Category: “Memories”

 By Nihal D Amarasekara

Weligama 

Revisted after 20 years

 The year was 1962. Those were happy peaceful days in my youth. Political turmoil and economic perils were just appearing in the horizon. Personally, life was full of hard study. During the long University vacation  I decided to travel home armed with some reading material. I can still recall the large black canopy of the Fort Railway Station and the smell of steam and burning coal. There was soot everywhere. The trains hissed and puffed and screeched incessantly. The 3 hour journey was uneventful but for a talkative young Englishman seated in front who began a long conversation. He indulged lavishly in the vadeys and pineapples sold by the vendors at the Railway Stations along the way. The sight of the stilt-fishermen, with their unique style of fishing from a perch on a sturdy pole 20-50 meters out to sea remain still in my memory.

In 1962 my father was working for the Local Government in Weligama. My parents then lived on the outskirts of the town some distance away from the sea on the Akuressa Road. On either side were paddy fields, banana plantations and coconut trees. Across in the distance was the backdrop of purple mountains. Ours was a new house built on a hillside surrounded by tall jak, breadfruit and mango trees. It was an idyllic setting with a gravel path leading up to the house. At the edge of the property was a stream full of fish. At night the frogs made an awful racket. In the morning the dawn chorus was deafening.  During the day I walked in the garden and sat beneath the trees. Just a short walk downstream and I could see the village damsels frolicking and bathing in a muddy pool.

In the warm afternoons I went out for a walk across the fields or through the forest. There were several hills, beautiful valleys and trickling streams.  Mealtimes there were the best in my memory. Every meal was a feast of mouth watering sea food with a pot of local curd and honey. The short walk to town was full of greetings from the friendly locals.  A retired Apothecary lived in a large mansion nearby. He was a quiet kindly man with a multitude of professional anecdotes. In the evenings we went to the old Rest House by the sea. It was beautifully located at the edge of the Weligama bay . The tall cylindrical columns of its long verandah and its architecture gave it a colonial feel. On many occasions I had sat on the rocks watching the waves roll in. It was very pretty at sunset to see the boats go out to sea and the shimmering lights appear across the bay in the far distance. Heaven and earth seem very near to each other.

Off the beach is an extraordinary villa occupying a 2 acre island in Weligama Bay. It was built in the 1920s by the traveller and gardener Count de Mauny. The island was a  famous destination for many notables from different nations, including the novelist Paul Bowles. Its spectacular tropical gardens, and  octagonal-shaped house is breathtakingly beautiful. Its early colonial furnishings, large circular  verandahs make you step back into the 1930’s and is a travellers dream. Music from Noel Cowards “A Room with a view” wafts in the background giving it an “olde world” feel. The Count finally chose to live his eternal dream of peace and tranquillity close to nature ending his days in this paradise island. There was a busy main street of small shops and a fish market. The Railway Station was small and had a quaint grey picket fence typical of the old CGR. I still remember its Seth Thomas pendulum clock in the Station Masters Office. There was just the one doctor working in Private Practice – Dr Nugara, a kindly gentleman of immense grace and charm. He later left to settle in Australia. Sometimes we visited relatives in Kitulampitiya Galle and occasionally went to Matara to see the sights. After my vacation I said goodbye to my idyllic home to return to Colombo and a busy schedule of hard work.

I left Sri Lanka in 1974 to ‘make my fortune’ abroad. More exams and hard work filled my days and nights. Carving up a career took its time and toll. Years whizzed past and it wasn’t until 20 years later I returned to Weligama, the town that has haunted me since those days of my youth.

I made the journey by car to save time. This was way before the Expressway from Colombo to Hambantota was planned.  The roads were narrow and busy and the vehicles had increased several fold. The result was mayhem with noise and pollution. Despite the busy traffic people, cattle and dogs cross the road in gay abandon. Weligama was unrecognisable. The popular landmarks had disappeared or covered and hidden behind newer and taller buildings. I found our former home with the greatest difficulty. The many tall trees that surrounded the house had gone perhaps ending up as furniture in a plush Colombo Hotel. The lovely gravel path to the house had become a muddy track left behind by lorries and bull dozers. The gushing waters of the stream was now a trickle without any life. Perhaps a casualty of intensive farming and the use of pesticides. Worse was yet to come. An old man seated on the steps of the house looked bemused but greeted us warmly. The property has been brought by developers and the house was allowed to decay. The front door creaked as it opened. My heart sank to see the long strands of cobwebs stretch from wall to wall. Wooden windows had perished and fallen away and the house was a haven for cockroaches and mice. In places the roof had caved in. The plaster had come off the rain soaked walls. Doom and desolation filled the air. As I moved from room to room I felt uneasy and claustrophobic remembering the life and the laughter and the happy times we have spent there. I spoke little and left the house heart broken to see my home in ruin and my memories shattered.

