Sunil R de Silva – In memory of those glorious five years

by Dr. Nihal. D. Amarasekera, UK.

Sunil was the son of Walwin. A de Silva, CCS and former Vice Chancellor of the University of Ceylon and the nephew of Dr Colvin R de Silva, Politician, Lawyer and one of the founder members of the LSSP. Sunil had his education at Royal College Colombo and entered the Faculty of Medicine Colombo in 1962. He qualified as a doctor in 1967. After serving his year as an intern at the General Hospital Galle he left for the USA. Sunil was tragically killed in a road traffic accident in 1976. I consider it an immense privilege to have spent those five years with him as medical students at an exciting and idealistic time of our youth.

Sunil de Silva was a cultured gentleman, one of the best I’ve met during my years in the faculty. As I roll back the years trying to create an image of him in my mind what stands out is the calmness he always showed despite the stress and the anxiety that was endemic in the faculty of medicine. Nothing ruffled him and he never showed any histrionics. His surname being closer to mine, alphabetically, we came into contact often and remained friends all through the five years.

Sunil was ever present in the Men’s Common Room. If my memory serves me well, he owned a Honda 50 motorbike on which he arrived early to book a game of billiards. He then spent his entire free time enjoying cups of tea chatting with friends, playing bridge and table tennis. My abiding memory of Sunil is his boundless wit and humour with a poker face. After the busy morning ward rounds I recall with much nostalgia the regular, hilarious and comical dialogues he had with Asoka Wijeyekoon and Chanaka Wijesekera over cups of tea in the Men’s Common Room. Every sentence was rib ticklingly funny. Once there was an almighty kerfuffle close to the billiard table with Sunil at the centre of it. He was maintaining he does not have a brother. His brother’s classmates around him vehemently disagreed. There was plenty of friendly banter, arguments and counterarguments before we all departed for our 11 am lecture. On our return the arguments continued unabated when finally Sunil acceded with a rare broad smile saying “I was just testing the Laws of Probability”. He was a master of sarcasm, irony and wit.

Sunil came from the upper echelons of society with a strong academic background but was resolutely down to earth. This showed even in the way he dressed. He had the remarkable ability to move with equal ease with the bourgeoisie and the proletariat, a trait inherited from his illustrious uncle Colvin R de Silva. He made many friends in the faculty and by his very nature had no enemies. Sunil was soft-spoken, self-effacing and sober. His lifestyle was modest and unpretentious. He was exceptionally kind to everyone and treated all with courtesy and respect. Sunil never entertained any of that frivolous gossip which was rampant in the university. We were all just out of our teenage years and showed our emotions easily, but not Sunil. I never saw those moments of sentimentality in him. Perhaps he masked them skilfully with his distinctive poker face.

He was not a run of the mill medical student. There was something very special about him. Sunil was in many ways an enigma. I use the word as a compliment, being a person with a quiet demeanour with a certain mystery surrounding his persona. As medical students in the 1960’s those were our heady days of youth enjoying a bohemian lifestyle. He never took the easier path of following the masses. His views were always well considered but often unconventional. Although peaceful he was no pushover but always stuck to his principles. He wasn’t keen on politics and religion. Cigarettes were a fashion accessory then, but he never smoked. Being teetotal, alcoholic parties were not his scene. To my recollection he never joined in the boozy evenings in the Common Room, the frolics during the Law-Medical match, Colours Nights and the Final year trip. But he remained a popular, sought after friend, well-liked and respected by all.

As we all recall, in those five years there was an enormous amount of cramming to be done. Sunil rarely spoke of his work schedule but had the intelligence and the discipline to sail through the examinations. He feared no one and no situation. From the signatures and revisals to ward work and examinations, life was stressful. There were times our teachers treated us with such derision and disdain, it hurt us deep within. He uncomplainingly took it all in his stride.

This is not an attempt to deify Sunil R de Silva. I am certain he had some of the faults we all possess as fallible humans. But I just cannot recall any.

When I bade farewell on that fateful day in 1967 in the plush lobby of the faculty of medicine, I never knew I will not see Sunil again. His early demise brought great sadness. Although we were together just for five years it is as if I’ve known him all my life. I would have loved to see him age like me, suffer the same indignities of the ‘Athey Paye Rudawa’, taking a pharmacy of tablets to stay alive, while showering love on the grandchildren. We could have then compared notes how life has treated us since those halcyon days. I can imagine him wearing his poker face, now marked with lines and furrows, just like mine. Pardon me for capturing the tragedy of old age.

He may have a chuckle reading this narrative, wagging his finger at me.

Sunil was a gem in a world of pebbles. His was a short life well lived. I am grateful for his friendship. To live in the hearts we leave behind is not to die.

When I think of Sunil, I’m reminded of a poem I learnt as a child that matched his persona perfectly:

Some go silently into the nightwalk through the park of our humanitywith breath that parts no air -steps that bend no grass -disturbing nothing as they pass.

May you attain the Ultimate Bliss of Nirvana