The Flower of Love: Bennie meets Manel

As told by Bala Malli

 

 

Amma and  Prasanna Aiya were just about to leave for Colombo early morning, when Thatha still in bed shouted  “Wait, wait I have a letter for Chulie.”  Prasanna  Aiya puffing on his  cigarette raring to go rolled his eyes upwards.  Amma grumbling, but ever indulgent went to collect the letter muttering under her breath ” Don’t know what he writes to the daughters, never shows me.”

“Read it quickly and see if you need to buy anything for him and whether we need to take it back,” said Amma handing the letter to Podi Akka,  in Nugegoda.

 The letter was scrawled on the back of a photocopy of an article.  Thatha was always making photocopies of his favourite articles, posting them to friends or the akka’s and his bed was usually littered with papers and books. He read a lot.  Poetry, western mostly, which he liked to quote, and books on Buddhism and philospohy – Krishnamurthi being a favourite at that time.  He once advised Podi Akka to do a “Desai” — drink your own pee first thing in the morning to stay healthy, like a former Indian Prime Minister.

Thatha could and did write anything and everything to Podi Akka that came to his head — in Sinhalese and English — no censoring.  This particular one was a gem.  The letter purportedly written by Amma in her teens to an agony columist of the Sunday Observer said:

 Dear Aruni

 I am the eldest daughter in our family, unblemished as the lotus flower I was named after and was brought up by my maternal grandmother in a Walauwa in Panadura. While on a pilgrimage to the shrine in the jungle, we stopped at a house of a relative of mine in Hikkaduwa.  There I met this handsome young man at the doorway to his house and he  served us tea.  He reappeared as we finished bathing in the river before going to the shrine, and he made us marmite soup with just a touch of lime.  On the way back he sat with my brother Sepal in our bus. Now he visits our school on the pretext of visiting his aunt who is the Principal of the school.  The problem is that my friends call him “Redda” for wearing national dress and I hear his mother will veto a proposal.  What should I do?

 Aruni’s reply (written of course by Thatha):

Get him to wear western dress and hope his mother will die soon, you are sure to be a winner.

 

And they tied the knot nearly 3 years after the first memorable meeting in 1941.  Amma did turn out to be the predicted winner but couldn’t get Thatha to wear western dress on the wedding day.  The wedding took place in the ample and beautiful gardens of the Dissanayake Waluwa in Pandura on June 8th 1944.  Amma was 21 going on 22 and Thatha was 25 at the time of marriage – I guess Hikkaduwe Achchi didn’t veto the proposal in the end,  but the fact that Amma was brought up by her maternal grandmother  — a strcit disciplinarian, stood her in good stead with an autocratic and exacting mother-in-law.  And I think it did help that Amma was an excellent cook bringing wth her all the culinary skills the Waluwa folks were famous for.

Although Thatha would refer jokingly to Amma as “my (n)ever loving” wife in letters to Poddi Akka, they were together for 58 years.  When he lay sick and bedridden it was only Amma’s cooking he wanted . He would chase Podi akka away from his bedside saying she can’t chant pirith with the same intonation and lilting tone as Amma.  Thatha was lucky — Amma was chanting  pirith by his bedside when he took his last breath on August 31, 2002.  For Thatha his Manel was eternally sweet  – Manel Suwandamaya. …

Hikkaduwa Achchi died on January 19, 1948 after a sudden acute attack of asthma.  Amma is probably the only one who still remembers the death anniversary of her mother-in-law and gives a “dane” in memory of her.

 

In the photo from Left to write:  Flower girl Nimal Podi Amma — Amma’s cousin from Panadura ; bridesmaid Podi Amma Irangani ( Amma’s only sister fondly called Poddi by the two akka’s); page boy Senaka – the boy genius, the youngest son of Loku Thatha and Loku Amma died tragically never realising his full potential; Amma  wearing no veil as most brides did then and now (even Buddhists) in keeping with Thatha’s national dress; Bestman Honda Mama Thatha’s lifelong best friend – Professor M.B. Ariyapala lived 90+ years and died after Thatha; Bridesmaid Enid Kudamma Thatha’s cousin and Bala Achchi’s daughter now deceased; and flower girl Punya Akka ( eldest daughter of Albert Hong Kong Mahappa and Naela Mahamma).

Faintly visible in the wedding photo — left hand side the hood of the Waluwa bullock drawn carriage and on the right corner Thatha’s Renault car. The original photo in our house was lost with the tsunami.  This was the photo that was with the Bestman Honda Mama, which Neela Nanda passed on to Amma.

Photographs©Chulie Kirtisinghe de Silva

Remembering Father B –Bhasura the Lion of Hikkaduwa

 

 

 

 

I had started writing this on the 13 May my father’s birthday, thought I’d finish it for Father’s day but couldn’t do it either.  So many years down the line,  I still can’t write about him without crying, without being choked by a myriad of memories. 

 

But I have a 3rd generation of Kirtisinghe’s watching this blog, so I need to finish this and get this out today.

