Appreciations
View(s):A life of quiet strength and loving guidance
CELINE PERERA
From the very inception, Celine nanda was someone who embodied both kindness and resolve. As a teacher at Good Shepherd Convent, Kotahena prior to her marriage, she nurtured young minds and offered a gentle, caring presence to her students. That early vocation of teaching speaks of a deep-rooted compassion, an investment in others’ futures.When her beloved husband Hilarion Perera passed away at the age of 53, the responsibilities of raising her two children Shean and Sahani and leading the family business fell upon her shoulders. The business, Perera & Sons Printers, at No. 66 College Street, Kotahena, Colombo 13, was a prominent printing establishment. Her stepping into the role of matriarch of the business and family was not merely a matter of keeping things going, she carried forward the vision with strength, dignity and the unwavering will of the Perera family.
In doing so, she became the last matriarch of the family line, the last of the Mohicans so to speak, the one who held together the threads of a complex family history and moved the legacy into a new chapter. She did not merely preside; she engaged actively in the enterprise, guided family members, preserved the values her predecessors had built, and made sure the family remained a united, living entity and all whilst being a strong support to friends, business partners and the Kotahena community as a whole.
The Perera family is one deeply marked by ambition, intellect, enterprise and regrettably by early loss. The pioneering business of Perera & Sons Printers at the College Street required continued entrepreneurial spirt and fortitude.
My uncle Hilarion, was the eldest of four siblings, the others being Lucian Perera, a renowned corporate lawyer, Kingsley Perera, a reputed chartered accountant who tragically also died young and Sheila Silva, their only sister and my mother, dynamic in her own right, venturing into many fields of enterprise of her own accord during her lifetime.
Celine nanda’s role was not only to safeguard the business but to hold together this wide, vibrant family to surround them with stability, love and a guiding hand.
In bearing that role, she carried more than the mantle of business leadership — she carried the memory of the founder N. S. Perera, her father-in-law who died early as well, and her late husband Hilarion’s responsibilities for the business at a young age. She became the living link between past and future.
What stands out about Celine nanda is this wonderful mixture of fire and tenderness that was inherent in her, strong willed in that she faced circumstance head on, took charge of the family enterprise after her husband’s early passing, and held the reins of the family’s welfare. Overtly active in that she kept things moving, she ensured the business stayed alive, and maintained family connections across siblings and generations.
Compassionate and maternal, she cared not only for the business, but for people–family members, employees and friends with a big heart and wise mind. A teacher by nature, it reflected a lifelong habit of guiding, mentoring, nurturing.
When I imagine her in the office in College Street, I see a woman firm in decisions, quietly assertive, yet always with a ready smile or a listening ear. When I imagine her at home, I see her surrounded by nieces and nephews, sharing stories, offering advice, laughing easily, yet never shirking responsibility.
The legacy she leaves behind are memories of kindness, strength and active care, the family gatherings, the business conversations, the moments of teaching and guiding. Though time moves on, the imprint of her life remains vivid. The strong-willed matriarch who stood at the helm, the teacher-turned-leader, the aunt who was as much a pillar as she was a gentle guardian.
Dear Celine nanda, you taught us that strength is not loud, it is consistent. You showed us that leadership is not merely authority, but invitation — inviting people into a shared vision of family, business and belonging. You embodied the promise of perseverance, of rising even when life demanded more than was easy. You held the family’s past in your hands, honoured it through your efforts, and handed the future over with dignity. You nurtured young minds as a teacher; you nurtured a family as a matriarch; you nurtured an enterprise as a steward.
We remember your footsteps in the corridors of the College Street, your strong voice around the dining table, the planning you put into entertaining all the nieces and nephews whether it was movies to watch or books to read, your counsel when decisions were tough, your hug when life felt overwhelming. We remember you not as a distant figure, but as ours: strong, present, loving, active.
Thank you for what you have done for me and my family and for being the anchor, the engine, the heart of our extended family. Though you are no longer with us in body, your legacy lives and breathes in each one of us and in our values, in our efforts and in our connections to one another. So we will hold you in our memories with profound gratitude, knowing that the last matriarch was not the end of a line but the living bridge into a future you helped build.
Rest gently, with the peace you earned and know that your story continues in our stories.
With love and respect always.
Laki
Turning heads: The teacher with short hair
LATHA JAYASINGHE
When my mother was transferred to a leading boys’ school in Colombo, she instantly turned heads. Latha Jayasinghe was the first short-haired teacher the students had seen in a generation.
Teachers then had the privilege of enrolling their children in the same school where they taught, and that is how both my brother, Lakal, and I ended up at what many mockingly called “Mariyakade Central” — but which was arguably the best in the country.
Students at Ananda addressed women teachers as “Madam” (and male teachers as “Sir”), and my mother soon became known among the 6,000-strong student population and faculty as the only “very short-haired Madam.”
She was always seen at school dressed in a neck-high, long-sleeved blouse and an Indian saree. She wore high heels which made her taller than her GCE Ordinary Level students.
She never wore make-up, but there was always a bottle of beer in the fridge. During the import-control era of the early 1970s, she used Lion Lager as a substitute for hair spray.
She had earlier been a mathematics teacher at Ananda Balika Vidyalaya, Maradana, where she had also received her early education.
She took a brief break from teaching when she was seconded to work as a statistician during the formative stage of the Agricultural Development Authority (ADA) in the late 1970s. But her heart was at Ananda, and she returned after helping to establish the ADA’s data collection system.She remained an Ananda loyalist throughout her life and took great pride in the success of her students. We had no idea of the depth of respect she commanded among her past pupils until her passing. The messages of condolence from across the world underscored the impact she had made. The number of students who turned up for the brief viewing on November 16, 2021, the day after she passed away in her sleep, was overwhelming – despite the number of mourners being restricted due to the lingering effects of the COVID pandemic.
That sense of respect struck even more deeply about 14 months later, when I went to see a doctor. After a brief consultation, the penny dropped –he recognised me as his class teacher’s son, four decades after leaving school. It is a surreal moment when a medical specialist tells you it is a “privilege” to treat you – not because you are well covered by insurance, but because you are the son of his teacher. Hearing him speak so warmly about his teacher, Latha Jayasinghe, in front of her grandson Pravin, made me prouder to be her son.
It was also a moment of reflection – a reminder that a mother’s care endures, even when she is no more. My mother’s short hair was the result of a compromise with her husband, Lenin, over his smoking. When they married – she aged 18 and he 23 – she had long hair, and he promised to quit smoking. However, when she later found cigarettes in his pocket, she cut her hair short and declared she would grow it back only if he stopped smoking. Much of his ill health stemmed from his years of smoking –that too, filter-less Three Roses – before he passed away from heart disease and kidney failure in January 2018.
On November 15, we mark the fourth death anniversary of my mother. In keeping with her wishes, the commemorations will be simple – just as she lived her life.
-Amal Jayasinghe
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