Tissa Devendra - Belletrist

"That is a good book which is opened with expectation and closed with delight and profit."
- Amos Brownson Alcott (1799 - 1888)

Frequenting book - launches, is almost a way of life with me. This has been so for quite a while now. These take place in an extensive variety of venues, and, as a matter of course, they tend to follow, more or less, a mandatory routine.

But, when self-styled penpusher Tissa Devendra, made up his mind to present his works to the public domain, in a twin-launch, he strayed a wee bit, from the beaten-track of such literary rituals.

At the start of the proceedings, the obligatory oil-lamp - a compulsory presence on such occasions as these - was not around. Incidentally to my mind, resting the oil-lamp seems a thoughtful move, since at most events those qualified to light the lamp, profusely out number available wicks, leaving some rankled.

Audience

The total book - launch exuded the strange "feel" of he past shaking hands with the present. The past was very much present at the whole ceremony. Many of those who prestigiously formed the audience, seemed rich repositories of career-long experience, garnered through prolonged, hard-driven days in the State service.

Tissa Devendra

Publisher Vijitha Yapa, set the tone of the launch, with wit his initial statement. His presentation was sumptuously laced with humour. He did not hesitate to deliver a keen barb or two, while projecting a seeming innocence. He elicited ripples of laughter from the featured speakers and the elitist audience.

The evening was filled with ex-secretaries, ex-commissioners, ex-directors and various other important ex'es from State service. But their effusive appreciation of the wit and humour lavishly ladled out by the speakers, proved vehemently that they were not at all ex-human beings, forced into a jaded cynicism, through decades of penpushing at State desks.

Bureaucrat

Super bureaucrat K.H.J. Wijayadasa, displayed in his address, that characteristic meticulous care, he usually brings to his communications - both written and spoken. He spoke with a marked sense of solemnity and a world-weary tone came through his words.

But, for all that, an occasional observation that teetered precariously on the verge of the risque, betrayed his streak of mischief, that lurked right beneath the surface of seriousness.

All the speakers dwelt avidly and ardently, on their experiences - both intimate and official in which, the central presence, of course, was penpusher Tissa Devendra. (I must confess, that the expression 'Penpusher', does not appeal to me very much. I would rather have it elevated to 'Quil Weilder', which is sufficiently pompous, archaic and interestingly quaint).

The proceedings eventually took on the guise of a coterie of cronies, comparing notes. This 'flavour' of the gathering, made the audience feel privileged, that they were allowed to eavesdrop on the hearty exchange between a group of high-level state officials, who had shared many a moment of fun and anxiety, in the hey-day of their State service.

Proclivity

An inescapable element in all those presentations, was their marked proclivity towards humour. Each one of them had his own personal store of humorous anecdotes.

My considered view of the matter is, that those in high places of State bureaucracy develop a steadying sense of humour as an antidote to the quotidian frustrations brought on by the routine of their career.

Officials in the exalted rungs of Government service (the high priests in the Gulf of State bureaucracy) invariably come under compelling imperatives. In the earlier days there were FR and AR. Later on you had JR and PR. Over and above the vexations resulting from those, the State bureaucrat is reduced to species of internal migrants moved around by inevitable transfers.

At remote posts, leading bureaucrats flock together. The plus-side of all this, is the emerging of lasting friendships and the accumulation of highly diverting anecdotes. Some exceptional bureaucrats distil these rich memories into fiction, as Leonard Woolf did, when he added "Village in the Jungle" to the classics of world literature.

Reminiscences

In an admirable lettering effort, writer Tissa Devendra, has rivetingly recorded the reminiscences of his long and distinguished career in public service. His book titled "Memories of a Penpusher, - Kachcheries and Commissions", is a 'reluctant' treatise on the cathedral of the cult of State bureaucracy. I say 'reluctant', because he dutifully confesses in his "Introduction" to the work, "that it is, most definitely, not academic teatise.

But, as it has turned out, their is the most effective in-depth chronicle on Kachcheries, that has appeared so far. The format of subjective perception he has adopted for his narration, enhances, the plausibility, authenticity and also the readability of the work.

The elaborate ritual, that takes place, when the rural folk led by their Headmen, make an attempt to placate the White Brahmin, is narrated with a sense of subdued humour. While perusing these lines, one can vaguely hear in one's mind the sound of a suppressed guffaw.

Many of the humorous anecdotes accommodated in this work, pivot round the domineering presence of the "White Brahmin's" spouse. She is being reduced to a figure of fun somewhat unchivalrously, to my mind.

Raconteur

The Foreword contributed by S.S. Wijesinha raconteur par excellence is an enlivening entree, to writer Tissa Devendra's alluring literacy offering.

The chief guest at the book launch, Minister Sarath Amunugama, seemed as if he had been fleetingly transported through time to his childhood days and his youthful years, to the Horseshoe Street Kandy, which is the theme of another book by the writer. The minister recalled his days in those haunts, with unabashed glee.

As I see it, penpusher Tissa Devendra, pre-eminently represents a fast vanishing breed, is the literary and cultural landscape of our country - the belletrist. By definition, a belletrist is a writer who produces literature because of the sophisticated and elitist pleasure he derives from the cultivation of the art of writing, for its own sake.

I have a very personal note to make when I flipped through the pages of his book "On Horseshoe Street", I experienced a startlingly pleasant discovery. His essay in this work titled, "Who remembers Arthur Mee", made it instantly clear to me that I have come upon a kindred spirit. From childhood on Arthur Mee has remained a literary hero for me.

My formative years were enriched by Arthur Mee's Children's Encyclopedia, with which I had spent endless hours of reading. I admired Arthur Mee so much, I decided that when I grow up I will part my hair as Arthur Mee has done, in the portrait in the Encyclopedia.

But, I never thought I will ever meet another person, who would be an equally fervent devotee of Arthur Mee. Here, in his book dedicated to his mother Clarice Ruth and his wife Chinta Indrani, writer Tissa Devendra gushingly remembers Arthur Mee. This way, penpusher Tissa Devendra's book-launch, brought about a persona spun-off, for me.