by Shanaka Amarasinge 

So far I’ve marched to Gotagogama twice. In very different circumstances. The first was a march from the Artists of the People. A gathering of musicians, actors, writers, artists, designers and everyone involved in creative pursuits. The march from Independence Square was riotous, but only in colour and flair. There was dancing, singing, chanting and rainbow of personalities, costumes and disciplines. It couldn’t have been more different than my second march on the 17th of May 2022 when friends and family of the late Wasim Thajudeen, commemorated his tenth death anniversary, by walking from St. Thomas’ Prep. School to Galle Face.

This was a somber walk. There was talking and camaraderie but very little to laugh about, as those of us who knew Wasim and even some who didn’t, remembered him and the metaphor he is to Sri Lankan society today. He was, as we are now – as a country, cut down in his prime. The immense potential which will never again be seen. Although it was not voiced, the similarity sat heavy on the shoulders of those gathered to remember a friend who lived his ‘best life’. A joy to be around, a reliable, charitable friend, and someone who was not shy of honing his immense talent with hard work. His good friend, Harinda Fonseka, who spoke at Gate Zero, reminded me of the 70m touch finders that boomed off his boot. Also recently, Wasim’s Sri Lanka team mate and long-time club opponent, Rizah Mubarak, reminded me that his ‘up and unders’ were a full back’s nightmare. In remembering what a great bloke we lost, we forget what an enormous rugby talent we also lost.

It was fitting that his old schools St. Thomas’ Preparatory School, and S. Thomas’ College Mt. Lavinia played an old boys’ game in his honour. Two editions were played in 2014 and 2015 but not since then.

Back, in August 2015, when Asfan Thajudeen ghosted languidly over for the try that gave Prep the lead that would not be assailed by Mount, there was something poetic about it. Both brothers, Wasim and Asfan, shared physical characteristics. Tall, handsome and long of limb, one wiry full back could easily have been mistaken for the other. On the field, they both had that same lazy air to their game that talented players have. They look like they could be trying harder, but they didn’t need to.

So after his forwards had done some good work and Asfan collected the pass well behind him, it took skill and presence of mind to pirouette, dummy the pass the defence thought was coming to the young Nishan Handunge and then saunter through the gaping hole for a beautifully taken try under the posts. Arjun Manoharan’s conversion and two penalties gave Prep the win 13-8 over a fancied Mount Lavinia side that scored through Chanditha Samarasinghe and Devin Jayasinghe’s penalty.

With Thomian rugby declining steadily, Wasim was one of the shining stars as he continued to play for his beloved Havelocks and also the Sri Lanka team alongside his College team-mate Namal Rajapaksa. Some years later Sudarshan Muthuthanthri and Anuruddha Wilwara from the school by the sea to take up the mantle.

Out of some unforgettable moments in my life, sadly three of them have to do with death. I will never forget the days that my mum told me my Uncle Billy Rowland had been shot on his estate. We never knew whether it was JVP, LTTE or anyone else. It didn’t really matter. I will also never forget my mum telling me about how my father’s Commanding Officer Brigadier Thevanayagam tragically met his end as the victim of a triple murder. It was devastating as my father was extremely close to Brigadier Thevanayagam and I looked up to Diresh as a senior in school. It was dumbfounding. For those not familiar with the incident in the early 90’s, it was an event fueled by years of pent up rage, and if looked at rationally with the hindsight of time, a lesson to all parents that they can sometimes push children too far, with disastrous consequences. Today’s government will have to realise that people pushed to the extreme, may do unthinkable things. The other unforgettable moment was the death of Wasim. On 17th May 2012, I was on my way to swimming at the SSC when Uncle Mike Anthonisz the JKH swimming coach called me at about 6.30am. I thought he was calling me to give me the schedule saying he was late or to cancel swimming. His parents lived on Park Road and he was standing opposite the car when he called. He was distraught. “Shanaka, you know our boy Wasim?! He’s no more.” I had just driven past the smouldering car with no idea who was in it just hours before.

The disbelief was not only mine. Nobody who heard the news that day could believe it. Uncle Mike knew Wasim because just as he was a fantastic rugby player he was also a talented cricketer, excellent footballer and better than average swimmer. Uncle Mike had a favourite drill called the Windmill Arms that he forced us to do in order to maximise the push through on our freestyles and Wasim was always the demonstrator because his natural freestyle had a windmill action to it. With his cheeky smile and knee length swimmers he always made the girls look twice. He was a Sri Lanka rugby player, but he was never too good not to show up for swimming practice. That’s how humble and unassuming he was, instantly becoming a crowd favourite.