Many of the neighbours had died and their children moved away. The main street was packed with people and full of life. There were many tourists bartering and moving in and out of the numerous shops. The astrologers and palmists made a quick trade.  The colourful billboards and the buzz of the place absorbed my attention for a while. Rest of the town looked prosperous too. Many of the houses had Televisions, Radios and VCR’s. They were well maintained with lovely gardens and cars in the porch. The people certainly  looked more affluent and healthy. With industrialisation we are losing touch with mother earth and the rich harvest it brings. The tourists bring us the valuable dollars to keep our country afloat. They also litter the countryside with the products of their own artificial lives. There have been new additions to the Rest House which was not in keeping with its colonial past. Snorkelling and speed boating had stopped for the day. In the evening I sat on a rock by the Rest House watching the sea and the waves roll in, just as I had done all those years ago. I was wrapped in my own  thoughts thinking of my parents and their love. There were Coca Cola cans and  polythene bags rolling in the breeze on the baked golden sand. I left Weligama with mixed feelings. Sad that my past has been desecrated but happy to see prosperity has reached that beautiful town of my dreams. After all I cannot allow the dreams of my youth get in the way of progress.

In writing these notes I have tried to give my moods and thoughts as it occurred. To me the last 60 years have been one rich gift amidst some misfortune. It is politics, politicians and the people that would decide what this Century would bring for Weligama.

Many yesterdays of my youth lie buried in this beautiful country of my birth.

Professor O.E.R Abhayaratne  – A Tribute

By Dr Nihal D Amarasekara

Prof. Osmund Edwin Randolph Abhayaratne had his early education at Royal College Colombo. After an outstanding career at the Ceylon Medical College he received the diploma of Licentiate of Medicine and Surgery.  He began his first job in the Health Service in 1933. After holding several key posts in Public Health and Preventive Medicine he proceeded to the University of Edinburgh for postgraduate training

He later obtained the Master’s Degree in Public Health at Harvard University with First Class Honours. In his long and illustrious career, he won many prestigious National and International awards. In Sri Lanka he held the position of President of several Learned Societies and Associations including the Sri Lanka Medical Association. He was called upon to act for the Vice Chancellor on numerous occasions for Sir Ivor Jennings and for Sir Nicholas Attygalla. The Prof made a significant personal contribution to his commitment to education by being an active member of the Governing Boards of several prominent schools in Colombo and Kandy.

The phrase ‘prevention is better than cure’ is often attributed to the Dutch philosopher, Erasmus, circa 1500.  Its wisdom wasn’t acknowledged until we were well into the 20th century. In 1949, Dr O.E.R Abhayaratne was appointed the first Professor of Public Health and Preventive Medicine at the University of Ceylon. Being a man of outstanding ability and intellect, they couldn’t have chosen better. He was at the forefront of Public Health and Preventive Medicine at a momentous time when we were developing and expanding our Health Service. With his devotion to Preventive Medicine, he kept his speciality in the spotlight publishing scientific papers and review articles. He was hugely influential in the shaping and development of the Public Health Services in Ceylon. He became the Dean of the Faculty of Medicine in 1953 and remained so until his retirement in 1967. The Prof has been notably responsible for the establishment and recognition of the second Medical School in Peradeniya. Away from the bright lights of academia, he was the Vice President of the Sinhalese Sports Club.

The Faculty of Medicine had its fill of eccentric, colourful and prickly characters. There were a plethora of high-profile academics with huge egos. The political milieu of the institution was a veritable minefield. By his dignified personality, charm and good humour Prof Abhayaratne helped to create stability and a convivial atmosphere in the organisation. He was the voice of reason and highly regarded and considered as an approachable colleague. His opinion was much valued. His authoritative yet gentle manner instilled confidence and hope. Many anecdotes abound of his helpful kindness and generosity to young lecturers finding their feet in the faculty. The genial Prof was a tremendously wise and perceptive colleague, able to identify deficiencies and deal with them appropriately.

 My first encounter with Prof Abhayaratne was not a happy one. It was at a viva voce examination, prior to entry into the faculty of medicine. This was held at the austere Senate House of the University on Reid Avenue. Half a dozen wizened old men with staring eyes were seated round a shiny table. They fired volleys of questions that unnerved me. I felt like a gazelle cornered by huntsmen. Then fate smiled on me. The Prof realised my discomfiture. He changed the ferocity of my ordeal with a friendly smile and questions about philately and the history of postage stamps. I have remembered his kindness to this day that ended well in a lifelong career in medicine!!

