SARATH SAMARASINGHE

by Vijaya Chandrasoma

My friend of over 70 years, Sarath Samarasinghe, passed away last week.

Sarath was not only a classmate from Royal Primary through Royal College in our teenage years, but we kept in touch with each other for more than seven decades. The different paths taken by our lives and careers may have resulted in losing touch at intervals during our adult lives, but our friendship endured without pause.

I hadn’t met Sarath for many years since I emigrated to the US in the 1990s. One day, I got a call from Sarath, that he was in Los Angeles for a few days. He was calling from the home of Dr. Lareef Idroos, a Thomian friend, also an outstanding cricketer who had gone on to represent Ceylon in the 1960s. I was horrified that Sarath was not with me. Lareef lived in La Canada, under an hour’s drive from my home in the San Fernando Valley. I drove there immediately, and insisted that he spends the duration of his visit in LA with me, an old friend and a classmate to boot, rather than with a damned Thomian. Though I have to concede that Lareef is an extremely nice man, for an alumnus of an outstation school.

Thanks mainly to the efforts of another classmate, Ken Balendra, we, the class of 1952, never completely lost touch with each other. Ken’s acumen and brilliance in the world of Sri Lankan business circles are unparalleled, but he never lost sight of his beginnings and his friends in the old school, many lifelong friends like Sarath. With Tilak Liyanage and others who valued nostalgia and sentiment over the cynicism of the real world, Ken organized annual reunions of members of our Royal College class of 1952. Evenings filled with booze, laughter and memories of those good old formative days of our lives, when we helped and misled each other on a variety of activities.

Evenings which would never be forgotten, nor complete without a drunken rendition of the College song, at the end of which came the real highlight of the party: Sarath’s inimitable rendition of famous arias of Italian tenors. Sarath’s style was inspired by the flair of the Italian Opera Buffa, or Comic Opera, which featured “colloquial language and slang expressions, the complete rejection of vocal virtuosity and a tendency to an incorrect pronunciation of the words”. An art that Sarath had perfected over the years to a degree of almost professional excellence. Rumour has it that he declined an invitation to perform with the Three Tenors at the Teatro La Scala in Milan because the dates clashed with the Royal Thomian!

Sarath was an excellent cricketer, representing the College First XI from 1956 to 1960, captaining the side in 1959. I left school at the end of 1957, so I was not privy to all of Sarath’s exploits, but I do remember him as an outstanding opening batsman and wicket keeper. He used to regale us with the excellence of his glorious cover drives and well-timed leg glances, 50 years later. Proving the old adage, “the older we get, the better we were”.

In an article written by a Royal cricketer of a later vintage, Eardley Lieversz waxed eloquent about the “quintessential characteristics of his Royal heroes”. He describes Sarath as “chirpy, humorous, competitive, courageous and affable”. Sarath was all of that, and more. He was also kind, compassionate, a caring friend and a devout Buddhist.

Although I was at best a mediocre cricketer, I had the pleasure and privilege of playing with Sarath during our early teens. Apart from the routine cricket practices at school, we organized impromptu matches during the weekend, on bare land opposite our house on Fifth Lane, and Sarath’s at Reid Avenue. I can fully vouch for Sarath’s competitiveness, which coupled with his batting skills, made him a most difficult batsman to dislodge.

I well remember one occasion at one these “big matches” in Reid Avenue, I had Sarath plumb LBW with one of my straight up and down off-spinners which rarely spun. He refused to walk. The only DRS system available to us was Sarath’s decision, which proved to be pretty unshakeable, as it was accompanied with the threat that “he would take his bat and ball and go home”, if he was ruled out. Sarath has always denied this story, which he calls a figment of my imagination. He may be right; his sportsmanship has never been questioned.

I can vouch for Sarath’s caring and kindness to his friends, with a recent personal experience. I had recently been recovering from a life-threatening illness, which kept me virtually immobile and helpless for months. When Sarath heard of my condition, he made it a point to visit me, with another of our “baby class” friends, Dr. Harsha Samarajiwa, my excellent physician who has looked after me like gold since I retired in Sri Lanka many years ago. We enjoyed a wonderful visit, entertaining each other (usually lying, or at least grossly exaggerating) about our schoolday exploits.

I still have the message he sent me after this visit. He wrote, “It was great to have had the opportunity to share wonderful stories, and wished we had more time to continue”. He went on to tell me, helpless as I then was, to look after myself, adding that the best thing that has happened to me is that my son constantly monitors my health and finances from LA, which will enable me “to get rid of my bad habits”. Sound advice, though I would be a liar if I say that those “bad habits” don’t beckon most enticingly, just about every day.

Sarath was in the best of health and full of life and laughter, that day. Three short months later, he is no longer with us. Life can be very cruel.

Sarath was my age, but the grief of losing a friend, especially one who shares the proud bond of the old school tie, will never be alleviated by the inevitability of death. We will miss him, but remain ever grateful for the memories we share.

My heartfelt condolences, and those of my family, are with Srimali, Chehan and Anouk.

May Sarath’s continuing journey in Samsara be short.