Appreciations
View(s):To him, home wasn’t geography; it was people
V. QUINTUS DE SILVA
Duty, honour, dignity, and respect — these weren’t just lofty words my father admired; they were part of his daily rhythm, right alongside tea at four o’clock and making sure his clothes and shoes were spotless every day. To everyone who knew him, he was a man of quiet integrity and calm assurance, someone who never asked for more than what was right. To me, he was simply my father — steady, kind, and the anchor of my life.
He was disciplined, but never severe. His discipline showed up in the little things — the same chair at dinner, the same neatly ironed shirt, the same thoughtful “hmm” when something displeased him. Beneath that composure was a terrific wit that often caught people off guard. Around family and friends, he laughed easily, a soft laugh that started in his eyes before it reached his lips. He believed life didn’t need to be loud to be meaningful, and he lived that belief every day.
He ran his filling station in Moratuwa with quiet pride. The station was his kingdom and his community. People came for petrol and stayed for conversation. He loved that place, and he loved Moratuwa even more. The idea of living anywhere else was absurd to him. “Why would I leave?” he’d ask. “I already have everything I need — family, work, and proper fish curry.” To him, home wasn’t geography; it was people.
And above all people, there was my mother — his constant companion, his favourite audience, and, as he liked to joke, “my only hobby.” Their marriage was a masterclass in balance. She was warm, talkative and full of life; he was steady, deliberate and content to listen — at least until the radio got too loud. Together they made 55 years look effortless, though everyone knew it was built on patience, humour and love.
Their love story wasn’t dramatic. It lived in small, ordinary moments: her scolding him for reading the paper too long, his mock surrender; his quiet care when she was unwell; her laughter ringing through the house after one of his dry remarks. They were partners in the truest sense, each completing the other.
When my mother passed away ten years ago, something in him shifted. He carried on, but part of him went with her. The man who had spent a lifetime sharing tea for two now sipped alone. With my siblings scattered around the world, it was mostly the two of us then. We’d sit in the hall in the evenings, sharing a drink and a conversation — sometimes deep, sometimes meandering, often about “the old days.”
Through those talks, I discovered sides of him I hadn’t seen before — not just the father who set high standards, but the husband who missed his wife with quiet devotion. He never complained, but sometimes, mid-conversation, he’d pause, glance at her empty chair, and smile. “She’d have had an opinion about that,” he’d say, and we both knew she always did.
He never lectured, but he taught constantly. He showed me that strength isn’t about hardness; it’s about steadiness. Dignity doesn’t come from pride but from humility. And love isn’t about grand words — it’s shown in patience, presence and persistence. His tolerance for nonsense was famously short — except when it came to my mother. That exception said everything about who he was.
In his later years, his body grew frail, but his spirit stayed unshaken. He faced illness with the same calm acceptance he’d shown all his life. No complaints, no fuss — just a quiet, “It is what it is.” I can still picture him in his favourite chair, glasses halfway down his nose, ready for a story or a small joke that would make us both laugh.
After he passed, the house felt quieter — not just empty, but as if it too missed his steady presence. Yet even in that silence, his lessons linger. His grandchildren will remember his kindness, his quiet humour. For me, it’s the smaller memories that stay — his way of folding the newspaper, his half-smile when my mother teased him, his contentment in simply being home.
His life wasn’t filled with grand gestures or loud declarations. It was built of small, steady things — love, patience, faithfulness. He taught me that joy is found in the ordinary, that purpose doesn’t need to be shouted, and that real love, the lasting kind, grows deeper through time and shared understanding.
Now that he’s gone, I find comfort in knowing he and my mother are together again, probably arguing about who’s right, and laughing all the same. Saying goodbye still hurts, but that image makes it easier.
Dad, you lived with grace, courage, and quiet humour. You loved deeply and were deeply loved in return. Though I can no longer sit beside you for our evening talks, I feel your presence in every honest word, every simple joy, every small act of decency you taught by example. Thank you for being my father, my mentor, and my friend. If I can live my life with even half your integrity — and maybe half your impatience — I’ll consider it a success.
Johann de Silva
My mother, icon and trailblazer
MANELLE CHEREEN DHARMARATNE
How blessed am I to be born into a family where my mother was an icon and trailblazer, whose vision for success and unconditional affirmation encouraged me to aspire and become the best version of myself. Her passion for teaching Montessori children and teacher trainees made her a household name and she was sought after by thousands of potential Montessori teachers. Her legacy lived on when they gained employment overseas, especially in the United States, where they continue to mould young minds. Her trail blazes on. This very legacy empowered me to become a teacher of psychology in the UK.
