I had just finished my breakfast when there was a call on my mobile phone from an unfamiliar number. My sister and her husband saw my apprehension as I fielded the call. It was from Asoka’s youngest daughter Mihiri who I thought was concluding her studies at Cambridge University. She said her father had passed away the night before and her mother Dilmani wanted us informed. That was how initially the devastating news broke.
Asoka was also a Royalist although our paths only crossed at the University of Ceylon, Colombo Campus and thereafter at the Katubedda campus in 1972. Asoka was a mathematician there while I was an undergraduate at the Department of Architecture. After that, there was never a time when I was not in touch with dear Asoka.
Our minds coalesced wherever necessary and differed of course without rancour when needed. I used to meet Dilmani, whom Asoka was yet to marry at her Havelock Road residence. It was open house at Dilmani’s, the tradition of which continued after their marriage. After the festivities of the wedding and homecoming, Asoka and Dilmani set up house at Pamankada which was like a second home to friends like us. Asoka’s interests were wide and varied.
He was equally at home enunciating Schrödinger’s theory or discussing the latest film of Ingmar Bergman. His choice of music was eclectic and ranged from folk rock to ballads to opera. He was also an avid reader surpassed probably only by his wife and companion for life, Dilmani. Arguably, he was the one of a kind who could and did hold his own against anyone. Another one of Asoka’s intelligent pursuits was Contract bridge where he represented Sri Lanka at international tournaments. I used to tag along with Asoka or with our mutual bridge friends like Paul and Manel De Niese, but my forays ended up with having a good drink while watching the bridge players.
Asoka and Dilmani were extremely warm people, absolutely loyal to their friends and I was privileged to be a prime beneficiary of their goodwill in a myriad ways. So now it is up to Dilmani to take up cudgels and hold the torch for both, herself and the incomparable Asoka.
They have been blessed with their son Asanga, doing extremely well in the commercial sector and their two daughters, in academia, Renu a Fulbright scholar and Mihiri , a recipient of a Cambridge scholarship reading for her Ph D.
An endearing facet of Asoka was that he was the embodiment of Rudyard Kipling’s IF. He was one who could walk with Kings but not lose the common touch. But by no means was he common. He was an exceptional human being and a humanist at all times. The holidays spent in Mankerni in the East coast in the early 80s were indeed memorable in addition to the copious amounts of spirits consumed.
Midnight sea baths were galore and one of the group, banker Kalinga indulged in his pet hobby of bird watching at night. All in good fun. In other words there was never a dull moment with Asoka around, singing his signature song Bob Dylan’s, Blowing in the Wind. In fact, Paul would attempt to get a rise out of Asoka calling him “How many roads Warnasuriya”. Of course Asoka never took the bait. He was his own man always.
Asoka was also a computer whiz kid, while I was almost a Luddite. Even at home he would be found staring and working at the computer while I would be seated by him indulging in desultory conversation and quaffing drinks. He was a master at downloading interesting snippets of information both, political and otherwise, and he would send these to his friends and family, so much so that, when his friends didn’t receive any such mail for a few days, they would ring and ask Dilmani whether he was ill.
Vices he had. Smoking was the worst. Social drinking was ‘de rigueur’and kept the conversation, especially, at parties in full swing.
Asoka was a person who would literally give his shirt off his back for a friend. I particularly remember one instance when Nimal came in a rush to my home and requested me to accompany him to a delicate mission in Embilipitya.
This was in the mid 70s and Embilipitya was just a name I read in the papers and akin to the American Wild West. I said OK and asked him “when”? He said as soon as possible. We then went to Asoka’s residence in Pamankada and made a request to borrow his Renault Dauphin. Dilmani looked askance at us, but Asoka readily parted with the vehicle although that was his sole mode of conveyance to go to work.
Of all my friends, Asoka and Dilmani were some of my mother’s favourites and she used to look forward to their visits. My mother passed away in 2008 and now Asoka is no more. I suppose that is destiny or kismet. There were different phases in Asoka’s life – a chequered career indeed. Finally, he became his own boss and set up a Computer software consultancy.
Here too his innate humanism showed in his dealings. Asoka spent his retirement reading about Sri Lanka’s heritage and amassed quite a collection of books on Ceylon and Sri Lanka. He was never for whatever reason a globe trotter. He was out and out a Sri Lankan, being comfortable in his own skin. On one occasion when I was giving Narada a lift to his home he said, Asoka was the most brilliant of his siblings and could have reached dizzy heights in academia, business or even politics if he applied himself.
And this was straight off the bat from Narada – an eminent Emeritus Professor of Paediatrics and ultimately Vice Chancellor of the University of Sri Jayawardenepura.
I would be failing in my duties if I did not mention a few of Asoka’s salient qualities. Not only was he a true blue samasamajist like his uncle LC and his father, he was a man of the world. There was no racism in his mind or thoughts, his religion was pacifism and he did not subscribe to narrow sectarian politics.
His friends included all the races, covering all religions and he did not care for caste or creed. Quintessentially Asoka was a man for all seasons. His vanity extended only to his well tended moustache. So I in turn and for my part having done my bit in extolling the virtues of dear departed Asoka, shall conclude by quoting from Robert Frost’s poem:
Stopping by woods on a snowy evening:
The woods are lovely dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep
This is my humble opinion and plea for Dilmani, Asanga, Charini, Nanda, Renu and Mihiri on behalf of dear Asoka to follow without fear and with fervour.
Srilal Waidyatilleke