My girls make dramatic entrances

by Sumi Moonesinghe narrated to Savithri Rodrigo

When Susil and I returned to Sri Lanka for good, we rented a three-bedroomed flat behind the petrol shed in Thimbirigasyaya for Rs. 600 a month. This is the home we prepared for the arrival of our firstborn. But Susil and I were both of one mind that being on rent was not the answer and so began our quest for the purchase of a house.

Upali Wijewardene was getting married to Seevali Ratwatte’s daughter Lakmani, and being very close friends of Seevali and Cuckoo, we were on the invitee list. It was a gathering of the near and dear and there we met Susil’s cousin Lalith Hewavitarane, the CEO of Don Carolis, who always had his ear to the ground. He mentioned that the official residence of the Ceylon Match Company Chairman on Jawatte Road was for sale and asked us to take a look at it.

Another commonality between Susil and me is that we know when we like something. It’s an instant decision. This house was one of those. It was lovely and we both felt in our hearts that it was a good investment. The house stood on 70 perches of land and the asking price was Rs. 350,000. Neither Susil nor I had that kind of money.

The advice I was given before I left for England – ‘Save your money, buy a car and it has to be Peugeot 504 because it has good resale value’ came in handy. We sold the Peugeot 504 for Rs. 200,000 which was a good price and Susil suggested we get a loan for the balance payment.

I had been in academics and never had a reason to venture into a bank to request a loan. So this was completely new to me. Susil decided to show me the ropes. He took me to see his friend Mohamed Moheed, who was the General Manager of the Bank of Ceylon. They started off talking niceties and my initial thought was, “This is never going to end. When is he going to ask about the loan?” Just when the conversation was about to end, Susil said, “I need a loan from BOC to purchase our house.”

The unhesitating reply was, “Ah, no problem. Consider it done.” That’s the importance of having a good network and Susil had cultivated that network to perfection. We now had the full payment for the Jawatte Road house.

Thus far, everything had been bought and paid for by me. The cars in Singapore, the furniture we had and now, the loan for the house will be my responsibility. When the deed was to be written however, Susil asked me if we could write the property in Tara’s name. Even though the property was being purchased with my money and the request may have been strange in the circumstances, I never questioned Susil and did as he wanted me to do.

The deed was not important to me; what was important was that we had our first home. In order to meet the payments of the Rs. 150,000 loan however, we decided to give the house on rent. This was a sensible decision as otherwise, I would have to find money for yet another payment that fell on my shoulders. We rented the house out to an expatriate, while continuing to stay in the flat at Thimbirigasyaya.

This was about the time that Tara was leaving for Essex University. I had never met her or spoken with her but from the time I started working in Singapore, I had saved for her education. Hence, all expenses were sorted out, including the air tickets for Susil and her to go to London, because I wanted Susil to drop her off at the university. These are those moment which parents cherish, especially fathers and their daughters and I didn’t want him to miss out on that.

Even though my initial relationship with Ganga and Tara was quite frosty, I always made sure they were looked after and Susil’s responsibilities were always met. Rents were paid, household expenses met, schooling was looked after and the car was always sent for them whenever Ganga or Tara requested for it.

I finally met Tara only in 1977, long after she was settled at university in England. Susil would always visit her whenever we got into London and on one of these visits, she asked Susil if she could meet me. I was naturally a little nervous but it turned out to be a very friendly meeting. I took her shopping and bought her dinner before she returned to Essex. It was only after this meeting that it struck me that I was just 10 years older than Tara.

While Susil was in England dropping Tara at university, my delivery date for the baby was also close at hand. My mother and Roni had moved into the flat with us in preparation for the big day. The baby’s arrival date was yet some time away but one day, I was feeling particularly uncomfortable and called Dr. Siva (Chinnatamby) who sent me immediately to St. Michael’s Nursing Home at Alfred House Gardens.

I was admitted and was settled into a room. There was strict ‘No Visitors’ policy those days and only the father of child was given access to the room. Susil was abroad but the nursing home personnel were not aware of that. Along came Susil’s brother, Anil, claiming he was the father of my child. When he needed a break, Susil’s other brother, Nimal, would walk in confidently declaring himself as the father. Subsequently, our friend, Senaka Amarasinghe, would stride in maintaining paternity. The security guard in charge of letting people through the gates was utterly confused and after seeing parade of ‘fathers’ is known to have asked, “How many fathers has this child got?”

My discomfort continued through the night and the following morning, when Dr. Siva arrived at the hospital, she decided to induce labour. Susil was also due that day from the UK and arrived at the hospital about 1 pm. He was introduced as the fourth father of my child!

Anarkali Kumari Moonesinghe was born on September 28, 1975 with little drama beyond the claim of having multiple fathers. After having been through labour and the birth, my mother and Susil both went home to catch up on some much-needed sleep. I had hired a nanny who was very helpful in getting everything organized and ready – from pre-departure to the nursing home, to being with me while I was in labour and after the baby was born.

