Last of the revolutionists

by Henry Jayasena

They don’t make people like Reggie anymore. When I say ‘they’ I mean all the elements, conditions, and perhaps Gods too, that have the power to make men.

Reggie was, perhaps the last of a host of sturdy, dedicated and colourful characters of the pioneering Leftists of Ceylon. Yes, Ceylon and NOT Sri Lanka.

I had the good fortune of knowing and associating with Reggie. No, not in politics, but in his artistic and ‘gastronomic’ endeavours. I came to know him in the early sixties when I was a member of an Arts Society called the Lanka Mahajana Kala Mandalaya. The Chairman of this Mandalaya was also another Senator - Senator Chandra Gunasekera, and Reggie was also associated with it.

Little did I know at that time that this Mandalaya was in fact an umbrella organisation of the L. S. S. P. I was introduced to this Mandalaya by a young man called Piyasena Gunatilleke who had been introduced to me by my brother working at the Social Services Department.

Piyasena was keen to be an actor, I was told by my brother. In fact, he did act in some of my early plays such as Vedagathkama, Aththa Kumakda and Manaranjana Veda Warjana.

Piyasena Gunatilleke was the Secretary of the Lanka Mahajana Kala Mandalaya and I produced several of my plays such as Janelaya, Kuveni, Tavat Udesanake, Manaranjana Veda Warjana and even the initial performances of Hunu Wataye Katawa through this Mandalaya.

Even without my knowledge, Reggie had been following my theatrical career ‘from the wings’ as it were. Reggie became a great fan of Kuveni. In fact, he wrote a glowing review of the play to the Evening Observer of that time.

The song ‘Sath Siyak’ of the play became one of his favourite songs and whenever Manel was around there was no escape for her until she sang the song several times and each time Reggie would listen to it enraptured.

About this time, Reggie was also becoming more and more active in his literary and other cultural pursuits. One of my treasured possessions is a slim volume of poetry called Orchids and Cacti published by him in the early sixties.

UNESCO Fellowship

In 1964, I was selected for a UNESCO Fellowship in Drama and Theatre, offered by the Education Ministry. By this time Reggie and his family had become our close friends. After winning the Fellowship, I was in a bit of a quandary as to the itinerary I should prepare to be submitted to my sponsors - the UNESCO.

Although I had gulped down a fair quantity of English, American, French, Russian and Indian plays etc., by reading, I knew very little about world theatre - specially, where I should proceed to get the best advantages of the Fellowship.

According to the terms of the Fellowship, I had to select the countries I wished to visit and also name some of the institutions I wished to study at. I made several enquiries from several persons who had travelled much but their advice was conflicting and wearisome.

And so I finally decided to meet Reggie and get his sound advice on the matter. I have mentioned this incident rather graphically in one of my Theatre Memoirs - Nim Nethi Kathawak - published sometime ago I would like to present a rough rendering of the relevant passages:-

“Suddenly I had an idea. I telephoned my friend Senator Reggie Perera - I was sure he knew much about these matters...... Why did not I think of him before......? He is a much travelled man...... and he is extremely knowledgeable about these things......”

“Yes, yes. come, come immediately. I’ll be waiting for you at the Senate canteen......” Reggie was hollering into the phone.

“Come......”

I started out immediately to the Senate premises. It was not a very long distance from my dusty Record Room of the Public Works Department in Fort, where I worked.

It was about eleven thirty in the morning - about the time that people started emerging from their little cells and walked about, either for their lunch or some of other little pleasure such as a quick buy in one of the shops or from the pavement, or perhaps to browse around at one of the several pavement book stalls.... And this day they all seemed friendly, even more beautiful...... Someone smile - a face I had seen often. A lass who would walk tight - lipped and looking straight ahead on other days, seems to be offering me a reluctant bit of a smile...... “Ah, here he is, on some happy jaunt......” Some of the smiling faces seemed to say...... When I entered the Senate canteen, Senator Reggie Perera was already seated in a comfortable chair and waiting for me. “Come, come......” A white coat-sleeved supple hand summoned me to the table. I sat in a chair facing the Senator.

“So, you have got a Fellowship......” It’s more a happy declaration than a question.

“Yes”

“To study the Theatre Arts....”

“Yes”

Meanwhile the Senator was holding a hand up to summon a waiter.

“Kapuge....” And Kapuge was there in a jiffy. The Senator made a kind of ‘V’ sign using his well-rounded middle finger and the index finger. Kapuge understood the signal, nodded and moved away.

