananda College. Though he held many a high post, in my view the greatest feat was when he was collared by Gate Mudaliyar A.C.G.S. Amarasekera as Executive Vice President of the Sri Lanka Magic Circle, in 1957. 

On the demise of the Gate Mudaliyar, he assumed the post of President and held it till his death. 

Since I am part of the Sri Lanka Magic Circle, I associated with Bodi very closely. 

Bodi built oup the stature of the Circle by introducing many contests. 

I remember that the only criticism levelled against popular Bodi, was that, though he was close to those in the seats of power, he never made use of such links to get an advantage either for himself or for the association. He in fact rejected an honorary decoration simply because he was a humble person. 

What I am stressing is that although Bodi had the right connections he never used them to get a building site for the Magic Circle. 

We, however got a building site in April 2000 by stressing our role as a Magicians' Association, which is considered a fine art by the Cultural Ministry. 

Such was the standard laid by Bodi, that in his honour the Sri Lanka Magic Circle holds an annual contest titled 'Ranapala Bodinagoda Challenge Trophy'. 

Bodi had rare qualities. He never did anything for personal gain, nor did he lend a hand for individuals to further their selfish motives. 

A thing that remains undone by Bodi was his desire to renovate the Mihintale Caves for the monks to meditate there. 

It is hoped that this forgotten task would be taken up. 

Bodi's wife Malini was a tower of strength to him. 

I can still visualize Bodi with a twinkle in the eye and pleasing smile, assessing the person with whom he would be talking. A great assessor he was. 

May he attain Nibbana!

Lt.Col. Ronald De Alwis,
President
Sri Lanka Magic Circle

Genial and humane

One year has passed since the death of Moshin Yoosufali, Chairman of T.A.J. Noorbhai and Co. Ltd., and Noorani Estates Ltd. 

He hailed from the pioneer Bora business community in Sri Lanka. 

I had the privilege of associating with him from the time I joined T.A.J. Noorbhai and Co. Ltd., as an accountant in 1982. 

He was genial, humane and soft spoken. He understood the sufferings of the poor and assisted them whenever they sought his help.

Mr. Yoosufali was meticulous in anything he did. 

He was highly regarded by his family members and employees. We miss him a lot. 

May he rest in peace! 

Edward Joseph 

To a wonderful human being

The world may have known many great men, but I am privileged to have been acquainted with only a few of them. The late Shelton Wirasinha or Uncle Shelton as I fondly knew him, was indeed one such person. Although it is 15 years since his demise, memories of Uncle Shelton remain fresh in my mind. 

The Wirasinhas and my family shared a longstanding friendship reaching back to the time Uncle Shelton was the much respected Principal of Richmond College and my grandfather, the Government Agent, Galle. However, I was introduced to them only when they moved to Nawala in the early 1980s. Thereafter, Aunty Manel became (and still is) my very dear piano teacher, while Uncle Shelton was the precious audience during my weekly lessons in their home. 

A man of few words, but those few valuable, his praise and criticism were of much guidance to me as a six-year-old just embarking on a long musical journey. He together with Aunty Manel, was more excited over my music exam results than I myself was. 

When Uncle Shelton died after a brief illness on November13, he left behind an irreplaceable void. Yet, his memory lives on. 

The late Shelton Wirasinha was an erudite classics scholar, the quiet voice over the waves of Radio Ceylon, the familiar face on the Dulux Quiz Show, the revered teacher and principal and much more. But to me, Uncle Shelton was the epitome of all qualities that mark greatness in a man: powerful principles, strength of simplicity, lasting loyalty, collected calm, honourable humility and the "tragic flaw" (if it ever was) of gracious generosity to everyone around him, regardless of his own needs. 

It may be 15 years too late, but today I show my appreciation and celebrate the memory of Shelton Wirasinha, the wonderful human being. May his soul rest in eternal peace! 

Avanti Perera

His voice will linger with us

This is in appreciation of all the men who lived like Ranbanda Seneviratne of Maradankalla near Mihintale. Ranbanda, the prominent lyricist who died on December 5 belonged to that rare mould that exhibited sterling qualities. 

His frankness, simplicity, devotion to duty, honesty and high sense of humour were outstanding characteristics of a selfless, noble nature. 

His sudden death is an irreparable loss to the Sri Lankan music field, his family and all near and dear to him. He was born great and also achieved greatness in the sphere of music. He composed a number of memorable Sinhala songs, such as "Dawasak Pela Nethi Hene, Landune and Ulaleno".

His achievements were enormous. The vacuum created by his demise can never be filled. His voice will linger with us as long as we live. 

May he attain the supreme bliss of Nirvana!

Saumya Sri Chaturanga Aloysius