Rajiva Wijesinha’s The Past Is Another Country – Down memory lane with Derrick Nugawela

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The Past is Another Country is a series of interviews with individuals distinguished for their contributions to culture and to society. In addition to discussing their individual contributions, the programmes explore the context in which each of them functioned. The interviews, by Rajiva Wijesinha, cover a range of developments in post-independence Sri Lanka, and present a panoramic view of social change in the latter half of the 20th century.

Derrick Nugawela’s parents belonged to the Nugawela and Panabokke families, distinguished landowners in Kandy and successful politicians in Colombo during the State Council period, and thereafter in the early years after independence. He himself however, after the early death of his father, had to make his own way, and became a planter, where he had to work himself up in a profession dominated by British expatriates. By the sixties he ran one of the best plantations in Sri Lanka, while also being a Volunteer Officer who was put in charge of Hambantota during the 1971 insurgency. Having later emigrated to Australia, he had to again make his own way there, before returning to Sri Lanka for Citibank, and later becoming a Director of the Board of Investment.

Poets and their visions 37: Shakespeare 7 – Sexual Aberrations

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Shakespeare-Staging-the-WorldThough they have what might be termed offside aspects, the three comedies I looked at earlier are enormously jolly, and their happy endings perfectly satisfactory. Very different are the dark comedies, where the happy couplings with which the plays end result from very dark beginnings.

The action of two of these plays springs from what seems perverse jealousy. In The Winter’s Tale, King Leontes of Sicily suspects his wife of being too close to his old friend, Polixenes the King of Bohemia, and torments her to what he believes is death. He has also packed off to be killed the newborn child he suspects is not his own. The nobleman he assigns for this task does die, being last seen, in the most horrid stage direction in Shakespeare, being pursued by a bear. But the child is found and – being therefore called Perdita – survives to be reunited with her father. At this point it transpires that his abused wife did not in fact die, and what is supposed to be a statue of her comes back to life, after which the perverse king presumably lives happily ever after.

Jealousy of a different sort propels the action of Cymbeline, where the Roman husband of Imogen, the daughter of the British King Cymbeline, has a bet about his wife’s chastity while back in Rome. The villain who cannot seduce Imogen tricks Procopius, who disowns his wife, and there is much suffering before his faith in her is restored and we have a happy ending.

What relieves the darkness of these plays is the joy with which Shakespeare endows the rural simplicity into which the deprived women are driven. Imogen in fleeing the court finds herself in a cave where her brothers who had been stolen away beforehand live a rustic life. They, and Perdita and her foster family in the greenwood, are great fun. Continue reading

Acts of Faith – Chapter 2; Pt 1 – Action Stations

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acts-of-faithWhat Tom our President was doing when fires began blazing out over the city is not something that can dogmatically be declared. It depends after all to some extent on what sort of a President we want; though we must course also present reasons for the fires being allowed to flourish, for no action being taken so that the mob is permitted to cavort unrestrained through the streets until it reaches Shiva’s place and rushes in, and indeed out again and on and on and on. Let us now therefore picture the President in full control himself of a situation with which he finds nothing amiss, striding in full dress uniform up and down his operation room, leaping at intervals to various multi-coloured telephones to assert his sovereign will. At moments of great intensity he slaps his thigh with his swagger stick, barking into the instrument at anxious army and police officers who ring up for orders, ‘Do not sh-sh-sh-shoot. Everything is safely in my hands. Do not worry, gentlemen. I am in full command of the situation.’

In this situation, Matthew alone of his Ministers would be with him, dressed naturally in resplendent white. Tom would not like many people to know he enjoyed dressing up in uniform, nor indeed anything else about this exciting evening. All entrances and exits would be closely guarded, with only the Black Shadow freely darting in and out to look over and coordinate certain practical details. During the occasional moments when Tom’s resolve falters, Matthew will firmly and resolutely prove to him that he has no alternative if his authority is not to be flouted totally; the Tamils have to be taught a lesson, and even if no one else does Matthew’s shock troops will do the job if only Tom will let them. Continue reading

Poets and their visions 36: Shakespeare 6 – Touches of Nature

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Shakespeare-Staging-the-WorldIn addition to the Roman plays, Shakespeare also wrote a couple of Greek tragedies. Of them, Timon of Athens was an early play, and will not really repay discussion, though it is worth noting that the character of the misanthropic Timon displays understanding of monomania that is rare in a writer who was generally conscious of the fluidity of human motivation.