“So, what is your problem....” Reggie was focusing his attention on me.

“The problem Sir, is in deciding where to go....”

I replied rather wearily. By this time I was rather tired of repeating this statement.

“Oh.... to decide where to go....? Reggie repeated my statement in question form, and he smiled. His warm, friendly rather roguish little smile. His smile seemed to loosen the tight little knots in my head that this problem had created.

Kapuge reappeared with two half-filled glasses and a fizzing bottle of soda in a tray, placed it carefully on the table and moved away. I was used to this ritual by Reggie, and I took it in its stride. Reggie poured a dash of soda into his glass - rather like a lover of curd pouring honey into his bowl of curd. It seemed as if he was enjoying the symphony of the soda mixing with the double distilled arrack in his glass.

I followed suit. This is a happy day indeed. It was an occasion to celebrate in this manner even though it was nearly midday. Reggie took two sips, made a face and crossed his mouth with a comfortable backhand. I took a good sip too and lit a cigarette. I have never seen Reggie smoking a cigarette. Occasionally I had seen him not smoking but chewing on a cigar.

Russia

Reggie was watching me intently from under his eyes. It was a look that Reggie employed sometimes. It was the mischievous look of a little boy who had just sprung one of his pranks on someone.

I noted his look and made myself ready for the next move.

“Young man....” Reggie was looking straight at me.

“Young man, there’s only one country to go to if it’s Theatre you want to learn....” He left the statement uncompleted and took what one would call a ‘dramatic pause’. And he took another sip from his glass easing it comfortably down his throat. I was still looking on.

“And that country is.... Russia....!” He completed the sentence.

“Russia....?” I echoed with a big question mark.

“Of course Russia....! In the Soviet Union....! Where else do you think people like Chekov, Gorky, Meyerhold, Stanislavsky, Mayakovsky and Solshenitzin live....?”

Reggie went on with great enthusiasm.

“But isn’t it only Solshenitzin who is still among the living out of all of them...?” I quarried more to display my own knowledge of the Soviet greats, rather than anything else.

“And one never knows when Solshenitzin will decamp too...”

I was trying to be clever. I was by now feeling the warmth of the double distilled arrack too.

Reggie was looking at me the way a powerful wrestler would look at a sibling of an opponent.

“Who told you that Chekov is dead? That Gorky is dead? That Mayakovasky is dead...? Reggie thundered. “If that is the case then that man called Shakespeare should be dead too..!” “You chaps only know about Shakespeare. That too not by reading, by hearsay..! Name one play of Shakespeare that has been brought on the Sinhala stage. ..I don’t mean those terrible, dislocated, murderous versions of the Bard... that have now and then sprouted on our stages...! What I mean are the real, powerful, brooding, explosive, melancholy Shakespeare...! But what about Chekov? Gorky? Even the dumbest political donkey in this country will know about them...!” Thundered Reggie again.

“I am of course not in the category of political donkies.”

I protested as calmly as I could, and with immense humility.

“But I have, in fact, read a few plays of the Bard, and of Chekov and Gorky too...”

Reggie is a man who could suddenly explode in words. I knew that. It was not my wish to enrage him. My wish was to get his good advice.

“What could I do in a country like Russia..?” I was protesting weakly, totally overawed by the rhetoric of this literary giant. “I don’t even know the language...” I was voicing my doubts and worries. Reggie looked at me for a long time. He was looking at me as if to say “I say Henry, I did not know you were such a fool...” I was a little annoyed and made no effort to hide it. And the alcohol in me was warming me too. I was aware that Reggie was also feeling the same warmth. Yet, I will not be cowed down... I have come for his advice. Not to be ridiculed.. Hell of a how-do-you-do..! I fortify myself with another gulp from my drink.

And Reggie started laughing. He laughed displaying his superb set of dentures. (It was only later I learnt that they were dentures. At the moment I thought they were the real thing.) He laughed beautifully and roguishly. This is also one of his defensive weapons, that full-throated laugh. And I am yet to meet anyone who would not be tamed by that laughter...!

Reggie is not given to anger. He only pretends to be angry.

Then he spoke very calmly. And patiently. As if he were talking to a child.

“Henry, is there a language to theatre? To music? To art? Man, there is no language to Art. The only language in Art are feelings, wisdom, patterns of sound, patterns of visuals...” He was speaking with immense elation.

“The Russian Theatre has been enriched by so many languages - French, English, Italian, Spanish, Chinese - by practically all languages.” He paused for a good long breath.

