The name was a conversation piece. He was known as ‘Lenin,’ but that was actually an afterthought. Born Hirohito Edward Jayasinghe to a radical communist—Jones Alexander Jayasinghe—and his Eurasian bride, Myra Nesta Crutchley, my father underwent a name substitution just two days before his first birthday in October 1937. His parents dropped “Hirohito Edward” and replaced it with ‘Lenin’ and ‘Lindbergh.’

What was Lenin like? How did he influence his family and friends? Did he follow the great Russian leader? For much of his life, he was sympathetic to the communist state. He embraced leftist trade union activism throughout his career in the postal department. He also became a defence counsel, a legal representative for public servants facing disciplinary action and built a considerable practice. In the true socialist spirit, his services were free—the only fee was the ‘batta,’ the official stipend, he collected as a public servant and a huge reservoir of goodwill.

My brother, Lakal, and I grew up in a home imbued with egalitarian values. The most impressionable time of our childhood was during Mrs Bandaranaike’s rationing regime when each household had ration books—one per person. Among other items, everyone was entitled to a quarter pound (100 grams) of sugar a month. Lenin was a true leftist and embraced the bitter austerity as a necessary hell for a better future.

Early in their marriage, my mother, Latha, feared that Lenin would use all his names in the order they were given—Hirohito Edward Lenin Lindbergh (HELL). Theirs was a love marriage made in heaven, but ‘HELL’ being part of it was not what my mother had bargained for—or so she told us.

One-year old Lenin sporing a beret with the Hammer and Sickle emblem

My father became better known by his new first name, Lenin. On his first birthday, he was photographed wearing a beret adorned with the hammer and sickle, the symbol of the world communist movement. This was considered an act of defiance at a time when communists were not tolerated in British-ruled Ceylon. That was six years before the launch of the Communist Party of Ceylon in 1943. Jones Alexander Jayasinghe was reportedly arrested for defying the colonial authorities. How he escaped trouble is unclear, but family photos place Jones Alexander in the company of many figures at the forefront of Ceylon’s independence movement. Jones Alexander was a friend of the then-young Pieter Keuneman, who went on to become the Secretary of the Communist Party of Ceylon as well as trade union stalwart H. G. S. Ratnaweera.

Lenin was initially named ‘Hirohito,’ apparently because my grandfather admired the Japanese emperor. I have been unable to verify claims that he was among the first to use a Japanese-made Datsun model ‘DB,’ a 722 cc petrol-powered car that was infamous for its lack of reliability, unlike the Western-made vehicles dominating the British Empire at the time. The second name, Edward, honoured the UK’s King Edward VIII, who had ascended the throne in January 1936, ten months before my father was born. The two later names, Lenin and Lindbergh, were substituted a year later, though the reasons for this change remain unclear.

This was likely because Jones Alexander Jayasinghe had begun to rebel against colonial rule and opposed imperial Japan. The substituted names reflected his leanings towards Red Russia and the global human interest story of Charles Lindbergh after the murder of his baby. The name ‘Lindbergh’ referred to the American aviator who completed the first solo transatlantic flight in his aircraft, Spirit of St. Louis. The kidnapping and subsequent murder of Lindbergh’s 20-month-old son in 1932 had shocked the world and was widely known in Ceylon at the time of my father’s birth four years later.

My mother may also be the exception that proved the rule that marriage won’t make a man change. A promise to give up alcohol if she married him was kept, and Lenin never touched spirits—until I cajoled him into enjoying a glass of white wine. Giving up alcohol underscored my mother’s spirited determination to instil some discipline in him. A nasty motorcycle accident that saw him flying over the Dehiwala roundabout and narrowly escaping death shortly before his wedding may also have contributed to his temperance.

However, my father’s greatest failing was his inability to give up smoking. Unable to make him quit cigarettes, my mother, in a tit-for-tat move, threatened to cut off her long hair—something my father was ready to accept in exchange for continuing to smoke two to three packets of ‘Three Roses,’ the popular filter-less cigarettes, daily. After a life-changing heart bypass surgery in 1999, he finally gave up chain-smoking—at least in public.

Lenin’s heart and kidney-related health issues later in life were blamed on cigarettes. Neither my brother nor I developed any interest in smoking or drinking.

With my father being a postmaster and my mother a mathematics teacher, we learned to be frugal and count our blessings. Given the country’s economic circumstances at the time, with import restrictions being the norm, there was little pressure to buy things and no one was spoilt for choice. Most Sri Lankans endured the same miseries. Replacing a headlamp on my father’s old English motorcycle, which he had bought second-hand before his marriage, required hours in a queue at the State Trading Corporation. Even then, it was only possible after collecting approvals from several local officials to prove that the Velocette MAC motorcycle had a fused headlamp.

Even in tough times, my parents instilled in us the importance of helping others and sharing—a practice they continued until their dying days. I also owe my driving skills to my father, who would place me on the petrol tank of the 350cc single-cylinder motorcycle and let me take the controls when I was just 10 years old. Two decades later, he repeated this with my son, Navin on a newer, faster Honda 250N. After an accident that resulted in both my parents fracturing their limbs, my father reluctantly gave up his beloved two-wheelers for the safety of four wheels, though he was never comfortable driving cars.