 

Annemarie in Melbourne asked why did the brothers K change their names — I think it was with the wave of Sinhala nationalism and because of their maternal Uncle P.de S. Kularatne’s influence.  Bennie took the name Bhasura meaning lion and became the lion — Sinha of the Kirtisinghes’.

 

Nirmal  (My cousin Hemal’s son, and No.4  K,  Richie’s grandson) had found the blog by accident  and wrote: 

 

“I remember Bennie Seeya being a great story teller, and a very interesting person at any given time (I think most of the original Kirtisinghes were, though I have not met four of them). Vinnie Seeya was one of my favourites too, and had a mind as sharp as a knife even in his later years. “

“I hope you get some free time in the coming days so you can write some more (always interesting) stories in your blog. I will keep an eye on it definitely…

               

So here is one more…  

 

 

 

13 May, Washington

 

Today far away from Hikkaduwa in an alien land, I wake up in a strange room and think of Thatha.  13  May  was the day Thatha was born in 1918 – the second son to be born in the Siri Niwasa house at Hikkaduwa.  In all his letters to me he used to sign off as BK or Father B.

 

As a father he embodied the Sinhala  term “pithru snehaya” — a  love  father gives  a child– he was an incurable romantic  sensitive, totally a social bod in that for him what mattered most was family,  friends, our friends, villagers, tourists he met  – well in short everyone he came across mattered to him. 

 

The Siri Niwas house was an open house 24/7.  No one who came in left without some refreshments.   Mostly it was an invitation to stay for lunch or dinner.  And many were the ones who trooped in for sea baths and stayed to have a fresh young coconut  “thambili” water — plucked straight from the trees he had planted.  

 

There were stories to be told,  laughter to be shared, and plenty of sharp caustic  witty  comments.  He was in today’s terms a “wyswyg” character.  Sometimes the comments  were far too sharp and his foot in the mouth comments hit sensitive spots and we had angry relatives.  He was probably too laid back for this day and age.  Certainly he  was not the best in managing finances  and never had enough in his bank but his life was rich with love — the love he gave generously was repaid by many with dividends.

 

 After the tsunami, in Amma’s birawa almirah (Which had earlier belonged to Hikkaduwa Achchi) this note with instructions for Thatha’s funeral was found. Thatha had repeatedly mentioned all this  to me but I didn’t know such a note existed. 

 

 

If I get bumped off (no regrets) don’t take the ‘body’ home.  Keep it at CBO Florists (Kalubowila) and ‘fire off’ at Galkissa as early as possible.

 Inform the eye donation society and give the cornea ( the consent papers are at Hkd iron safe left drawer).

 Get the cheapest paraphernalia and only Bougainvillea Flowers. No music & no carpets. No “sokaspraksha” (obituary)

Only family members to handle

 BK (signed) 19.12.77

 

Did we follow his instructions? No we didn’t and there were  no Bougainvillea Flowers.  Not out of disrespect.  I wanted to –but others, true to village traditions howled with protests. “If we cremate him  like that the villagers will think we were too stingy to feed them,” said Amma. 

 

So we had the biggest funeral I’ve ever seen in my life.  For 3 days we hired a cook and turned the Poseidon Diving Station next door  to a large dining room.   And we catered on average for 350 people, breakfast, lunch and dinner.  For 3 days and nights people came and went and we scrambled to buy food, work out menus, make tea and coffee. 

 

They came from far the long lost relatives, friends’ friends who had all enjoyed the  hospitality of Uncle Bennie.  There  were the old and feeble ones, escorted and propped up and aided but yet wanted to pay their respects.  Some were the ones he had given money regularly from his pension.  Amma only then realised why he never had much money in his pension.

 

Once he shared his cognac with a fisherman, one who was used to the sharp illicit brew “Kassippu” for his daily tot.  He probably found the cognac very mild to taste and had polished most of the bottle.  He never made it home but was found by his family curled up and sleeping at the  railway station.   The question of course in Hikkaduwa was what exactly did Mr. Bennie give him to drink.

 

 

Then there was Liyanage, the son of a school teacher parents who had not done much with his life.  But he was at our house as soon as he heard of  Thatha’s death and when we handed his body to the undertakers he stayed at the funeral parlour keeping an eye on the body. 

 

  

 

 

 

View of the sea through the cinnamon stick fence, Siriniwasa, Hikkaduwa.

Photo© Chulie de Silva

 

 

 

Liyanage sat with me on the back verandah steps on the floor after the funeral. Emotionally I was spent.  I sat staring out at the inky night,  and the tears  were not far behind.  The roar of  the waves was gentle  but didn’t soothe me as it normally did.  Liyanage broke the silence and said he wished he had a gun to give him a gun salute at the crematorium.   Memories of  the number of times of Father B had advised him to tread the straight and narrow path  was still fresh in his mind.  and he told me how this advise had helped him.  Pointing to the top of the coconut trees he said  “he told me that when the crests of the trees are as high as the roof of the house, I’ll be gone.”  Sure enough the top leaves were as high as the roof  on that day.