“You will find the best and the most disciplined Theatre in Russia...And their Bolshoi..Ah..., My God...!”

Stage needs discipline

“I am not going to be a ballet dancer exactly...” I piped in.

“Stop uttering foolish things, Henry. You are going to study the Stage, and the Stage needs discipline. Whether, it’s a play, a ballet, a musical or whatever it is... And you will need to learn that discipline my dear man...!”

“You don’t need a language to learn that? Yes, it’s true, our people also stage plays. Yes, they do. But that’s all they do. They just put it on stage. No craft, no discipline. They don’t know a damned thing about Stage Discipline! About stage craft! About stage management!”

He took another deep breath, and eased his throat with another sip of the drink. I was mesmerised by the magnitude of his knowledge. I just kept mum and listened.

“I have seen your plays. Janelaya, Kuveni etc. You have a good sense of the theatre...”

And so it was Reggie Perera who helped me decide where to proceed on my Fellowship and proceed I did, to Moscow on the 19th of October, 1964.

Lot of flak

I think that was the best bit of advice I have ever got from another human being.

And on my return, my very first play was called Manaranjana Veda Warjana a play about strikes and strikers. I came into a lot of flak from the very Lanka Mahajana Kala Mandalaya who presented the new production, and rather proudly too.

When some of the ultra leftist elements started finding fault with me in my treatment of the strikers, (According to them I had betrayed the Trade Union Movement in this country) it was Reggie who came to my rescue.

He had the broadness of mind and inner wisdom in him to say openly that I had the right to interpret a strike and its strikers according to my own vision as a playwright. And that I did not have to toe the line of die-hard leftist ideals.

Reggie was a regular visitor at my rehearsals of Hunu Wataye Katawa a couple of years later. He introduced me to the then East German Consulate so that I could get any help I needed for my production. I believe he was also behind my visit to East Germany almost immediately after the first run of the play.

Reggie understood people. He helped them. Promoted them. But never talked about it.

While being an idealist he was also quick to see the practical side of things. I particularly remember the final music rehearsal of Hunu Wataye Katawa. Reggie was there in the audience together with Senator Chandra Gunasekera and some others.

Upto that day our music composer, Shelton Premaratne had used only five or six instrumentalists in his orchestra. But on this day, while all else was ready for the opening bell, Shelton was still bringing in players for the orchestra.

There was a trombone player, a bass player and two or three chaps were bringing in a huge Chinese Drum. I counted and there were sixteen members to the new orchestra. And perhaps as many musical instruments.

Anyway, the curtain opened and the play began. Shelton Master could be seen having a whale of a time producing fantastic sounds to back the various situations in the play, I was a little worried and decided to have a chat with Shelton at some convenient time. Came the interval bell and Reggie whispered in my ear:-

Orchestra pit

“I say, all this music is very well, but how are you going to accommodate all of them without an orchestra pit?We don’t have orchestra pits in any of our halls...?”

“Don’t worry Reggie. I will speak to Shelton about it. I am sure he will realise our limitations..” I replied. And that is exactly what happened. Finally we were able to persuade Shelton to reduce his live orchestra to just eight members.

I did speak earlier of Reggie’s culinary skills, We have been the beneficiaries of his mouth-watering recepies several occasions - specially when we were engaged in shooting Reggie’S film Sadol Kandulu, in which Manel played the main role. I wrote the dialogue and the songs for the film and I was present at most of the shooting at Panapitiya. Reggie would produce all kinds of succulent dishes out of river fish mixed with herbal leaves and certain condiments, which only he knew. I can’t remember Reggie partaking much of his preparations but I do remember he relished seeing his guests enjoying his elaborately prepared but simple curries.

That was Reggie, most often in the wings’ appreciating other people enjoying his handiwork. I would like to end this little appreciation of Reggie with a free rendering in English, of a little poem I penned for him when I came to know he had left us in our shores and passed away into his own nirvana....

Let me speak to you,

Reggie

You
Your laughter
Let me retain
In my memory
As they were...

Once
You grew some stubble
On your face
Declaring
“I shall look fierce..!”

That man
Who was unable
To look fierce
I will
Remember..

I will not
Look at the bier
Where your remains are
held
Silent and still...

No
I will not look
And let the tears well
In mine eyes..
You are far too precious
To me
Than a well of tears

Let me
Remember you
The way you were
Full of life
Wisdom
And laughter...