Uncle Mike’s grief that day was spontaneous. Despite only having known Wasim for a few years. For those who knew him well, who’d watched him grow from cheeky teenager into a popular figure, the grief was unfathomable.

Driving past the thronging policemen that fateful morning, gazing at the car that was covered in a tarp, it was hard not to shed a tear. My only hope at that moment was that I hoped he was dead when the car caught fire. As subsequent investigations have revealed, that was not a certainty.

By evening Murugan Place was a sea of people. Wasim’s body was still being examined and the family trying to ensure religious rites were observed within 24 hours. The entire lane was flooded by people whose lives Wasim had touched at some point. And they came from all walks of life, entirely united by their friendship with Wasim. They say that if you’ve ever stood for something you’ve made enemies somewhere along the way, and that much is obvious. But judging by the amount of friends Wasim had made even before he hit 30 he had stood for the right things.

Our paths crossed many times, and not once would they leave me without a smile. My first rugby memory of the lad is him missing a sitter under the posts, handing the momentum to Kaluaratchi’s Royalists in 2001. The obvious kick early on would have put STC in the lead. Captain Jivan Goonetilleka didn’t even see the kick miss. He was walking back to halfway when Wasim ran by him smiling apologetically saying ‘miss una, bung miss una’. The Thomians would lose that game with an unexpected scoreline. The 16 year old, however, only got better. I remember yelling at him once after a Thora game for getting yellow carded so often. ‘What to do Shanaka, they’re hitting no’, was his response. If there was one guy that made you want to tear your hair out and hold your sides laughing at the same time, it was him. He was never ever one to back down from a fight, and although his boyish arrogance gave way to mature aggression later in the piece, this quality may just have been his undoing. I shudder to think of his final moments, knowing that he would not have gone quietly.

Wasim had a strong sense of what was right and wrong. I tried many times to lure him to CR from Havies at a time the Park Club was struggling and his performances were not catching the eye. That prodigious boot I told him, would be better served at Longdon Place. Every time I tried, he would listen, consider and then say ‘This is my Club, machan. How to leave it and come?’. I respected him immensely for that. Loyalty is not something you can even buy at the supermarket anymore. Especially not from his generation. But the values of his family and his breeding were obvious.

Wasim started swimming again after he had his knee operated. The only time I’d seen him not smile was when we compared notes about our surgeries and recuperation. We both had tremendous trouble recovering from ACL surgery – myself a little before him – and he would often seek counsel on the best rehab. He desperately wanted to get back to his beloved rugby and was fretting impatiently for the troublesome knee to recover. And he would have, as he was well on the way back to full fitness. Equally destructive with the ball in hand, as he was with it at his feet, he could play anywhere in the back three or the centres. It was a tragic loss for Sri Lanka, his Club, his friends and his family.

For those who thought that he was all play and no work, that is a massive understatement. He was the travel coordinator for one of our firm’s largest clients and his efficiency was excellent. He was thoroughly professional and also incredibly generous. The Wasim Thajudeen foundation which Asfan has founded in his brother’s wake continues the charities that Wasim contributed to without any fanfare. He truly embodied the Islamic attitude to charity, where good deeds need not be advertised.

It was a good two years after his death that I deleted Wasim’s number from my phone. There’s a part of you that wants to believe he’s still around. To flash that million dollar smile. Although his body was exhumed a few days after his old Prep school won the match in his honour, we all knew that those charred remains mean nothing. He lives on in the memories he made, and the sheer joy of living he exuded. A joy that is conspicuously absent from Sri Lankan lives at the moment.

In the weeks leading up to the Thajudeen Trophy game in 2015 disbelief has turned to anger, just as it is now, for different reasons. Whether that anger, fueled by new information about the manner of Wasim’s death, is founded or not we may never know. And as much as a part of us screams for justice, that is not nearly as important as it is to remember is how Wasim lived. Not think about how he died. Justice is important for the system, for the country, yes. But for his friends and family justice will never bring back that gangly package of positive energy.

 The best thing we can do for those who leave us too early is to continue living as they would have wanted us to. The Pride of Origin game in 2015 was exactly that, just like the walk last Tuesday. A time for friends,for family and to remember the good times. Good times, which will, most likely, elude us for some years.

Maybe Uncle Mike was mistaken that day when he said Wasim is ‘no more’. He is. And that photogenic smile will live on in our hearts. Ten years after his death, his memory is still strong and will continue to inspire us who knew him and also those who never had the pleasure.