Susil Sirivardana, my friend

I don’t have much to add to the large number of appreciations that have appeared in the papers since Susil’s death. However, the urge to pen a few words and thus recall what his friendship meant to me has been nagging me, and so I find myself writing down my recollections of him, memories that span over several years.

 I first heard of Susil when my husband came home many years ago and said, “I met a young man from Oxford today. He is in Anuradhapura teaching in a village school. I am so impressed by his dedication to the cause of the disadvantaged.” I next came across his name when he became the Chairman of the Janasaviya program, where he performed to be the pride of this nation.

Susil was a family man. He was very attached to his wife, Niranjala and daughter, Subha. While he was keen that Subha become a doctor he was equally determined not to send her to the West to be qualified.  Perhaps he thought the “decadent West” would corrupt his only child.  Around this time my husband and I were in India and Susil reached out to us for information on medical colleges in India. The next time Susil spoke to me of Subha, she was a doctor working at the Army Hospital. Susil was always very proud of his daughter, and I remember him at her wedding, his face brimming with joy and happiness.

For a few years Susil, Tissa Jayatillake, who headed the Fulbright Foundation, and I would meet almost every week to discuss political stories as they unfolded. We met for no other reason than that we enjoyed each other’s company and the stimulating conversation.  We continued these weekly meetings until Tissa retired, and then our get-togethers became more irregular until even these occasional meetings finally ended.

I kept up my friendship with Susil through phone conversations and he would diligently read my articles in the  Sunday Island and would call or email me to share his observations. What I appreciated about his comments was that he was always honest and made a detailed study of my writing and offered his opinion regardless of its effects on me.  He made no attempt to please me when he assumed the role of critique.

One time I gave him something I had written for his opinion and he tore it to bits. My daughter who saw his comments was horrified at the openness of the observations. This is what was unique to him. When you asked him to read and give his comments he gave it to you without any frills and his attitude was – you can take it or leave it.  I appreciated his forthrightness and this was a trait I really admired about him. The last time I sent him a rather long fictional story I had written and he returned it with one section crossed off with the words ‘this is not a sociological treatise’ written across it.  The reference was to a series of facts I had laboriously researched, thinking it would add substance to my story.  I followed his advice and removed this whole section from my story.

I have been recently spending my time writing some short stories and I had once again intended on asking Susil for his opinion. Sadly, I left it a little too late and now I’ll never be able to have his take on my work.

Susil told me early on about his kidney problems. It was typical of him that he treated it as if it was of little concern and he regarded it as being no life threatening matter. He was waiting for a transplant. I was devastated to hear the news of his death and each time his name is mentioned I feel the sadness all over again. My regret is that I had not spoken to him in the last two weeks. Perhaps it was in those few days that he took a turn for the worse.

I will miss Susil’s intellectual company sorely.  I will miss my phone conversations with him and having him hang up the phone on me while I am in mid-sentence. I used to quite frequently find myself saying goodbye to a dead-line. That too is typical of him. He had finished what he had to say; there was no time wasted on pleasantries.

May he rest In peace after his arduous fights to ensure that all Sri Lankans, and not just the privileged, could enjoy a better quality of life. He lived by his values and did not bow down to anyone, however powerful . My epitaph to him would be that he lived with his head held high, adroitly sticking to his principles.

Gnana Moonesinghe