After everything turned quiet and only the nanny and I were in the hospital room, the house doctor doing his rounds lifted the sheets for a routine check and found me in a bath of blood. There was immediate pandemonium as I apparently had a cervical tear. He feared I was bleeding to death. With my blood pressure alarmingly low, I was immediately sedated and rushed to the theatre. But as the doctors tried to stitch one side of the tear, the other side would open up. They fought tooth and nail to save my life and later told me, it was touch and go.

Susil had been informed and came rushing back to hospital and was met by Dr. Siva who had come out of the theatre. “We have done everything we can,” she told him. If she lives, it’s her destiny.” Meanwhile, on hearing the gravity of the situation, our friends had got activated as well. Killi, the trustee pf Captain Gardens Hindu Kovil opened for prayers and Bri Ponnambalam kept shuttling to the Blood Bank to get me the five pints of blood I needed to keep me alive.

Many years later, Prof. Henry Nanayakkara said, “I came into the hospital and heard there was a really bad case. I did know it was you. But we don’t interfere with another doctor’s patient due to professional ethics.”

With all this drama surrounding me, my newborn daughter had been thoroughly neglected. She was in her crib but shoved into a corner as the medical personnel needed the space to attend to me. Back in the room, Dr. Siva stayed by my side and the nanny attended to the baby. I was in hospital for a month but survived to tell the tale.

So it was that my will to live saved me, but not before damaging my insides. There was always a threat that I may abort, which eventuality did come to pass. I miscarried my second child shortly after.

During Christmas of 1978, Susil, Anarkali and I were on holiday in Madras with Thanchi and Vasanta Coomaraswamy, Sivali and Cuckoo Ratwatte and the children – nine of us in all.

In those days, there were no restrictions on how many people could travel in a car and the Ambassador was the most popular car in India. So we would all pile into the Ambassador and roam all over Madras.

Cuckoo habitually takes her horoscope with her wherever she went. She wanted to see an Indian astrologer and inveigled Susil to accompany her. While reading Cuckoo’s horoscope, the astrologer looked at Susil and said, “You will have a child before the end of next year.”

Somewhat taken aback with this revelation and knowing my medical condition at the time, Susil broke the news to me as soon as he returned. The moment he told me the astrologer’s prediction, those long-held-back feelings of wanting another child came pouring out of me. Even though I had always harboured the dream of having another child, the complications of Anarkali’s birth were too fresh in my mind, in fact frightening Susil even more than me.

We returned to Colombo a few months later, the prediction came to pass. I was pregnant. I was coerced by Susil to consult Prof. Henry Nanayakkara, whom I had steered clear from when I was pregnant with Anarkali due to the large numbers I saw in his consulting room. Cuckoo and I went to see Prof. Nanayakkara but given his rather flippant bedside manner, I returned from the consultation, rather annoyed.

I told Susil that Prof. Nanayakkara was very rude and I wasn’t going to see him again. But Susil took on a new mission – to make sure that Prof. Henry Nanayakkara and I would become good friends. So, much to my chagrin, we made another appointment and this time, Susil accompanied me. Susil was allowed to sit in a chair. I was was absolutely charming when we met Henry and from then on, the ice thawed.

Given my medical history, Prof. Nanayakkara made it quite clear that he would not tolerate any nonsense. I was directed to stay in bed the full nine months and not even allowed to sit in a chair. I was fully absorbed in my work at Jones Overseas by this time and running a business while being horizontal is no joke. But unusual circumstances call for unusual solutions.

I moved my office into my bedroom and each day my Secretary, June, would sit in front of me and take down various instructions and dictation. I must say, we managed very well. In my seventh month, I couldn’t handle the inactivity anymore. Belng in bed was boring me to tears and I pressured Susil to allow me to meet the Chairman of the CWE (Cooperative Wholesale Establishment) Razik Zarook. A worried Susil tried to talk me out of it, but given my obstinacy when I wanted my way, he finally gave in and took me for my meeting.

After the meeting I decided on another detour, which again, Susil was powerless to refute. I wanted to meet Maha and apprise him of the operations at Jones Overseas. We stopped by for lunch. Susil was relieved when we got home and quickly put me to bed. But his relief was short-lived. I started bleeding and Henry was summoned. A rather infuriated Henry assured me the baby was fine, but berated me for not following his instructions, “Because it is for your own safety,” he said with finality.

As a reward for all those months of lying flat on my back, it was time for the baby’s arrival. I had made known that I desperately wanted a son, so just before I was anesthetized, I remember telling the anaesthetist, “Only wake me up if it’s a boy. If it’s a girl, give me another dose and put me back to sleep.”

But then Aushinari Moonesinghe arrived on the September 7, 1979, smiling and gurgling, pushing aside all my wishes for a boy. She completed the beautiful picture of our family. There were no complications and Henry’s excellent care made sure I got back to work very quickly too.

And just before Aushi’s birth, we created yet another milestone for our family. We divided the 70 perches of land on Jawatte Road, writing 35 perches in Anarkali’s name and the other in Tara’s, together with the house.