Ajith the colossus

Panduka SENANAYAKE

A tribute to Ajith Samaranayake on his second death anniversary. Ajith passed away on November 22, 2006.

“Once upon a time there was a tavern
Where we used to raise a glass or two.
Remember how we laughed away the hours
And dreamed of all the great things we would do”

Thousands of kilometres between the land Down Under and Sri Lanka and as many hours appeared to vanish into nothingness as I stared at the computer screen showing the news from Sri Lanka not so long ago.

As the reality of Ajith’s passing away sank in, some of the lyrics of Gene Raskin’s song “Those were the days’ slowly filled in a void that seemed to have opened up in my brain.

They mixed with the images of far away days, to a glass partitioned section to the left of one of the main corridors leading to the library on the first floor of Lake House.

It was the `Evening Observer’ Editorial section and overlooked the Beira Lake and the Regal Cinema with the adjacent Regent flats and buildings.

As I walked into the section on that far off day in April 1976, I noticed the lean young man seated at the desk beside the door. He was about my age and appeared to be the youngest in the room.

He wrote in large letters on a thick bundle of copy paper. A few words would fill a page and ever so often he would strike out a word or crumple the paper and drop it in the wastepaper basket by his side.

He held his head at an unusual angle and his hair frequently fell across his forehead. And as frequently, he brushed it back with his fingers. Sometimes he put his pen down and stared at the far wall where an old hat and coat hanger hung beneath a big round clock. He would rub the fingernails of his hands against each other before picking up his pen again.

“I am Ajith,” he introduced himself.

In the new world of journalism, to which I had entered straight from school, Ajith became my companion. A year older than I, he became like a big brother where journalism was concerned. He spoke of his school days at Trinity and his interest in journalism from very young days.

He spoke of his school boy heroes... of Tarzie Vittachi, Mervyn de Silva, Esmond Wickremesinghe, S.Pathiravitana and others. One of them, Manik de Silva who was compared to James Reston now sat across the aisle, tapping away at a small green typewriter. To us he looked like a bear bent over a small green box on a large wooden table.

To me, who knew hardly anything about journalism, Ajith was a font of information. He spoke with authority about it. He had loved journalism from his school days and had a phenomenal knowledge about the newspaper editors who had walked through the portals of Lake House. He could speak at length about most of them.

He enlightened me about the Mecca of journalism, Fleet Street and explained why it was known as Heart Break Street as we debated the importance of getting stories published and getting bylines.

Those were the days when sub editors were strict and would determine the value of a story before publishing it. Bylines were hard to come by and sub- editors like the late Willie Silva and Anton Weerasinha made reporters work for their bylines. It was great strength to have Ajith there to discuss a story before submitting it to the sub editors.

As time passed I began to realise that the sub editors hardly called upon Ajith to correct his copy. In his early years in the field of journalism the much experienced and hardened sub-editors had a sneaking admiration for Ajith. This young man whom many would have passed off as insignificant in a playing field was a growing colossus in the Sri Lankan field of journalism.

As I struggled on through those formative years, Ajith was always there to encourage and support me. I remember him dragging me to the library to happily point out a translation of one of my stories in a Sinhala paper published by another group. His excitement was catching as he pointed out how well the translator had done his work.

Those were the days when we started work at 6. A.m. and finished at 2.p.m. Ajith who was a loner in those days used to spend the rest of the day reading and writing in office. Much of the afternoon assignments were undertaken by him and he enjoyed doing reviews of books, films and plays

Some of his reviews did not meet the deadlines in those early days. Disappointed producers and artistes had to bide their time till Ajith was in the mood to write a good review.

Always willing to help those who came to him, Ajith never said `no’. Very good at translations, he was much sought after by some of the local correspondents seeking to get their stories into an English paper.

Gradually, I was drawn into his world of the muse. Having mastered the typewriter I helped type his copy while he dictated. New worlds opened up for me as I typed his political comments and translations and grasped the meanings of new words.

“Milieu, bourgeois, oligarchy, Bacchus...,” the words which slipped easily from his mouth coloured their own picture for the readers. A cub reporter’s salary was around Rs. 260 at the time and the two of us enjoyed two days of the month. One was pay day and the other was the day after!

On both days after work we would visit a Chinese restaurant, the favourite being the `Nippon’ in Slave Island, followed by a couple more restaurants in the Fort, share a bottle of beer and talk till our order of mixed fried rice, savoury omelette and sweet and sour prawn arrived. Then we would tuck into the meal and round it up with a fruit-salad ice cream.

Bolstered by the meal we would visit a city cinema to watch a movie and write the review for the Sunday’s paper. On the days prior to pay day we enjoyed the `Thosai’ in the many cafes that existed in the Fort then.

Ajith’s influence led me to cover Parliament and write film reviews on my own. I well remember him pushing me into giving my very first review, of the film `One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest’ starring Jack Nicholson to the `Sunday Observer’ editor the late Philip Cooray whom we held in awe at the time. I was diffident till the review appeared without any changes.

Ajith stood by me during a challenging and trying time and almost became a nuisance in trying to protect me like a big brother.

He also confided in me when smitten by two girls, one a colleague and the other an outsider. I like to believe he took my advice. Sadly, I was not there for the wedding, being away pursuing other interests.

They were the days of change and the newly found `Island’ newspaper of Upali Wijewardene beckoned many journalists. Ajith and a few Lake House loyalists held on. Then he decided to leave. It could perhaps be said that Ajith lost his youthful innocence thereafter.

The glass of beer or two that were raised during those early days had turned to more potent offerings to Bacchus as he joined fellow travellers in the watering holes inhabited by members of the fourth estate.

A couple of them asked me to influence him to stay away from them but sadly I failed. Circumstances and distance intervened with callous individuals who did not care much about the health of the bright young man with whom they paid homage to Bacchus.

I was happy when he returned to Lake House as my Editor. But the road he had travelled had taken its toll and the passage of time had left its mark. He was a changed person in some ways. Both of us had outgrown the callowness of youth. Experience had tempered us in different ways.

I backed him fully in producing the paper till his kindness was abused by some unscrupulous persons in a devious way to challenge authority.

Having informed him in advance of such a situation arising, I felt badly let down. A bad judgment in the choice of words on my part when inquiring about him following an accident did not help. I will always wonder whether he understood.

Regular contact was lost as we parted to go our own ways. I hoped and prayed for his success as he fought to make his way back repeatedly to a path less travelled in the latter days.

I knew his wife, Mano would stand strong and steadfast beside him. I wonder whether he thought of those halcyon days as often as I did and derived the same sense of nostalgia. So long my friend. I feel you would understand the long silence.

The writer is now domiciled in Australia.