The other Greek tragedy, Troilus and Cressida, in one of Shakespeare’s most interesting plays, though it does not have the dramatic appeal of the greater tragedies. In one sense it defies analysis since, though its outcome is tragic, with the romance across racial barriers, Greek and Trojan, doomed to failure, it also covers a lot of other ground in its depiction of the relations between the various Greeks who have gathered at Troy. And the manner in which Cressida accepts her fate, when Troilus is placed beyond her reach, is perhaps a more realistic assessment of the way human nature reacts to disappointment, rather than the morbid despair of a Romeo and a Juliet.

Though the strength of the play lies in the volatility of the various exchanges, there are a few memorable lines, in particular Ulysses’ account of the transience of human success

Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, 
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,
A great-sized monster of ingratitudes:
Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour’d
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon
As done: perseverance, dear my lord,
Keeps honour bright: to have done is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
In monumental mockery. Take the instant way;
For honour travels in a strait so narrow,
Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path;
For emulation hath a thousand sons
That one by one pursue: if you give way,
Or hedge aside from the direct forthright,
Like to an enter’d tide, they all rush by
And leave you hindmost;
Or like a gallant horse fall’n in first rank,
Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,
O’er-run and trampled on: then what they do in present,
Though less than yours in past, must o’ertop yours;
For time is like a fashionable host
That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand,
And with his arms outstretch’d, as he would fly,
Grasps in the comer: welcome ever smiles,
And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek
Remuneration for the thing it was;
For beauty, wit,
High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all
To envious and calumniating time. 
Continue reading

Acts of Faith – Chapter 1; Pt 3 – Elementary

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acts-of-faithShiva was related to no one. But he had been with Indra at Cambridge and it is conceivable that his last thoughts, as the petrol flared up about him or, we hope, substantially earlier, were of a punt on the Cam in those heady days and a graceful swan floating past. On the other hand it is also conceivable that his last thoughts were of the placid beaches of his own country, and the sun and the sand and the reverberating sea beyond. At Cambridge he would have said that he was happier there than ever before. Yet later, back at home, his senses sated in his snug retreat by the sea—and indeed elsewhere— he would feel that he had felt all this before, that he had returned to a security registered long before in the dim reaches of the subconscious, and constantly desired since.

This may not have been entirely fanciful. He had been taken away soon after he was born to ancestral palm-decked lands by an immaculate beach on the then almost virgin Eastern Coast. The birth had been a difficult one and his father, whose heart had fluttered, had decided then to endure no more stress. He was an old man, having married late in life when he had already achieved distinction in the Colonial Service, the first Tamil from the relatively neglected East to be knighted. It had been difficult for him to put up with the snide remarks of the Tamils of the North who had resented the conquest of one of their brighter stars by someone they considered an outsider. He was convinced that Lady Lily loved him, and perhaps because of that he had felt obliged to stay on and endure, not to take her away immediately to a place where there would only be himself to divert her. But once the baby was born and there was a threat to her health, he grasped eagerly at the opportunity to retire to the rural retreat he now felt he had dreamed of from the very moment he began to work.

So Shiva spent his earliest years in a dry land where the sun struck warm and the sand lay smooth beneath and the deep blue water rolled luxuriantly over the flesh. He was never lonely for all the children of all the retainers who had clung ever more closely limpet-like to the family through several generations always surrounded him, ministering to his every whim but also, for they were all young and generally uninhibited, suggesting separate consciousnesses that constantly impinged. His father was wholly content and Lady Lily was never unhappy, and her refusal to send her little son to school for long after he should have gone accorded entirely with the wishes of both the father and the son. Continue reading

Poets and their visions 35: Shakespeare 5 – Images of self

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Love is of course the dominant theme of Antony and Cleopatra, though we are also always conscious of the struggle for power that lies behind the passion of the main characters. The running commentary as it were that is provided by Enobarbus, one of the most significant of Shakespeare’s minor characters, helps us keep the whole dramatic love affair in perspective, given indeed that what was going on was a struggle for the soul of Europe. Had Antony won out, I suspect Christianity would not have spread so readily, and a less structured system of government might have provided greater space for Middle Eastern cults rather than monotheism.

