Paul Riesman came with intersection and justice last night
The
man who introduced me to the subject of Anthropology was Paul Riesman.
This was at Carlton College, Minnesota, where I spent a trimester along
with four other Sri Lankans from the University of Peradeniya as part of
a student exchange programme called ‘ISLE’. Professor Riesman was kind,
understanding and an excellent teacher. I enjoyed being in his class.
I wrote to him a couple of times after I returned, the second time to
request that he write recommendations to schools in the USA that I was
applying to. This was at the height of the bheeshanaya of the late 80s
when the entire university system had collapsed. I still remember his
response. It was warm. He said he was happy to recommend me and I
believe this is how it was possible for me to complete my degree. He
said something else.
‘If there is any justice in this world, our paths will cross again, I
am sure.’
I never saw him again. When I got to the USA, I wrote to him. His
wife replied me. She said that he had died of a ruptured pancreas a few
months before. It had been sudden.
I thought of his note about justice and paths that cross. I wondered
then if there was no justice in this world.
Later it dawned on me that the relevant unit of time was not lifetime
but Samsara or the notion of lifetimes. In the plural.
It makes multiple intersections possible and therefore concedes space
to the possible consecration of justice in terms of my teacher’s thesis.
I also realized that not all intersections are of body encountering body
but can include the intersections of and among thoughts, memories and
other related things.
Paul Riesman came to mind last night outside a fast food outlet. I
remembered him on account of an intersection, which I called
‘re-intersection’ and recounted thus:
Last night my love of a different century arrived at a take-away.
There was chit-chat and update pleasantries as such are customary,
subtexts too, slipped in and duly noted.
Last night memory intersected with memory: Two who had acquired
journey weight lightened for a moment, stopped time.
‘Chicken fried rice deka ganna!’ her order was ready. She smiled: ‘I
have to go’.
The stable had bolted leaving horse behind, many centuries ago, I
already knew.
This intersection was not scripted; but then again, perhaps it was.
There is justice in this world and I am certain that I have met Paul
Riesman many times since I left Carlton College on December 1, 1997. I
might have not recognized him and he might have passed by without
noticing. Last night I saw him. Recognised. He was a wonderful human
being. He is, still.
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