Love is irreversible and life forever young
It
seems that either I am in some coincidental time warp or have suddenly
become more conscious of things looked at or heard but not seen or
listened to. I’ve been writing about intersections and random encounters
more frequently than usual, I realize.
Monday night was made of encounters that taught me how meaningless
time and direction are. My sister had to go for a recorded interview on
Prime TV - that’s ‘Celebrity Chat’ hosted by Kumar De Silva. She’s no
celebrity. She was always the kid sister and always will be, even though
she’s travelled the world, acquired a name and is the mother of three
beautiful girls. I asked a friend to take her to Thalawathugoda. It so
happened that the reverse gear was out of order; the driver had to find
a place wide enough to turn the vehicle. Reminded me of a sticker I’ve
seen on three-wheel taxis, ‘aadarayata brake nae; jeevithayata reverse
nae’ (Love is without brakes and life without reverse).
I managed to make it to the TV station in a three-wheeler, just to
chit-chat with her. Accompanied her into the studio, said hello to my
friend Kumar, wished them well and left. That’s where it all started.
Professional journeys
Kumar had just finished recording an interview with another
celebrity, the accomplished dancer Vindya Warakagoda. It was her father
who had come with the ‘little girl’. It was the first time I saw
Wijeratne Warakagoda. Years before, when working at the Sunday Island, I
would interview people of his vintage, try to capture their lives in
2,000-3,000 word pieces: the landmarks, the inspiration, the anecdotes
and companions on their personal and professional journeys. It had been
a while since I ‘profiled’ anyone, but memory stirred; I introduced
myself and told him that I would like to interview him. Soft spoken,
humble and kind, he smiled and agreed. He gave me his number. I will
visit one of these days and do my best to do justice to this remarkable
artist. For now, I’ll talk intersection.
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Wijeratne
Warakagoda |
There were two Wijeratne Warakagoda ‘moments’ in my life. The first
was at Peradeniya University sometime in the year 1986. Amaranath
Jayatilleka’s 1981 film ‘Arunata Pera’ (Before the Dawn) was being
screened at the Arts Theatre. Warakagoda played the lead role, ‘Banda’.
I remember walking out that night convinced that we will dawn a
different tomorrow. After almost two decades I wrote, ‘Why does the
night of longing end not as dawn but night again’, in a despondent and
perhaps cynical moment. That was a passing moment, for ‘dawn-hope’ is
what makes certain elements of our this-nights sufferable.
Social process
Back in 1986 things were pretty black-white. There was one night and
therefore only one possible dawn. As the years rolled on I realized
there are nights and nights and while some can and do end in dawns there
are others that roll from night to night and night again, with
disconcerting and crippling regularity. It took time to figure out that
there’s a difference between what seems and what is and that the
pathways to comprehending the infinite universe of the to-be-known is
not incremental gathering of data. There are other dawns and other ways
of dawning, my surface-scratching reading of the Buddha Vachana
indicated to me.
‘Arunata Pera’, therefore, through the years acquired even greater
significance for it persuaded me to read Jayatilleka’s script in
metaphorical sense without limiting to the literal unfolding of social
process. Wijeratne Warakagoda is the image that kept that film pinned to
my consciousness.
The second encounter was in the year 2000. I believe I saw him on
Rupavahini. This was the day the much-loved politician from Kegalle,
Dharmasiri Senanayake died. The TV crew was interviewing his friends and
associates. Wijeratne Warakagoda was one of them. I remember what he
said. He spoke of his last meeting with his friend and how Dharmasiri
had observed that the two of them would never grow old. Warakagoda’s
voice broke into a sob. The camera moved, respectfully.
‘Freshers Nite’
More than a decade later, during an unscripted Monday night
encounter, I realized that this man had resisted time, perhaps by simply
refusing to try to do so. And other things came back to me; another
Peradeniya, another year, another performance. It was ‘Freshers Nite’ at
Ramanathan Hall. The year was 1990. My sister was a fresher and resident
at Ramanathan. I had left Peradeniya a couple of years before, but was
visiting my batchmates, then in their third year. We were all at
Ramanathan, watching the resident freshers do their thing: song, dance,
skits and so on. I would have gone alone anyway, but there was the added
incentive of seeing the kid sis perform. She sang ‘Forever Young’.
That’s Joan Baez’ version of the Bob Dylan original, written when he
became a father (subsequently half-plagiarized by Rod Steward who had
agreed to share royalties with him, nangi informed me just now). Felt so
proud of her that tears came to my eyes. And I whispered to myself ‘may
you always be forever young, nangi’. She still is.
Maybe the sticker-man got it all wrong. Maybe life has no brakes and
love is irreversible. I don’t know. Within a matter of five minutes I
went to Peradeniya and back and also went back and forth across a
quarter of a century. Some night rolled into a dawn, I am sure, although
I can’t put a finger on it. Just as well, perhaps.
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