By Goolbai Gunasekara

An unlikely destiny but a very happy karma caused my American mother and North Indian father to make Sri Lanka (then Ceylon) their home shortly after their marriage in the USA. My parents regarded Sri Lanka as the home of their hearts, if not that of their birth. At the age of 23, my highly qualified mother found herself the Principal of Visakha Vidyalaya, probably the youngest Principal EVER to head a school in Sri Lanka.

Visakha had two beautiful new buildings at the time, but, finances being what they were, one section of the large hostel was turned into a residence for the Principal.  I mention this because this is how I happened to be a baby pet to seven Visakhians for the first years of my life … and, as things turned out, long after.

 These seven  Visakhians were my adopted sisters, dearer than others.  I rarely met my Indian and American relatives except during holidays abroad, but my Sri Lankan ‘Sisters’ have been a part of my entire life. To begin…..

Dr. Rohini Wickremasuriya (nee Gunasekara) was the one who fostered my literary tastes.  When I was older, we lived close and although Mother encouraged reading she was too busy to keep me constantly supplied. Rohini filled the slack, and soon I was onto novels like ‘Dragonwyk’, ‘Good Earth', et al. Rohini’s mother, Aunty Constance,  agitatedly reported to mine that I was into unsuitable literature. Fortunately, Mother did not operate under the smothering blanket of parental rule and soothed Aunty C., saying discrimination would result. 
  
 Sujatha Jayawardene (nee de Silva)  was an extremely favourite ‘Sister’ whose parents would act as my surrogate parents whenever Mother needed to go abroad to be with my Father. They had a sprawling house near Visakha, and their highly traditional life pleased my father no end. He expected me (alas, vainly) to imbibe  Sujatha’s perfection!    

When they left the house for school each morning, Sujatha and her brothers, Sampath and Sidat, knelt before their parents for a short blessing. My parents were mightily surprised when I did likewise upon their return. While they were happy to encourage such excellent attitudes, they were impractical in our household.  Mother left for her school long before I left for mine, and  Father was usually abroad. 

Mother mentioned this problem to Sujatha’s father,  Mr. DNW de Silva, the well-known Municipal Councillor and best-known political journalist of that era. ( He was also known as ‘The Whip’ thanks to a perspicacious wit.)  He suggested I transfer my time of blessing to bedtime, which I did whenever I was in Ceylon.

 After I married, many years later, it was Sujatha who guided me into learning the art of handling a career with that of a housewife and mother. 

 Christobel   Weerasinghe (nee Kotelawela) was transferred from a Christian boarding school to  Visakha as her father, Sir Henry Kotelawela,  feared conversion.  He expected Buddhism to rub off on Christobel under Mother‘s guidance in the Visakha hostel. It was a vain hope. Christobel was the heroine of Visakha’s Operettas and other dramatic  doings, but was generally found hiding in the cupboards on Poya Days
 
Mother was a diplomat. “When you leave school, you can be anything you like,” she told the rebellious teenager.” I personally believe in all the great teachers. But while you are at Visakha, I must ask you to do as your father expects.”  

Christobel had a lovely voice and often sang solos whenever Mother sat with the hostellers in the evening. I admired this to no end. Chistobel would always take the trouble to reach me with the words.  Much of her married life was spent in the USA, and she was well placed to advise me on a University career.  When she returned to live in Sri Lanka, we resumed a close and satisfying ‘Sister’ friendship.

And 5, Beryl and Lakshmi de Silva (both nee de Silva but not sisters ) actively acted as my constantly present ‘Sisters’ right throughout my life, as they lived in Sri Lanka without any long foreign stays. They visited Mother all the time and thus kept close tabs on what I was up to. For instance, when it became known I was marrying my husband, Bunchy, they paid alarmed visits to Mother as there was some sort of family connection with him, distant but existing. They felt, alas, that Bunchy was too sophisticated for my strictly supervised ‘simple’ life.  I often wondered what they thought  I’d been doing in my several schools abroad and at University!    Happily, they saw me through rose coloured spectacles. Mother soothed them, and Bunchy very quickly became very popular.  

When  I was Principal of Asian International School, Beryl and Lakshmi would visit my office every birthday for the coffee and cake arranged by my secretary for these special ladies. Beryl  once commented, “You were always a determined and bossy child.” Overhearing  this, my secretary snorted in total agreement and remarked, “Aiyo, she still is.”

Beryl and Lakshmi would check on my health ( fortunately, usually robust), and I felt protected by their affection.  When I needed a knee replacement, both instantly offered to spend the night with me in the hospital. Knowing what an appalling patient I could be, my family hastily refused. 

6. Indra Wettamuni (nee de Silva)  was considered the most beautiful student in Visakha.  She resembled the famous Hollywood actress, Deanna Durbin, who was reputedly  American President Franklin Roosevelt’s favourite actress. Certainly, I  (and others) gazed at Indra adoringly, and from my childish standpoint, there was no one lovelier. She was a superb oriental dancer, but I cannot recall if she was particularly athletic.  Her famous cricketing sons have certainly made up for that! 

One incident I must relate. Mother had sent me to bed without dessert one night.  We were still living in the Visakha hostel wing, and so my ayah relayed this deprivation to sympathetic hostellers.  Indra and friends smuggled a bar of Nestle’s chocolate through the window. I was three years old, and I was told I ate it all without sharing!

7.  Manel Ratnatunga (nee Hewavitarna) was the eldest of six girls, and her recent passing away has been unbelievably painful. I have no ‘Sisters’ left now, which is what prompted this article chronicling  their great value in my life 

She was the most brilliant student of English my Mother ever taught in all the schools she headed. She is a well-known author and was nominated for the Gratiaen prize for her book “Saga Indonesia”. Her personally elegant appearance was a model to copy!  

After I left University, Manel strongly encouraged my own writing, and  I  credit her with telling me that writing in a humorous vein was my forte.  Her husband’s career took her abroad a great deal, but when she returned for good, she immediately checked on my ‘progress’. She did not believe in allowing me to settle down to unproductivity.  

All seven of my ‘Sisters’ felt I needed supervision, and to my mother’s amusement, they gave it even after they were no longer her pupils.  I feel they just continued with the habit formed in the Visakha school hostel.  I had a busy Mother and a Father who was away abroad a lot.  The continued maternal feelings of my ‘Sisters’ were the greatest prize fortune could have ever bestowed. 

My husband was often included in their overseeing eyes and learnt to live with it. As a matter of fact, he easily returned their affection. For instance, upon hearing Manel often read in bed, he had a bed-book-holder made, which allowed reading in bed easily and comfortably. She used it till she passed away.

When she asked me to speak at her last book launch, I was flattered beyond belief.  She has been my idol for so long; this request was the ultimate compliment.   Her graciousness will never be forgotten.

The train of sisterly love runs on closeness and compassion.  I was lucky beyond expectation to have had this care and warmth from non-relatives, which no one else ( to my knowledge) has experienced.  I look back on a life filled with the concern and love of these seven special ladies that has exceeded ties of a common ancestry.  And so I remember them  with these appropriate words,   “It is Loving Memories  that enable  us  to gather Roses in Winter.”