Wikipedia will tell you that he was a physician, a writer of several books, a renowned cricketer as a young man, and a wildlife and conservation activist. He wrote his personal memoirs in 2016, and this book, titled ‘The Good, The Bad and The Different’, details some of the interesting life experiences he had: his extensive travels, the personal lessons learned in his professional life, his enthusiasm for history, archaeology and the natural world, the lively opinions he had of the people he encountered.
Most people live a life defined by their professional vocation. Indeed, life is such that there is little time for us to actively pursue or engage in anything other than practise the profession in which we operate. But my Father was able to engage in multiple spheres of professional activity, and follow and fulfil a number of interests throughout his life.
He achieved a great deal in many fields, but he was also quite modest, personally. When I was young, I once gave him a poster on Father’s Day, which said ‘Shine on me Father, so I can reflect your light’. It had a beautiful sunlit seascape behind it. Thaththi said, ‘You know this is a religious poster, Devika. It’s meant to express your feeling for God. I’m just a man!’ I said of course I knew the difference! And I insisted he have it, and put it on the wall of his study.
My Father had a broad based, classical education at Royal College in the 1950s, a golden era in the island of Sri Lanka. He was always grateful, proud and appreciative of the excellent free education the country offered to him and his contemporaries, on which so many brilliant careers were founded. He loved reading poetry and literature as well as history. He enjoyed the work of P.G. Wodehouse and Somerset Maugham, and has a large number of popular novels in his library.
We grew up reading Punch, and The New Yorker, and when my brother and I were little we loved The National Geographic, and Look and Learn Magazine. Being able to discuss our developing interests in the world with such a knowledgeable and enthusiastic person made an adventure out of life for us, as children.
He loved David Attenborough’s wildlife programmes, but he was no mere armchair traveller. He loved going to countries like Egypt and South America, and Africa, and going on safari. He observed the life of the people, and developed some insight into the cultures which formed them, and the challenges they faced. My lifelong love of travel is shared with him, and he loved to hear of my experiences in Argentina and Ireland, and viewing the Aurora Borealis from a plane.
He told us once that the saddest sight he had ever seen was poor people in a drought and civil war ridden country fighting each other for grains of rice that had fallen off a truck which was engaged in humanitarian relief. Poverty and hunger strip away our humanity and our dignity, he said. And not one of us is immune from that degradation, if our life circumstances are against us.
My Father had a fall on Saturday the 12th of June. The doctors who examined him after admission to hospital did a detailed medical history, and asked me about a scar on his shoulder. I explained that this was the result of an incident in Nepal, many years ago, when Thaththi had been on a wildlife safari and had been chased by rhinoceroses. To save himself, he leaped into a tree, one handed, as his camera equipment was in the other, and hung there until the rhinos left. He had dislocated his shoulder, and just had a patch up job done at the camp.
Being young and healthy at that time, he thought nothing of it. He had a great capacity to heal quickly. Twenty years later, he found he couldn’t move that arm without pain. The doctors in Sydney who did reconstructive surgery on his shoulder asked him how he got the injury and didn’t believe him when he told them. But it was true!
He was a great friend to all of us, and a tremendous encourager, in the challenges of life. Once at a terrible time in my own life, I felt like giving up after a series of back to back calamities immediately following the loss of someone I dearly loved. My Father did not tell me to get over it, or count my blessings. He said, ‘It’s true that you have had a lot to contend with lately. But you know, you haven’t yet seen the range of experiences life offers us all. Life brings us a wealth of opportunities. Don’t make a decision on insufficient information. Life goes in cycles, and this period will pass and good will come. Hold on, and keep going, if you can. We will give you all our support. It’s worth it, believe me.’
As a family, we have a million memories of things we did together, with concerts and films and jungle trips and whale watching. The early morning rounds to watch animals, drinking hot tea made with condensed milk before sunrise, star gazing and the smell of kerosene lamps at night, the sunrises on the East coast, the visiting of caves and ancient sites, the viewing of the fireworks on my birthday. The slightly clumsy parcel wrapping of our birthday gifts, and the huge cards to express his big love.
My Father was interested in so many things that he was fascinating to talk to. For the last 18 months in lockdown, we have had a wonderful companion to share movies and music and political discussions with. We enjoyed cooking him some of his favourite foods, from his student days in England. He loved Italy, and Italian cuisine, loved that I cooked pasta sauces with home grown basil during lockdown, and was very sad when the kind and genial proprietor of Dolce Italia, Colombo, passed away recently.