Many students from my era will remember fondly the great man arriving every morning in his chauffeur-driven black Mercedes and getting off at the Kynsey Road entrance to the faculty. He was no stranger to the finer things in life. In a good mood, we often saw him walking the corridors of power whistling a happy tune.  It was a morning ritual for Prof O.E.R Abhayaratne and the Medical Officer Dr E.H.C Alles to arrive at the canteen for a tea and a fag. Dressed in his dapper beige suit there was an air of sophistication although it had lost its creases aeons ago. They enjoyed a joke and a smoke. I do not know if it was through fear or respect, we just avoided eye contact with them.

The Dean, with his silver hair and large frame was naturally imposing. He filled any room he entered bringing authority and gravitas to his position as the Dean of the faculty. The Prof. had a distinctive gruff and husky voice. He occasionally barked commands that would have frightened the boldest. But then again with his kind avuncular manner he acquired a cult status in the institution that endeared him to the students. They feared and respected him in equal measure. Beneath that intimidating and fearsome exterior was a kind and considerate man. He led by the force of his personality. During those glorious years of the 1960’s his character and easy-going style were imprinted on the life and workings of that great institution.

Teaching was his life and he gave his all to his students. Professor Abhayaratne was an outstanding teacher and an altruistic mentor with a passionate interest in medical education. The Prof had a unique talent to teach. His Public Health lectures were light entertainment in memorable English prose laced with rhyming poetry. Malarial mosquitoes bred in tins and cans and pots and pans. The corrugated tin roofs were hot during hot weather, cold during cold weather and noisy during rainy weather. His cyclostyled notes (including all his jokes) were available for Rs.5.00 courtesy of the ‘Marker’ in the Men’s Common Room. His superb lectures from sewage disposal to water treatment and squatting plates to the control of communicable diseases were delivered with such elegance they entered our memories and stayed there.

The Professor loved the century-old heritage and the unbroken traditions of the Ceylon Medical College, with all its imperfections!! He wanted students to enjoy their undergraduate years and took great delight in giving his unstinting support to a multitude of events. All the student events of the Faculty were organised by the Medical Students’ Union (MSU). As I heard from a former president of the MSU the Prof’s moral and financial support for the Union was legendary. The MSU organised several evening parties in the Men’s Common Room. This broke the monotony of the hard grind of medical education. There were more drinks than food. The music was provided by our own talented musicians. We sang and danced and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. Occasionally on those evening we often saw the lone figure of the Prof standing by the canteen door nearest to the lobby, perhaps after a late evening meeting. He had that familiar stance as he stood at ease with both hands on his hips and his coat open widely. He was hearing the limericks and the rugby songs he had heard many times before. It was like a father seeing his children at play.  We saw his smile of approval as he departed. Held at the University at Reid Avenue the Annual Block Concert took pride of place. The Prof was given a seat in the front row, with the great and the good. His welcome presence at the concert never subdued the effusive spirit of the artistes nor their performances. He found it equally hard to maintain a straight face as wave upon wave of youthful antics with sexual overtones hit the deck. It must be said some of the provocative dancing and the racy dialogue would have made a sailor blush!!

As medical students in the 1960’s we lived in an interesting and exciting bohemian whirl.

Prof. Abhayaratne was affectionately known as ‘Pachaya’. It is a term of endearment in Sinhala for a person who is known for being economical with the truth. Perhaps he earned this fanciful sobriquet. This was aptly demonstrated during the cross-examination and interrogations we had with the Prof in the aftermath of the chaotic Law-Medical match. He announced that every photograph taken will be closely scrutinised with a photo-electron-microscope to identify every offender. We feared the worst. It was much later we got to know that no such instrument ever existed.

Above all he was a committed family man. Without his ever-supportive wife, May, he would not have been able to contribute so much time to healthcare and to academic life. He was the first to recognise this. They had two daughters and a son. The youngest, Rohini, was in my year in medical school. Despite her privileged position she had no airs and graces and remained one of us.