But while the background is important, and the powerful last words of the future Augustus Caesar make clear what was at stake

Take up her bed;
And bear her women from the monument:
She shall be buried by her Antony:
No grave upon the earth shall clip in it
A pair so famous. High events as these
Strike those that make them; and their story is
No less in pity than his glory which
Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall
In solemn show attend this funeral;
And then to Rome.

the power of the play lies in its depiction of love in a warm climate. The language exudes sensuality but also expressed devotion of a sort that governed perceptions of what romantic love means for future generations. One has only to set the earlier statements of passion

Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going,
But bid farewell, and go: when you sued staying,
Then was the time for words: no going then;
Eternity was in our lips and eyes,
Bliss in our brows’ bent; none our parts so poor,
But was a race of heaven: they are so still,
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world,
Art turn’d the greatest liar.

against Cleopatra’s final lament to understand how love can grow and take the place of all else

I dream’d there was an Emperor Antony:
O, such another sleep, that I might see
But such another man!
…….

His face was as the heavens; and therein stuck
A sun and moon, which kept their course,
and lighted
The little O, the earth….
 

His legs bestrid the ocean: his rear’d arm
Crested the world: his voice was propertied
As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends;
But when he meant to quail and shake the orb,
He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty,
There was no winter in’t; an autumn ’twas
That grew the more by reaping: his delights
Were dolphin-like; they show’d his back above
The element they lived in: in his livery
Walk’d crowns and crownets; realms and islands were
As plates dropp’d from his pocket…
 

Think you there was, or might be, such a man
As this I dream’d of?
Continue reading

Acts of Faith – Chapter 1; Pt 2 – Elementary

acts-of-faithIt may be as well at this point to describe some relationships, which will give a foretaste of the incestuous nature of the society and the plot we are unfolding. Indra is the son of Dick by his first wife Dulice, his only legitimate wife as she insists. Dulcie is the cousin of Tom’s wife Geraldine, called Gerry for short.  Dulcie and Gerry are also cousins of Phyllis, who will have rather an important part to play in our story when she comes charging down from her wonderful hills.

Gerry and Dulcie and Phyllis were the daughters of three brothers who, during the first world war and thereafter, made vast quantities of money through ship chartering and arrack renting and newspaper publishing and plumbago mining and even insurance broking. Gerry was an only child, the daughter of the eldest brother who had not made as much money as the other two; it was widely rumoured that she had spurred Tom on energetically throughout his political career so that she could make up for this initial deficiency. Unfortunately for the couple, their dynasty would die with them for their only child, a daughter, had been both a mongol and had, mercifully for else she would certainly have been overwhelmed with offers of marriage after Tom’s elevation to the Presidency, expired some years later. Tom, it was said, had been so upset by this that he had stopped sleeping with his wife. It was also said, though this was by no means intended as a reflection upon Tom, that his resolution had come as an immense relief to her.

Being a rational woman, she had no objections to his seeking solace elsewhere but she had insisted that he be sterilized beforehand. This was an operation he had found embarrassing to begin with, but he now numbered it amongst his many firsts. In his immediate family circle it was considered a blessing that the scar was too small to be exhibited in public. Tom certainly believed that the fact of the operation had enhanced his popularity, extravagantly fond as he was of claiming that, unlike his predecessors in power, he had no plans to establish a dynasty. In exhibiting at public meetings his battle scars in the cause of freedom, one obtained when he was in the cadet corps at school during the first world war, another added many years later during a peaceful demonstration that the then government had ruthlessly attacked, he never failed to mention his most vital scar, one obtained in the cause of higher freedoms, from hunger and over-population and excessive expenditure on subsidies and all the other dreadful things from which the International Monetary Fund was assisting him to wean the nation. Despite the magnificence of his other achievements, he would proudly proclaim he was proudest of all of his sterility. Continue reading

Rajiva Wijesinha’s The Past Is Another Country – Down memory lane with Ismeth Raheem

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The Past is Another Country is a series of interviews with individuals distinguished for their contributions to culture and to society. In addition to discussing their individual contributions, the programmes explore the context in which each of them functioned. The interviews, by Rajiva Wijesinha, cover a range of developments in post-independence Sri Lanka, and present a panoramic view of social change in the latter half of the 20th century.

