A journalist par excellence

The first death anniversary of Ajith Samaranayake:

by Rosanne Koelmeyer Anderson

From the echelons of an incomparable class of individualism and inherent brilliance was the unpretentious yet intuitively rebellious Marxist, friend and most excellent writer and journalist Ajith Samaranayake who influenced the lives of many, the elite and less privileged alike by his spoken and written word, a man of a dying class, a journalist extraordinaire who left a vacuum in the profession a year ago following his demise on November 22, 2006.

An introvert as best described, Ajith was incredible. Though instinctively shy and composed, he had the niche to instantly intensify any circle of discussion on any subject matter, from post-colonial facts to politics, drama, films, art and his knack for writing appreciations were unpretentious renderings of a class of brilliancy.

Whatever he wrote on was always an exceptional piece of writing and a pleasure to read which cannot be disputed and if any one was to argue to the contrary it would necessarily mean that they still possess that streak of professional jealousy and never intend giving the man his due.

As my superior and Editor during my stint as a journalist at the Independent Newspapers of Ceylon Ltd, popularly known as the 'SUN' which were the best days of our life and career for most of us; Ajith was an exceptional lobby correspondent, no mediocrity in his writing even then which justifiably testifies to his journalistic superiority.

Shortly thereafter, I had the opportunity of working once again with Ajith at the Upali Newspapers of Ceylon Ltd (The Island), he was then the Deputy Editor, steadily progressing; by which time there was even more finesse to his pieces of writings. Writing seemed an effortless endeavour for him.

Clear, bold, exceptionally big letters, about three to four words on each line, Ajith grew in journalistic stature. It was a good decade of experience at The Island too where the man of par excellence shun himself from taking the forefront of almost everything but was practically forced into the scenario as his presence and words were always obligatory, sought after and greatly appreciated by his colleagues as well as his acquaintances.

The third opportunity was when I was privileged to work with once again; he was then the Editor of the Sunday Observer which was thrust on him, where he unassumingly continued for some time, yet more subdued than before, constantly requesting to be relieved of his Editorship duties.

He did not want to be pressurized, he simply wanted to only write and he was quite content creating an impact on serious issues and penning a few lines on less controversial themes like drama and theatre, much desired subject matter which many a reader would scan the newspaper for.

Countable were the last days of his life when he walked down the corridors of Lake House and spoke to many of his colleagues on various issues of concern, personal and official as if he sensed he would be soon gone.

Gone are those wonderful days of reminisces of a 'guru', a mentor who meant so much to most of us journalists; an exceptional man of Lankan soil whose memory lingers on.

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