Some lives are lived quietly.

And then there are lives like Uncle Mano’s… lived in full volume, rich, layered, and unforgettable.

To speak of Uncle Mano is to speak of a man who held many worlds within him. A scholar, a thinker, a man who once walked the path toward priesthood, later stepping into the precision of nuclear engineering in London and then returning home to Sri Lanka, not just to live, but to create.

He didn’t just build a life.
He curated one.

A cornerstone of the arts in Colombo, a patron, a mentor, a believer in talent long before the world saw it. But beyond the titles, beyond the achievements, beyond the intellect… was the magic of the man himself.

Because Uncle Mano didn’t just appreciate talent, he celebrated it.

If you were on stage, no matter how big or small, you could always count on one thing: his applause. Loud, proud, and full of heart. The kind of applause that made you feel like you mattered.

And then there was his music…

The way he played the piano was nothing short of magical. It wasn’t just about notes; it was emotion, storytelling, and presence. When Uncle Mano played, you didn’t just hear music… You felt it.

He had a way of turning even the simplest of moments into something extraordinary.

A meal at his home? Never just a meal.
It was an experience. Thoughtfully curated, beautifully presented, every detail done to perfection. Even the simplest dish felt like fine dining because for him, life was meant to be elevated, no matter how small the moment.

And oh, the details…

His lavish Christmas trees came with stories of their own. The way he dressed — always sharp, always elegant. The way he spoke was articulate, charming, and full of charisma. A true gentleman in every sense, opening doors, making people feel special, saying something kind… always.

Because that was his philosophy,  there is always something nice to say. And he lived by it.

What made Uncle Mano truly rare was his ability to connect. Effortlessly.

From an 80-year-old reminiscing about the past, to a 20-year-old finding their way, to a young performer stepping onto a stage for the very first time, he met you exactly where you were, and somehow made you feel like you belonged.

He carried within him stories that stretched across time from the British era to the Second World War, from independence to the ’83 riots, from governments to generations. But what made him unforgettable wasn’t just the stories… it was the way he told them.

With wit. With humour. With relatability. With life.

You didn’t just listen to Uncle Mano — you experienced him.

I first met him when I was in Grade 6, rehearsing for St. Peter’s College’s 75th anniversary. He taught us “When the Saints Go Marching In.” And even then, there was something about him 
a presence, a spark that stayed with you.

And it stayed with so many of us… across generations.

Because Uncle Mano didn’t just showcase class and charisma,  he showed us how to find it in the simplest of things, in the simplest of places.

He built more than spaces 
He built experiences.
He touched more than instruments —
He touched hearts.

And I find comfort in knowing that when he closed his eyes, he was with the person he cherished the most — Neo 

A goodbye to a legend… yes.
But not an ending.

Because of his memories, the work he has done, the spaces he brought to life, the music he created, and the smiles he gave so freely… will always remind us that Uncle Mano is still around.

And above all, his faith, his deep, unwavering love for Mother Mary, was a quiet strength that guided him. Though he once walked the path toward priesthood, he never truly left it. He lived a life with God, in his own way, with grace, devotion, and purpose.

Rest in peace, Uncle.
You have done so much.
You have given so much.

And you will always be remembered… with love.