Explorations in Russia
1983
began bleakly in every way possible. It got worse over the year. But I
had in fact a relatively pleasant six months, doing largely what I
wanted, with a freedom I did not have afterwards, until last year when I
became a Member of Parliament. My occupation, if one could dignify
leisure by such a term, was giving tuition in English, largely for the
Advanced Level Exam, though I had a few degree students too. Richard and
I worked together, in a lovely old house in 8th Lane which belonged to
Maive Outschoorn.
My father looked after their affairs in Colombo, and kept the house
for their not very frequent visits, until he was finally able to sell it
for them at the end of the decade.
There was a delay about this since there were a couple of tenants who
refused to move, paying a meager rent which was all they had been
charged by Maive’s mother, Mrs Kelaart, a great friend of my
grandmother’s, another pillar of the Anglican Mothers’ Union.
Meanwhile the house was looked after by Piyadasa as we knew him, who
had been the boy at home when my parents got married.
He had then moved on to the Attorney General’s Department, when jobs
went by personal recommendations, and then had made a romantic marriage
to the ayah of my Wickremesinghe cousins.
Then he had worked in our Embassy in Moscow, where he made all
arrangements for the two visits I made, in 1972 to join my father on a
Parliamentary Delegation and in 1975 when I flew Aeroflot on my return
home between degrees.
I had stayed with the Ambassadors on both occasions, acquaintances
rather than friends of my parents, but both sets had been marvellously
hospitable.
On the first occasion it was the old Marxist C D S Siriwardena,
brother I believe of Regi, on the second Dr Soma Weeratunge whose son
had married my cousin Kshanika.
I had been able to accompany the delegation on the cultural
programmes they had been exposed to, including glorious performances of
‘Swan Lake’.
I had even been able to join them in Leningrad, arriving in a
disreputable state by train, to the astonishment of my father, who had
not really thought I would be able to join them.
Disreputable
The state was so disreputable that Richard Udagama, he who had been
jailed by the previous UNP government on suspicion of plotting a coup
while he was army commander, very graciously gifted me with a pair of
shoes.
He claimed they were spare, but as a solid spit and polish man I
think he had been horrified by the pair I turned up in, which had done
hard service over the summer, and then on a memorable train journey
through Budapest to Kiev, from where I had taken a plane after a day of
hard exploration.
The rest of the delegation too, a distinguished lot that included
Speaker Stanley Tillekeratne and JR as Leader of the Opposition, were
also gracious, and the Russians were delightfully hospitable, glad I
think that someone adored the ballet and the museums.
On the second occasion, Piyadasa had bought me a train ticket to
Georgia since, after much reading of Anthony Hope, I was determined to
see the old Tiflis. I only had a day there, but rushed round the city
and even managed to get to the opera, to see a preposterous production
of ‘La Traviata’ The journey too was a joy, an overnight sleeper through
steep mountains.
The Georgians on board fed me generously, fiercely telling the
Muslims who looked in at intervals and claimed me for their own, that I
was ‘Nyet Mussulman’. It was only many years later that I realised the
significance of all this rivalry, when all hell broke out in the
Caucasus after the Soviet Union broke up and old religious tensions came
out into the open.
After his stint in Moscow, Piyadasa came back to a job in Parliament,
and was duly installed in the main section of 8th Lane, where he and his
wife Lily had to bear the insults of one of the tenants, a Burgher lady
called Mrs Perumal who deeply resented them having taken old Mrs
Kelaart’s place as chief householders.
I never heard her while Richard and I were there, but it seemed she
would mutter imprecations that increased in volume in the evenings.
Our pupils were few but rewarding, including Maithri who later
married Ranil, Jeevan who now heads the Consortium of Humanitarian
Agencies, a girl who became a lecturer at the Law College, and a boy
whom I felt very protective about since Illangakoon had removed him from
the Prefectship to which he had been appointed while the Archdeacon was
in charge.
It was claimed that the appointments had been irregular but, since he
reappointed practically everyone we had selected except for Indra.
I think it was just pique. Indra however benefited from this, since I
made arrangements to send him to the University of Alabama, since I had
got on very well while on the American University ship with a Professor
there who had asked me to recommend some good students. I don’t think he
quite expected someone who needed a full scholarship, but he managed to
find one when I recommended Indra, and indeed sent me a letter of thanks
for sending him. Indra went on to a distinguished academic career, and
is now a Professor in Norway, so I suppose Illangakoon’s malignity had
at least one positive result.
Leisurely
We taught the students at leisurely intervals, and I wrote much of
the rest of the day, setting down my account of what had happened at S.
Thomas’, and producing a few short stories too. Richard would read and
comment, and also write himself.
I had only recently discovered that he was a marvellous poet. This
was after he had shown me some poems rather shyly, claiming they had
been written by a friend, confessing they were his only after I kept
praising them and asking to see the prodigy.
He also acquired a new identity of a sort, in the form of a
motorbike. Despite our very leisured existence, this was the first time
he had had anything that approached a regular job, so he decided he
could celebrate by making himself mobile.
Many of us chipped in to help him get his bike, and he would practice
roaring up and down sleepy old 8th Lane on it, falling off regularly and
getting spectacularly bruised.
In time he proved an adept, charging about all over the country,
including once to Wilpattu to join us for a day, but he never stopped
falling off.
We had told Lily we would bring our lunch, and Richard introduced me
then to the joys of Rost Paan, with lashings of butter. Lily however
thought this most unsuitable, and insisted on providing us with one or
two curries, so we really ate very well.
We also had a sort of social life, with the occasional visitor, Willy
Pinto who always brought something to eat or drink, Michelle Leembruggen
who brought me her poetry to look over and then declared that she had
known the house as a child, since it belonged to some of her relations.
I still remember her walking dreamily round the garden, lost in
childhood memories.
The house is long gone now, sold after Mrs Perumal was finally
persuaded to go into a home, with Piyadasa and Lily moving to a house in
the Parliamentary complex.
The site is now occupied by a high-rise building. But I have fond
memories, of Michelle did, of an idyllic six months of creativity and
leisure.
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