Farewell to "The prince of obituarists"

It was on a cold sombre wintry morning in Oslo on November 22, when I read by chance an item in the internet on the 22nd of November conveying the passing away of my dear friend Ajith Samaranayake. At once I deadened with momentary disbelief for he was too young to put his pen down so soon. But reality awakened me with the thought that we walk in death's shadow at every living moment of our lives.

I first made my acquaintance with Ajith over 10 years ago in Paris when he came over with Manohari to cover a food festival organised by our Embassy. I had read of his brilliance before but at sight he appeared an enigma for his self-effacing personality and mild mannerism did not quite match his fame. A few minutes into the conversation and all doubt vanished. I was indeed talking to a great writer who was also a thinker. Thereon we became very close friends.

Ajith had an extraordinary range of interests - drama, cinema, literature, and politics to name a few. He always wrote from the depth of his heart after a great deal of musing. An unmistakable quality of reflection was evident. He was totally devoid of burlesque and had the uncanny ability to see through a haze of controversy and a myriad of views and write a story in the most inspiring manner encompassing the pith and substance of the subject. His writings were deep and based on much background reading which all went into play whether he was writing about a mundane food festival in Paris in which the "hoppers failed to rise", or a deep analysis of the successes and failures of the left movement in Sri Lanka or a moving piece on a friend who had crossed the Elysian fields.

Without fear of contradiction I could say that Ajith's command of English was masterly. The syntax, alliteration and metaphor were always in full flow and play in a uniquely Samaranayakesque style. Yet for all the richness of style there was not even a trace of turgidity. He had a deep feeling for his roots in Kandy and for Trinity, which he fondly referred to as "the school at the edge of Udawattakele". Recently on the passing away of a childhood acquaintance he wrote rather melancholily "the leisurely days of innocence are retreating into the mist of nostalgic memory .... now our family ties with Kandy are sundered and a last line in a chain of friendship snapped". Was it a foreboding of things to come? I wonder.

The late Reggi Siriwardene once described Ajith in one of his poetical renderings as "the prince of obituarists". How true since Ajith did not merely heap praise on the deceased but also ever so gently pointed out to his foibles which are indeed part and parcel of human existence. Whatever he penned he did so with an intense sense of belonging, feeling the heart and pulse of the topic.

Each year I never forgot to send a New Year card to my good friend. This year was no exception. As I pasted the envelope in time to catch the diplomatic bag a week ago it suddenly occurred to me that I had not read his "Sunday Essay" in the Observer in a long while and I promised myself to call him. Now that is a promise I could never hope to keep. I shall surely miss those meetings and banter we used to have in Colombo - he invariably with some bacchanalian brew in hand and I with a lemonade which he with a mischievous smile referred to "as the drink of the faint hearted"!

The caprice of destiny made Ajith a brilliant journalist whose writings have touched so many in different ways. We were indeed privileged by his last incarnation.

When all is said and done and the dust settles Ajith Samaranayake would be long remembered in terms reserved for the highest journalistic lore. He was an extraordinary wielder of the pen in our time - possibly of all time. Above all he will be remembered as a simple unassuming man, a rare human being indeed one who was much more than the sum of his parts.

With Shelly I shall say of Ajith

"... his fate and fame shall be

An echo and a light unto eternity"

Farewell my friend

Ahmed A. Jawad, Ambassador for Sri Lanka, Norway.