Prof Abhayaratne was the Dean of the Faculty at a time of tremendous political change and anxious uncertainty. He steered the ship into safety through stormy seas and retired in 1967. Although he richly deserved a long retirement, he passed away suddenly in 1969 of a heart attack. The Professor will be remembered for his personal qualities of kindness, integrity, warmth and humanity. Now I realise the sheer scale of his vision and his professionalism. Many of us have been greatly enriched by having known him and being his students. Our thanks go to one of the greats of our time and one of the finest to walk the corridors of the faculty. He truly was a credit to our profession. He left the world a better place and left the faculty of medicine up there with the finest institutions in the world. We will forever keep him in grateful memory.

He was sustained by an unflinching Christian faith that was central to his life. A regular church-goer, the Prof was the Warden of St Michael’s Church Polwatte for 7 years.

May his dear Soul Rest in Peace.

   Dr. N D Amerasekera

My memories of ,

 Colombo Medical Faculty,  60 years ago

It is so wonderful to return to the Faculty of Medicine even in our dreams. The quiet Kynsey road, the familiar façade of the grey administrative building and the sentinel Clocktower stands unchanged. I am simply mesmerised by the elegant sweep of those majestic buildings. In that dreamy state it is so easy to be enchanted by the constant whirr of the Vespas in the dusty parking bay behind the Milk Booth and be overwhelmed by the smell of smoke that fills the air. In our mind’s eye the faculty will always remain as we left it all those years ago.

Entry into the Faculty was the culmination of years of toil and sacrifice. There was such a great sense of myopic optimism, we lost ourselves in the adulation. We dreamed it was our passport to fame and fortune. The idyll soon faded as the harsher truths of real life intruded. Life being more like a game of snakes and ladders, always has ways to end that utopian vision and bring us back to reality!!

The Faculty was our Temple of Wisdom and also our gilded cage. There was an air of confidence and a touch of vanity which came from being a medical student. Life then was a dream. I developed a sinister arrogance and an assured sense of entitlement. I dreamed of living happily ever after. It was not long before part of that charm and fantasy began to wear thin.

The common room was the social hub of the Faculty. It was housed in the drab grey administrative building of the Faculty of Medicine in the shadow the Koch memorial clock tower. The tall tower with its colonial elegance was built in 1881 in memory of Dr E L Koch, the 2nd Principal of the Colombo Medical School. The Milk Booth with its red and white stripes gave a bit of colour and provided the medical students with sustenance and cigarettes. Smoke and noise filled the ‘dust bowl’ behind the booth which was the parking space for a multitude of cycles, scooters and motor bikes that entered and left the area with monotonous regularity.

My first encounter with the common room wasn’t a pleasant one. It was the baptism of fire in the infamous rag week. I needn’t elaborate on the psychological vandalism of this archaic practice, a remnant of British rule given a psychopathic oriental twist. That is how I see it now from the sanitised world I live in. But I must confess I didn’t see it that way at the time and considered this as yet another hurdle on the way to fame and fortune.

The common room merged into the canteen and the two were inseparable. Many preferred to take their tea-punts to the common room. The cigarette was a fashion accessory and smoking was rampant in those days. The canteen and common room were full of smoke all day long. The common room had a radiogram with numerous records ranging from classical to jazz and popular music. The table tennis was keenly contested. Perched on his ancient wooden chair ‘Marker’ controlled the billiards corner. He had his “potha” the exercise book which gave us the order of play for billiards. For some students billiards was not only a game but a way of life. Some veterans played their entire game with a cigarette precariously perched on their lips, just like a scene from a 1930’s Hollywood movie. There were several Carrom boards ‘greased’ with talcum powder and in constant use. It amazes me still how the Bridge players found time for their hobby as the games went on forever. There were guys poring over the chess board often seen in deep thought ruminating on the last move and fretting over the next.

In those days feminism was a profanity. Although called a common room it was common only to men. Women were not officially barred but whenever they arrived there were wolf whistles and cat-calls reminding them plainly and unequivocally it was a men only area. I have witnessed this spectacle with many girls running away in extreme embarrassment. Girls were often seen in the canteen with their friends and partners.

The common room was a very special place for us medical students. It was our own retreat and shelter from the storms of faculty life. Our teachers never used the common room and we were left to our own devices. We gathered there to chat and socialise. Racy jokes and saucy humour filled the air. Those friendships made and firmed within those walls have a special closeness that have lasted a lifetime. The common room was also a cauldron of emotions and a place of refuge. Those who have had a tough time at appointments or being repeated sat down alone in a quiet corner or stood with friends to be comforted. Posting of the examination results on the notice board and our desperate search for our names, is a ritual I can never forget.  I have seen the despair in the faces of those who had failed.  They were consoled by friends. The sheer relief and joy of those who passed often spilled out of the common room to rendezvous at the Lion House or Saraswathy Lodge.  Those who failed too quietly drifted in late to drown their sorrows. The common room must retain many memories of the agony and the ecstasy of life in the Faculty.