As a mother, grandmother and great grandmother, she showed fortitude, courage and capacity for unconditional love. Two memories come to mind. We were holidaying at a hotel and my two-year-old daughter was in the care of Mummy when she chased a ball straight into an adult pool. In the blink of an eye, dressed in a kaftan, Mummy jumped in to save my daughter’s life, even though her swimming skills were below par. An act of sacrificial love.
Agape love was demonstrated again when at the age of 13 years, I had to undergo a serious operation. She sat by my side for 10 days. She taught me the value of prayer and Psalm 91 and Psalm 121 are forever etched in my memory. I shared this memory with Mummy a few days before she passed.
She was an incredibly talented cook, and her lavish parties were filled with delicious dishes. Her signature dessert was Chocolate Meringue Gateau. Her attention to detail involved beautiful table settings, party games and quizzes. She earned herself the pet name of “Aesop’s granddaughter” because she was an amazing storyteller. When Mummy took to the keyboards, the party came alive with songs of yesteryear filling the air. Mummy and Thathi were exceptional dancers and looked forward to attending dances with their close friends.
She visited our home in England to celebrate milestones in our lives. Her presence made a difference to us always. Poignant memories of her visiting our home in Scotland and walking through the Trossachs amongst the scenic lochs, with the backdrop of snowcapped Ben Ledi linger in my memory.
Finally, our connection. Thank you for the daily WhatsApp video conversations, Mummy. We were always connected, more than you would ever know. When I was five years old, you accompanied Thathi to England for his postgraduate studies, leaving me in the care of your parents for a year. During this time, I missed you so terribly that I had fever, earaches and tummy aches intermittently for a year. The day you returned to Sri Lanka, my symptoms disappeared completely. Fast forward, six decades later, the roles were reversed. I was living in England and you were in Sri Lanka. You stopped eating and drinking and I came immediately to see you. No sooner I arrived and started interacting with you, you started to eat and drink again.
As a mother, grandmother and great grandmother, we will miss you deeply. Our sweet memories of you will remain in our hearts always. Now, may you rest in peace forever, in the arms of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.
Ymara Ilangakoon
Her kindness was overwhelming, her empathy and altruism legendary
CELINE PERERA
She was the matriarch of College Street, Kotahena in her prime.
She was also among the best known and most valued past pupils of her school, Good Shepherd Convent Kotahena, for her tireless and invaluable contribution. A former president of its PPA and a lifetime member, her school was blessed by her spontaneous support and philanthropy for decades.
Mrs. Celine Perera nee Jayawardena, former MD of Perera and Sons Printers of College Street, Kotahena, was simply Celine, Aunty Celine, Celine Nanda or Celine Hamu to all those who had the good fortune to be part of her life.
All of us were truly blessed to personally experience her benevolence, pure empathy, care and concern for us throughout our lives.
Blessed to be with a husband like Hilarian Perera, whose kindness and generosity paralelled and complemented hers, they made a lasting impression on their wide circle of family and friends as an iconic couple, in the 1960s and 1970s.
Taking the untimely demise of her dear husband in her stride, Celine grieved and mourned his loss, but marched forward to take over and run the family’s printing business with boundless energy and unfaltering resilience.
She had the formidable task of being both father and mother to her young son and daughter, Shean and Sahani, and simultaneously taking the reins of the firm overnight.
She proved to be a fearless businesswoman and a charismatic entrepreneur.
Over her long life span of 94 years, her inherent magnanimity expanded to the many charities she embraced as her own. Magnanimity was in her DNA and she stood by her wide circle of family, friends and associates in sickness, sadness and joy without reservations or discrimination.
When life dealt her some harsh blows, in her mid to late years, she endured them stoically with grit and courage and with unwavering conviction in her religious beliefs.
Throughout her life, her remarkable capacity to enjoy life, form firm bonds of friendship and celebrate the joys and victories of her extended family and friends was what defined her unique character.
Celine was a great sportswoman in school, and an excellent cook at home, turning out delectable Sri Lankan curries and an equally delicious love cake!
As her businesses grew to be a leader in the printing industry and she became more integrated into Colombo’s business society she proved to be a gracious host. People were always welcome in her home and enjoyed her warm hospitality.
With a lively sense of humour, Celine loved life and enjoyed it to the fullest, travelling all over the world and in Sri Lanka, and was an attractive presence at family and official functions.
Many parents in her circle made her their children’s Godmother, but she went beyond that role being a Godmother to us all, embracing all her family and friends’ children as her own.
She never missed wishing us all on our birthdays, anniversaries and especially at Christmas. We will sure miss these little gestures of warmth and love from her which were much appreciated by us all.
Her kindness was overwhelming, her empathy and altruism legendary. Celine passed away in October this year.
May she rest in peace.
Ruvini Jayasinghe
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