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| Sunday, 27 June 2004 |
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Co-incidence by Sita Schoorman I felt my heart pounding against my chest, as I sat in the patio of my two storeyed bungalow, and read my son's letter. My mind went back to the early 1940s when I was a ten year old, studying at St. Mark's Missionary School for boys. Father was then the Divisional Medical Officer in a Provincial Hospital. Because he considered the education in the provincial schools not good enough for us, father had rented a house in the suburbs of Colombo, and deposited me and my sister Sirima to live there with mother and two servants.
Father came home every week end in his car, and we went on outings to the zoo and museum, and visited friends and relatives. Our childhood days were spent happily and contended. Friends I had many friends in those days, but one of my firmest friends was Raja. My father and Raja's father had been contemporaries at Medical College, so it followed that Raja and I should be buddies. I had just been promoted to the first Form in the Upper School, and it was on the first day of the new term that Raja first walked into our class with the Headmaster and his father. After introductions Raja was shown the empty desk beside me, and from that day our friendship blossomed. It was about a week after Raja joined my class, that father came home from a committee meeting at the General Hospital one Saturday afternoon, and announce that and old friend and colleague of his Dr. Gopalan, had been transferred as consultant surgeon, General Hospital, and that he had invited the whole family over for lunch the next day. I told father that I had already chummed up with Dr. Gopalan's son Raja at school, and that was how our families drew closer. There was not a single Thai Pongal breakfast we hadn't shared with the Gopalan's and partaken of the sweetened milk rice in which was embedded generous portions of raisins and cadjunuts, or gorged ourselves with thosais and idalis and the delicious sago based desert of payasam during Deepavali. Nor was there a single Pirith or Bana ceremony at the Amarasuriya home, where the Gopalan's had not sat cross-legged on the floor, listened to the chanting of the monks, and partaken of the meal of rice and curry, and the delectable dessrt of curd and treacle High Spirits One day after one of these family gatherings Raja's father was in high spirits, and had patted my father on the back and told him that he will never forget the support he gave him when he was a friendless and forlorn medic. Later that night father explained to us the significance of that statement. Dr. Gopalan was the first generation of learning. He had his beginnings in a village school in a remote estate on the hills, won awards to study in the big catholic school in the province, and from there a national scholarship for graduate studies to the only Medical College in the island. Here the other medics who hailed from wealthy aristocratic families had sneered at him, because he was only an estate labourer's son. But Dr. Gopalan had stood strong and resolute against all odds, and topped the list in the final examination with a glorious first class honours. He was now a leading surgeon in the island, and had many friends, but father remained the special one who had befriended him in those dark days. Admired I had always admired Raja, his good looks, and the effortless ease with which he did everything, whether it was passing examinations, making a speech at the school literary society or playing tennis, while I struggled awkwardly at most things as if I were born with two left hands. After hearing father's tale of Dr. Gopalan's lone struggle to the top, my respect and regard for that family increased all the more. The years of our close family associations took their toll. I began to notice that Raja's sister Valli, was no longer the lanky pig-tailed girl who used to play with my sister Sirima. Her thinly frame had filled out and taken the shape for a Venus-like figure. I could not help the way my eyes followed her every movement when she was in my presence. I felt she reciprocated my feelings for I saw her black eyes dart forth and her full lips break into a smile, whenever I entered the room. Ticket My family must have guessed what was going on within me, at least my sister Sirima had, for she asked me one day, "Ananda, aren't you coming to the end of term concert at the convent hall? Valli is taking part in the Rainbow Dance'. I jumped at the idea and bought a ticket for the show. Valli looked divinely beautiful in a figure hugging long dress. She had put up her hair, and the subtle make up she wore, enhanced her sharp features and fair complexion. I watched enthraled, as she danced gracefully to the tune of Judy Garland's ballad "Somewhere over the Rainbow". After the concert I took her out to the carnival grounds and bought her an iced coffee. When no one was looking, I took her soft palm gently in both my hands and pressed it to my lips. Our eyes met, "Darling" she said softly, and my heart sang at the sound of that word. Though no more words were exchanged between us that day, we woke up to the fact that we were in love with each other. Results The results of the London Matriculation Examination were out in the April of that year, and Raja and I had both got