Through knowing him, I came to see a different era, the one which formed my parents, when the world was not yet so given to materialism, consumerism, superficiality and self-centeredness, and the systems of education were not so broken down. He was saddened by the escalating destruction of the environment, and the short sighted actions of those in temporal power. He was exasperated at the lack of ethics, the brazen hypocrisy and the spineless shenanigans of many so called leaders in the world today. What sort of an example were they giving the generation to follow?
For my Father’s birthday this year, we went to see the elephants at Uddawallawe national park, and had a glorious day of jeep travel and animal watching. His was such a vivid personality, even in his older years, that we still feel he is with us. All these events we shared seem recent, although they span many decades.
He used to wake me up early years ago, when I said I needed to study, and he would wake me up early recently if I needed to get up and do a podcast or a Zoom at 2am in the U.S., and didn’t think I could get up in time, or stay awake that long. Go and rest, and I will wake you, he said. And he always did.
This Father’s Day, I sat with him in the hospital and saw that, despite all our hopes and beliefs, he was not going to be able to come back to us. I sang to him one of his favourite songs, ‘Young At Heart’. The lyrics sum up his radiant, open-hearted attitude to life.
‘Fairy tales can come true
It can happen to you
If you’re young at heart.
For it’s hard you will find
To be narrow of mind
If you’re young at heart.
You can go to extremes
with impossible schemes
You can laugh when your dreams
Fall apart at the seams.
And life gets more exciting with each passing day
And love is either in your heart
Or on its way.
Don’t you know that it’s worth
Every treasure on earth
If you’re young at heart?
For as rich as you are,
it’s much better by far
To be young at heart.
And if you should survive to 105,
Think of all you’ll derive
Out of being alive!
And here is the best part:
You have a head start
If you are among the very young at heart.’
We are honored and blessed to have known him, and grateful to have been his companions in the adventures of his life.
We are glad he left very clear instructions for us. His specifications for his coffin were: ‘Good honey-coloured wood. Straightforward design. No frills, no ornamentation, no bloody nonsense.’
The joy that pulses through every living thing, which connects us, is deeper even than our sorrow.
Vale, Brendon Gooneratne.
Most people live a life defined by their professional vocation. Indeed, life is such that there is little time for us to actively pursue or engage in anything other than practise the profession in which we operate. But my Father was able to engage in multiple spheres of professional activity, and follow and fulfil a number of interests throughout his life.
He achieved a great deal in many fields, but he was also quite modest, personally. When I was young, I once gave him a poster on Father’s Day, which said ‘Shine on me Father, so I can reflect your light’. It had a beautiful sunlit seascape behind it. Thaththi said, ‘You know this is a religious poster, Devika. It’s meant to express your feeling for God. I’m just a man!’ I said of course I knew the difference! And I insisted he have it, and put it on the wall of his study.
My Father had a broad based, classical education at Royal College in the 1950s, a golden era in the island of Sri Lanka. He was always grateful, proud and appreciative of the excellent free education the country offered to him and his contemporaries, on which so many brilliant careers were founded. He loved reading poetry and literature as well as history. He enjoyed the work of P.G. Wodehouse and Somerset Maugham, and has a large number of popular novels in his library.
We grew up reading Punch, and The New Yorker, and when my brother and I were little we loved The National Geographic, and Look and Learn Magazine. Being able to discuss our developing interests in the world with such a knowledgeable and enthusiastic person made an adventure out of life for us, as children.
He loved David Attenborough’s wildlife programmes, but he was no mere armchair traveller. He loved going to countries like Egypt and South America, and Africa, and going on safari. He observed the life of the people, and developed some insight into the cultures which formed them, and the challenges they faced. My lifelong love of travel is shared with him, and he loved to hear of my experiences in Argentina and Ireland, and viewing the Aurora Borealis from a plane.
He told us once that the saddest sight he had ever seen was poor people in a drought and civil war ridden country fighting each other for grains of rice that had fallen off a truck which was engaged in humanitarian relief. Poverty and hunger strip away our humanity and our dignity, he said. And not one of us is immune from that degradation, if our life circumstances are against us.