Ismeth Raheem is an architect who worked with Geoffrey Bawa for many years, and was then responsible for a number of interesting buildings hotels combining traditional Sri Lankan concepts with modern developments. He is also a polymath, who has studied and written about the manner in which Sri Lanka has been seen and presented in pictures and photographs and writings during the colonial period. His knowledge of ancient irrigations systems is also perhaps unrivalled.

Poets and their visions 34: Shakespeare 4 – Power and the shades of love

In addition to the big five, Shakespeare wrote three other powerful tragedies, which are lumped together as the Roman plays. There was in fact another Roman play, Titus Andronicus, but that was early and is bloody and ghoulish and will not repay analysis. The interesting three deal with important historical figures, two of them with those who exercised the most lasting influences of European history, namely Julius and Augustus Caesar. The latter however has only a minor role in Antony and Cleopatra, which deals with his rival for absolute power in what was to become the Roman Empire. Augustus won out, but the play is primarily about love rather than power.

One can indeed see the three Roman tragedies as also looking at what I have suggested are the primary human motives, love and power and identity. The first part of Julius Caesar is about power in itself, and the characterization of Caesar, brief though it is before he is murdered, vividly lays bare the corrupting impact of unbridled power. The rhetoric with which he rejects the plea for mercy that provides the pretext for his assassination illustrates the insensitivity of arrogance that feels no restraining factors. –

I could be well moved, if I were as you; 
If I could pray to move, prayers would move me:
But I am constant as the northern star,
Of whose true-fix’d and resting quality
There is no fellow in the firmament.
The skies are painted with unnumber’d sparks,
They are all fire, and every one doth shine;
But there’s but one in all doth hold his place:
So in the world; ’tis furnish’d well with men,
And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive;
Yet in the number I do know but one
That unassailable holds on his rank,
Unshaked of motion: and that I am he,
Let me a little show it, even in this,–
That I was constant Cimber should be banish’d,
And constant do remain to keep him so.

And if Caesar deludes himself into believing in his indispensability, equally powerful is Shakespeare’s exposition of a different approach to personal power, Antony’s revengeful determination. Continue reading

Acts of Faith – Chapter 1; Pt 1 – Elementary

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acts-of-faithOur hero will be called Shiva, rousing in the minds of the more sophisticated amongst our readers (yourself, for instance) an image of burnished bronze poised between action and inaction, its myriad arms flung out in several directions, pointing, gesticulating, cajoling. Standing as he does for both Creation and Destruction, the one necessarily involving the other, he will not we trust seem irresponsible or undutiful as a hero in dying at the very beginning of the book. Being Tamil, he will go up in a blaze of glory (and in a helicopter too), thus shedding the brightest possible light upon the people and the processes we need to illuminate. Besides, he will have a sort of successor, symbolically enough called Paul, the executor of his will; though whether this is adequate consolation, whether the substitute will prove suitable, must be left for you to judge.

Then there will be a married couple, but a somewhat unusual couple in that it is generally believed, in this appropriately named Democratic and Socialist Republic of Ceylon where all things are canvassed publicly (albeit in whispers) and nothing private is held sacred (except enterprise), that their marriage was never consummated. That they had no children contributed to this assumption. That her name was Diana did not, so sadly has classical learning declined in this perverse generation. His name is Indra and he was an old friend and also a partner, in a variety of businesses, of Shiva who had accompanied the couple on their honeymoon.

Indra and Diana are Sinhalese, and Buddhists too, though only after a fashion. Ironically, Diana is the more devout, although she is racially hybrid. Her father was a Kandyan Sinhalese, an aristocrat from a little village named after his family (or conceivably vice versa) and nestling in the quiet hills overlooking the Dumbara valley. Her mother Phyllis, settled at the time our novel opens in the village (as she portentously termed it), and playing there the lady of the manor with an aplomb her in-laws had never achieved, was a half-caste, the child of a union between the son of a Ceylonese entrepreneur and the daughter of an English grocer. They had met at Oxford in the twenties and, with a disregard for convention their parents deplored but their generation demanded, had romantically married. Phyllis’ own marriage had been arranged by her father as soon as she approached a suitable age. Continue reading

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