The days in the ‘Block’ were tough. Detailed study of anatomy, physiology and biochemistry filled our days and nights. We were weighed down by signatures and revisals that generated a toxic atmosphere. But there were the Colours Nights and Block Nights to imbibe the spirit of the swinging sixties and liven up our lives. Those 2 years just flashed by.

Then we embarked on our journey from the dissection rooms to the ward classes and clinical appointments across Kynsey Road. My abiding memory of those years are the long walks along those airy hospital corridors in search of patients and knowledge. We strolled like a ‘peacocks’, swinging those knee hammers and proudly wearing the stethoscopes around our necks. Meanwhile in the 3rd and 4th year we had a profusion of subjects to comprehend. I still convulse thinking of the sheer volume of facts we had to commit to memory.

The Medical Students Union (MSU) wielded great power and prestige. The distinction of being its President was a special honour. The selection was through a democratic election. There was extensive canvassing and the candidates reached out to every medical student with promises and pledges.  After the election the MSU hosted an evening party in the common room.  It was a lavish bash and the booze flowed freely.  It began with speeches by the President of the MSU giving assurances and promises to keep those pledges and make our lives better. The vows and commitments were soon forgotten just like in politics worldwide. One of my enduring memory of this great event is Deva Iriyagolla singing that Mohideen Beig favourite “Tikiri menike ambula genalla” with such sensitivity and feeling. It saddens me to think he died so young while being the DMO at Padaviya in the North Central Province. My meagre contribution was to dance on the bridge table much to the annoyance of the bridge players. Some kind soul took me home to sober up. How I coped going back to my grandparents in Nugegoda that night I will never know. Drinking molasses in such large quantities must have been like placing a lighted stick of dynamite in the liver. Those parties were indeed nights to remember and remain deeply carved in my memory of the happy and carefree time in the Faculty.

We were immensely fortunate to belong to a generation taught by a plethora of dedicated and gifted teachers. Like us many called it the Golden Era of Medical Education. Under their influence and tutelage life was not always a bed of roses. In the ward classes and teaching appointments, there were some exchanges too painful to recall. Although a tad egocentric, they inspired us. They gave of their best to the students. We remember with affection and gratitude the dedication and commitment of our clinical teachers, professors and lecturers.

Then like a never-ending storm came the Finals. Seeing the name on the notice board was an iconic moment to savour. We congregated in the common room, the lobby and the canteen to say our goodbyes. I recall the warmth of feeling that day and the sadness that followed as we left the premises. For some it was my last goodbye as I never saw many of them again. Success was also our liberation and the passport to freedom. From the glowing embers of those undergrad years a new era was born.

Universities are places of endemic change. Every year new students join and those who have left go farther on life’s journey. As all good things must come to an end so did our sojourn in medical school. Those five grueling years brought us closer together. Perils and pitfalls and the blissful euphoria of those years will long be remembered.

 “Go West young man” was the mantra that appealed to many. The political turmoil and the perilous economy of our motherland did not give us much faith or hope. One of the greatest triumphs in life is to pursue one’s dreams. Many dispersed far and wide in search of work and opportunity. Those who left the country entered the Darwinian struggle of survival of the fittest.  Amidst the fierce competition for the plum jobs, there were the many unwanted prejudices to contend with. The many who remained in Sri Lanka reached the top of their careers in the fullness of time. I acknowledge the patriotism, loyalty and resilience of those who remained in the motherland to serve the country. They lived through some difficult times. The émigrés too played their role professionally to serve society and the communities wherever they lived and worked. Those who lived abroad made donations to a multitude of Sri Lankan charities. They also provided financial support to Medical institutions and Medical education back home.

I hope very much this account will take you back to those times in our youth and help you recall people and events. As we reminisce we are made aware of the fragility of life and the many who have now departed this world.  Now the faculty is a ghostly relic of former times. After the passage of half a century the lively and vibrant common room with its unique ambience can only exist in our memories.

Editorial Note: When I received this post from ND, I spent some time scouring the internet and social media to locate some images relative to Jeewaka. I found 3 shown above. Images were in bad shape. I purchased a software program (Gigapixel AI) which I used to rejuvenate old photographs using artificial intelligence. I am very pleased with the results.

Quiz: Can you identify the 6 Batch’64 comrades in this last photo? State the names and locations in your comments.

Our special thanks to ND for joining Batch’64 blog as a contributing follower. I loved your self portraiture art work as well!

Sam