Looking back, I am amazed at how I used to sneak out the heavy motorcycle for joyrides, even when both my feet couldn’t reach the ground. But those were quieter times when there were few private vehicles on the road, and a 10-year-old on a motorcycle didn’t pose much risk to himself or others.

As the younger of two sons, I rebelled by pursuing a career path that did not align with my teacher mother’s expectations of academic excellence. “My youngest son is a reporter at the Daily News, but my other son is a graduate,” she would tell her friends and colleagues, underscoring both her disappointment and pride simultaneously. But as years passed and I became a foreign correspondent, she came to terms with her youngest son’s high-risk but low-paying career, taking comfort in an astrologer’s not entirely accurate prediction that I would be a “writer known overseas.” Even after her retirement, she continued to teach neighbourhood children as part of her social work until Lenin’s passing in January 2018. With her beloved partner gone, she steadily declined and passed away in her sleep three years later on November 15, 2021.

On 10 January 2025, we marked the seventh death anniversary of Lenin Lindbergh Jayasinghe – a steadfast egalitarian, dedicated public servant, and a man whose influence left an indelible mark on all who knew him.

Amal Jayasinghe

It is with profound sadness that we announce the passing of Professor Acchi M. Ishak, of 23, Kassapa Road, Colombo 5, and a former lecturer at King Fahd University of Petroleum and Minerals (KFUPM) in Dhahran, who passed away in Makkah at the age of 85 on Wednesday evening, December 25th, 2024.

His remains are currently at the Makkah Hospital, and the funeral will be held in the holy city itself following the completion of preliminary arrangements.

Hailing from the village of Nintavur in the Eastern Province, Professor Ishaq was an exceptional student during the renowned Azeez Era of Zahira College, excelling in both academics and sports.

After graduating from the University of Ceylon in Colombo in 1962, he embarked on a remarkable journey of higher education and professional achievement. Following his initial training in the Survey and Irrigation Departments in Sri Lanka, he pursued advanced studies in the Netherlands on a Nabuta Fellowship, specializing in Aerial Surveys and Hydraulic Engineering. As a Fulbright Fellow, he completed his Master’s Degree and PhD in Civil and Environmental Engineering at the University of Washington, Seattle, and the University of Wisconsin-Madison, USA.

Professor Ishaq served as a faculty member at Michigan State University and for over 30 years at the prestigious King Fahd University of Petroleum and Minerals. He was a Fellow of the American Society of Civil Engineers, a Chartered Civil Engineer, and a consultant to numerous international organizations.

In Sri Lanka, he generously contributed his expertise as an honorary consultant to the Ministry of Ports and Shipping and the Ministry of Environment and Natural Resources. He served as the Chancellor of South Eastern University from 2007 to 2022, leaving an enduring legacy in academia and public service.

Professor Ishaq’s life was a testament to dedication, excellence, and service to humanity. His loss will be deeply felt by his family, friends, colleagues, and all who had the privilege of knowing him.

May Allah (SWT) grant him the highest place in Jannah and provide strength to his loved ones during this time of grief.

by Usvatte-aratchi

Manmohan Singh, a brilliant economist, distinguished public servant, and remarkable Minister of Finance and Prime Minister of India, died on December 27, and his body was disposed of with state honours. Amiya Kumar Bagchi was a brilliant economist, scholar, deep thinker, unexcelled public intellectual, most distinguished author, and the Chancellor of Tripura University. He died on December 28.

 I barely knew Singh, personally. We may have formally greeted each other twice or thrice when he was in Colombo in 1969 (?) to write a paper at the invitation of Lal Jayawardena, then of the Ministry of Planning. Turbanned and in a short-sleeved white cotton shirt, Singh was very quiet and it surprised me that he was later the Prime Minister among ‘argumentative Indians’. Amiya was a close friend of mine for 60 years. I met him when we were both at Cambridge, he was two years my senior. He had completed his thesis and was elected a Fellow of Jesus College. Soon after my thesis was approved, I gave Amiya a copy to read. After three days, he reported back that there was a major error in a chapter and that I should not do anything further with the thesis until that chapter was re-written. (That chapter remains unwritten to date!) Amiya and I met wherever I happened to work or live in: New York City, Bangkok or Colombo. He and Jasodhara (She was a professor of English (at Jadavpur) spent a few days with us in Colombo.) The last time he called me was to tell me he had been made Chancellor of Tripura.