My Father had a fall on Saturday the 12th of June. The doctors who examined him after admission to hospital did a detailed medical history, and asked me about a scar on his shoulder. I explained that this was the result of an incident in Nepal, many years ago, when Thaththi had been on a wildlife safari and had been chased by rhinoceroses. To save himself, he leaped into a tree, one handed, as his camera equipment was in the other, and hung there until the rhinos left. He had dislocated his shoulder, and just had a patch up job done at the camp.
Being young and healthy at that time, he thought nothing of it. He had a great capacity to heal quickly. Twenty years later, he found he couldn’t move that arm without pain. The doctors in Sydney who did reconstructive surgery on his shoulder asked him how he got the injury and didn’t believe him when he told them. But it was true!
He was a great friend to all of us, and a tremendous encourager, in the challenges of life. Once at a terrible time in my own life, I felt like giving up after a series of back to back calamities immediately following the loss of someone I dearly loved. My Father did not tell me to get over it, or count my blessings. He said, ‘It’s true that you have had a lot to contend with lately. But you know, you haven’t yet seen the range of experiences life offers us all. Life brings us a wealth of opportunities. Don’t make a decision on insufficient information. Life goes in cycles, and this period will pass and good will come. Hold on, and keep going, if you can. We will give you all our support. It’s worth it, believe me.’
As a family, we have a million memories of things we did together, with concerts and films and jungle trips and whale watching. The early morning rounds to watch animals, drinking hot tea made with condensed milk before sunrise, star gazing and the smell of kerosene lamps at night, the sunrises on the East coast, the visiting of caves and ancient sites, the viewing of the fireworks on my birthday. The slightly clumsy parcel wrapping of our birthday gifts, and the huge cards to express his big love.
My Father was interested in so many things that he was fascinating to talk to. For the last 18 months in lockdown, we have had a wonderful companion to share movies and music and political discussions with. We enjoyed cooking him some of his favourite foods, from his student days in England. He loved Italy, and Italian cuisine, loved that I cooked pasta sauces with home grown basil during lockdown, and was very sad when the kind and genial proprietor of Dolce Italia, Colombo, passed away recently.
Through knowing him, I came to see a different era, the one which formed my parents, when the world was not yet so given to materialism, consumerism, superficiality and self-centeredness, and the systems of education were not so broken down. He was saddened by the escalating destruction of the environment, and the short sighted actions of those in temporal power. He was exasperated at the lack of ethics, the brazen hypocrisy and the spineless shenanigans of many so called leaders in the world today. What sort of an example were they giving the generation to follow?
For my Father’s birthday this year, we went to see the elephants at Uddawallawe national park, and had a glorious day of jeep travel and animal watching. His was such a vivid personality, even in his older years, that we still feel he is with us. All these events we shared seem recent, although they span many decades.
He used to wake me up early years ago, when I said I needed to study, and he would wake me up early recently if I needed to get up and do a podcast or a Zoom at 2am in the U.S., and didn’t think I could get up in time, or stay awake that long. Go and rest, and I will wake you, he said. And he always did.
This Father’s Day, I sat with him in the hospital and saw that, despite all our hopes and beliefs, he was not going to be able to come back to us. I sang to him one of his favourite songs, ‘Young At Heart’. The lyrics sum up his radiant, open-hearted attitude to life.
‘Fairy tales can come true
It can happen to you
If you’re young at heart.
For it’s hard you will find
To be narrow of mind
If you’re young at heart.
You can go to extremes
with impossible schemes
You can laugh when your dreams
Fall apart at the seams.
And life gets more exciting with each passing day
And love is either in your heart
Or on its way.
Don’t you know that it’s worth
Every treasure on earth
If you’re young at heart?
For as rich as you are,
it’s much better by far
To be young at heart.
And if you should survive to 105,
Think of all you’ll derive
Out of being alive!
And here is the best part:
You have a head start
If you are among the very young at heart.’
We are honored and blessed to have known him, and grateful to have been his companions in the adventures of his life.
We are glad he left very clear instructions for us. His specifications for his coffin were: ‘Good honey-coloured wood. Straightforward design. No frills, no ornamentation, no bloody nonsense.’
The joy that pulses through every living thing, which connects us, is deeper even than our sorrow.
Vale, Brendon Gooneratne.
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