through. This was then the qualifying examination for entrance to the University. Raja had opted to pursue a medical career, while father had a place lined up for me at Cambridge to do a science degree. I felt a sense of foreboding and apprehension at having to leave without fixing anything definite between Valli and me. Approval I decided to approach my parents on the matter and get their approval. So one day after dinner I confronted them, told them how Valli and I felt about each other, and asked their blessings for our intended marriage. Neither my father nor my mother seemed very surprised. Perhaps like everyone else they had guessed how we felt. "Yes!" said my father, "We have seen Valli grow up, and are fond of her, but marriage!" and he paused. "We are Sinhala Buddhists, and they are Tamil Hindus", he continued after a while, "Marriages are not made without taking into consideration race and religion. Not in our country", he emphasized. "But father, Sinhalese and Tamils are all one human race". I argued, "And aren't our religions similar?" I went on to remind him how we had made pilgrimages to Kataragama together, and stood with the seething surging crowds and watched the scarlet clad Kavadi dancers, dance in all their frenzy, and witnessed the holy mendicants walk on glowing embers to fulfil vows. How we had climbed Adam's Peak together, and paid homage. "That may be, but marriage to Valli is out of the question", my father insisted. "Besides, what will your grandparents say? They will be shocked out of their wits. It's only a passing infatuation, and you will get over it in time", my father concluded. I argued, I begged, I offered to speak to Valli's parents myself, but nothing would make my parents change their minds. They would not hear of a marriage between Valli and me. There was nothing I could do in the circumstances, but go on being miserable and I never got a chance to be alone with Valli again. England I was set to sail for England in the September of that year, and the day before I was to leave the island, my friends and relatives had assembled to wish me good-bye. I went round shaking hands with each one in turn, and when it came to my turn to wish Valli, I kissed her tear stained face. "I will never forget you", were her parting words to me. During the voyage I thought of nothing else but Valli, and the hopelessness of our love. I sulked in my cabin most of the time, and read over and over again the lines she had written in my autograph album. "Deep in my heart, there will always be, A special place reserved for thee". Miserable When I reached England I continued to be miserable. It took me a long time to realise that feeling sorry for myself, will not take me very far. I gradually began to take an interest in the new life that was unfolding itself to me at the university. I enroled in amateur dramatics, tried hard to get into the rowing team, played tennis, did odd jobs in my spare time, got in and out of debt, bought myself a second hand sports car, and after four long years got myself a fairly good degree. Returned I returned home the same year and got employed in a British owned company as Personnel Manager. Three years later, I married a girl with my parents' blessings, with whom I have lived happily for the last thirty years. My career too, has been a prosperous and lucrative one. I rose from the position of Personnel Manager to be the Director of the Company, and from there went on to be Chairman of a Group of Companies, from which post I retired a year ago. We now live a relaxed, retired life in a home we built to suit our needs and tastes. The letter I am now reading, was from my eldest son who was in a prestigious university in the United States doing post graduate studies. It was full of the girl he had met at a weekend party in Los Angeles a month ago, and to whom he was engaged to be married. Her name was Chitra Doraisamy, and her parents were both Doctors of Medicine who had migrated and settled in the United States. "I am sure you will adore Chitra", my son wrote. "She is vivacious and fun loving, at the same time straight forward, sincere and simple in her ways. Her mother had had her primary and secondary education in a convent school in Sri Lanka, and what's more our grandparents seem to have known each other very well. Chitra's parents, especially her mother Aunt Valli, are thrilled over our intended union, and think it is the best thing that could have happened to their only daughter. I suspect Aunt Valli may have been a silent admirer of yours Dad, for I saw a glint in her eye when she asked me to write and tell you that 'Perhaps God in his infinite wisdom had willed it to be this way". |
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The education in schools around the capital city, which we attended
were considered to be of high standard. Sirima went to the convent school
by the beach, and I attended the boys school further up on the hill.
Rengasamy would take us in his rickshaw every morning, punctually at 8
o'clock, and deposit us on the door step of our respective schools, with
our bag of books and cough syrup bottle containing orange juice. Gregoris,
the old retainer, would bring us our lunch of rice and curry at noon,
which we ate up hungrily in the lunch room of our schools. In the evening
Rengasamy called for us again when school was over, and took us home.