 In the early 1960s, a small band of brilliant young men from India came to Cambridge to study economics. They included Man Mohan Singh, A. K. Sen, A.K. Bagchi, Pranab Bardhan, and Amit Bhaduri. Immediately before them were I.G. Patel and Shukhomoy Chakravarthy. Every one of them was an alpha-magnitude star and when assembled, they formed a brilliant galaxy that illuminated, for several years, the firmament that was economics. Sen was awarded a Nobel Memorial Prize in Economics. I.G. Patel was a distinguished economics administrator who worked, for a short period, for the United Nations Development Programme. A.K. Bagchi was a brilliant academic and prominent author and the Chancellor of Tripura University. Pranab Bardhan taught at both Harvard and Berkeley and authored several books, some on development. In their contributions to the development of the Indian economy, Singh was unsurpassed. In his successive positions as Economic Advisor to the government, Governor of the Reserve Bank, Finance Minister and Prime Minister he had unrivalled opportunities that he grasped with both hands. In his varied contributions to enrich the discipline of economics and understanding of the economy of India, Bagchi stands unexcelled. Amit Bhaduri, the youngest of them all, has taught at JNU and has been a peripatetic professor in many European universities, especially in Italy, and continues enriching the economics literature as he has done over several decades.

Lal Jayawardene and M.R.P. Salgado were Singh’s contemporaries at Cambridge and Singh and Jayawardene were life-long close friends. Amiya Bagchi delivered a lecture in Colombo at the invitation of the Central Bank and he and Jasodhara (She taught English at Jadavpur) were our guests for a few days. Amit Bhaduri delivered the Dr. N. M. Perera Memorial Lecture and was one of our guests more than once.

Although my personal acquaintance with Singh was very little, I decided to write this note lest we pass unnoticed publicly by a man who molded economic policy in India both to cut down poverty massively and to generate billionaires by the dozen. Singh designed policies that went against the widely accepted orthodoxy at that time and remained a beacon to policymakers worldwide. Amiya Kumar Bagchi did not hold public office and his contributions fall into four categories: modern studies of the history of financial systems in India; explorations of the nature of processes of economic development, wherever; distinguished teacher at Presidency College, Calcutta (Kolkata) and prolific writer, especially in Economic and Political Weekly on a wide spread of subjects that included movie reviews. He spent some time at the Centre for the Study of Social Sciences and founded the Institute of Development Studies in Calcutta. He spent some time in the Maison des Sciences de l’homme, Paris and spent a few months in a research institute in Denmark. (I called him there once and as he answered the telephone, a phonograph played Suchitra Mitra singing in Bengali.)

Until the 1990s, the Indian economy was subject to many controls, creating a permit raj. The economy had grown so slowly for several decades that it was derisively called a Hindu growth rate. Singh was appointed finance minister in 1991, when the economy was in crisis, after forty years of permit raj and Hindu growth rates. Ever since then, the economy has been differently managed and continues to grow at spectacular rates. In China, at about the same time, Deng Xiao Ping, (no economist) set out on a voyage essentially similar and these two economies are now the second and third largest economies in the world. (They both have continental-sized populations and income per capita remains low.) Both departed from the economic orthodoxy that prevailed in the last 40 years of the 20th century. Those ideas owed much to Ragnar Nurkse’s book Problems of Capital Formation in Underdeveloped Economies (1953) and the success with which the economy of the USSR grew until 1980 or so. Some economists and other intellectuals strongly espoused those ideas. They included Raul Prebisch of Argentina, Samir Amin of Egypt and Gamani Corea. In 1964, the underdeveloped countries at the UN established UNCTAD in Geneva with Raul Prebisch as Executive Secretary. These ideas were so universally held at that time that when a group of countries following policies contradicting them grew rapidly, their stellar achievements were classified by the World Bank as The East Asian Miracle. There was no miracle there and Singh and Deng both performed it in the normal course of government policy making.

The essential elements of these policies were seeking and establishing wider domestic and foreign markets. (That should remind you of physiocrats and Adams Smith.) Japan, Korea, Taiwan (China) and a few other economies grew fast selling their output in rich countries, where there was purchasing power. The European Common Market was an early success story. Singh recognized the value of ‘free markets’ to economic growth, which are free because goods and services could move with as little interference in domestic and international markets. The state played a leading role in those economies.

Three principal innovations helped, after the 1939-1945 war, to reduce the cost of transporting goods with a consequent rapid growth in trade. The first was containerizing shipments, beginning in 1952. The second was the fall in the mass (volume and weight) of goods because of miniaturisation (The transistor radio is a good example.) and the consequent fall in the cost of transport. The widespread use of transistors was a major factor there. The third was the development of technology that permitted the production of components in different countries and the transport of parts to be assembled, at a point to be put together, finally. These and other developments permitted the production of goods, wherever the cost of doing so was cheapest. Cheap labour economies found opportunities to compete profitably in markets where high-income countries bought them. Both capital and technology swiftly moved seeking profits. Service industries grew rapidly in most economies and a lively market for both skilled and unskilled labour grew rapidly.

The processes of economic growth that took place in both, India and China, resulted in increased inequality in the distribution of household income. However, income at both ends increased. In China and India, together perhaps a billion people began to receive incomes above poverty levels. Those developments satisfied Sen’s understanding of ‘development as freedom’ and John Rawls’ test of ‘justice as fairness’.

(My collection of books (2383) was gifted to four universities and my notes were thrown away recently. I kept a few for company till the end. Consequently, I can write only from memory and mistakes are almost inevitable.)