The Group of ’72 won it all on a mystic Sunday
Gatherings of old friends is always nice, even if what occasioned the
meeting happened to be something as sombre and sad as a funeral. My
friend Janaka Perera’s father passed away last Saturday and as is often
the case when someone close to someone close dies, close-people drop by,
commiserate and help in whatever ways possible.
There were lots of school friends who’ve known each other for more
than forty years and some who I hadn’t met in decades.
Time passes, the world moves and when we move out of classroom and
school to scatter like so much pollen in the winds of our aspirations
and the water-movement of our circumstances. Saturday night was for
reminiscing. Sunday night was also for reminiscing and of course
chit-chat about random topics, re-telling of old jokes, political
discussions, and the aa-giya (coming-going, literally and
metaphorically) thorathuru or news of post-school lives.
Annual events
Sandwiched between night and night was a long morning and afternoon.
It was one of those annual events that I attend every four-five years or
so: the inter-batch six-a-side cricket tournament for old boys of my
school. There were two categories, Under 40 and Over 40.
Our batch had won both events on numerous occasions, but this was not
our day; we knocked out in the first round itself. This didn’t dent the
enthusiasm. In fact it only enabled more revelry outside the boundary
line.
I got there rather late in the day but was privileged to watch the
semi-finals and the final. I believe the Group of 2001 won the Under 40
event. The ‘88 Group won the Over 40 version, I believe for the third
successive year.
To my mind, however, it was the Group of 72 that won it all. More
than ten years younger than the eventual winners, they saw off younger
and clearly fitter teams in the earlier stages by sheer determination
and team spirit. They were bludgeoned in the finals and yet held their
heads high.
Man of the tournament
In an event made for big hitters and wicket-takers (I saw some
batsmen hitting three-four sixers an over and a bowler who took a
hat-trick), it was a fielder who impressed me most. Susil Ranasinghe,
was ragged by some exquisite batsmanship. He was fielding at the cover
boundary and had to cover about 40 percent of the field. A late cut
would send him scurrying to the fine leg fence. The next would be a
scintillating cover drive that took him half way to the long off end of
the field. The next would be another late-cut.
These shots were so well timed that Susil couldn’t save any of them.
And yet, he fought ball and speed and of course age to give it all he
had. He was, for me, the man of the tournament.
And so they lost. They congratulated the winners and came off the
field faces flushed and full of smiles. They mingled with batchmates and
schoolmates from their time and other eras. And Udaya Abeysekera sang.
He sang Rookantha’s ‘As deka piyaana nidaa ganna mata bae’ (I cannot
close my eyes and fall asleep), Jothipala’s ‘Kothenaka hitiyath...’
(Wherever you may go) and Milton Mallawaarachchi’s ‘Avasara netha mata’
(I don’t have the right...). Beautifully rendered. No, I didn’t think he
has missed his true vocation. It was as it should be. The right thing
for the right moment.
Different ways
I am not saying that the winners lacked spirit or were underserving
of trophy, but there was something gentle, giving and just-being about
the ‘72 Group that touched; a kind of wrapping paper to a gift that was
being accepted after many years.
Was it all about the particular school? I don’t think so. All
intersections move us, although in different ways. It was a kind of
re-birthing of memory and times gone by. And through it all, I
remembered Janaka and the fracture he suffered from which he won’t
recover easily.
It was a strange weekend, all things considered. We are nothing,
alone, I realized. And we can be so much, together, I also felt.
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