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Thursday, December 31, 2009
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Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Bamba
Bamba
Once, there was a town,
Where we used to roam;
Through the straight and narrows,
Romping all the way home;
Skimming the beach sands,
Across Railway Lines;
Putting bat to ball,
On every street defined;
Ringing on every doorbell,
Scamping down the Streets;
Frolicking in the Sunshine,
Dripping in rainy beats;
The patter of small feet,
Those days were filled with smiles;
A child’s delightful retreat,
We’ve walked a million miles.
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, Feb 25, 2009
Once, there was a town,
Where we used to roam;
Through the straight and narrows,
Romping all the way home;
Skimming the beach sands,
Across Railway Lines;
Putting bat to ball,
On every street defined;
Ringing on every doorbell,
Scamping down the Streets;
Frolicking in the Sunshine,
Dripping in rainy beats;
The patter of small feet,
Those days were filled with smiles;
A child’s delightful retreat,
We’ve walked a million miles.
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, Feb 25, 2009
Sunday, January 04, 2009
The Tram Car Ride
Going back on a Tramcar ride
By Tissa Devendra – Sunday Times Jan 4 2009
What triggered my memory was an old (very) studio photo of my childhood self staring glumly at the camera while my infant sister timidly leaned towards me. Proudly embossed at the photo’s bottom was “Terminus Studio”. I seem to remember this venerable institution yet standing, till the early 1950s, on the triangular corner where Panchikawatta Road turned into Skinner’s Road towards Technical College.
The ‘Terminus’ of its name meant the end of the line of the very first tramway before it was later extended to Grandpass. The other establishment to honour this now-forgotten mode of public transport was ‘The Tram View Hotel’, a rather dingy tea shop opposite the Punchi Borella Bo tree. The name was probably inspired by the spanking new trams of the late 19th century as they first whooshed past the ‘hotel’ verandah.
The ‘hotel’ retained its name for many years after the last tram clattered to a nameless scrap-yard. As the craze for antiques had not yet taken root, not a single tramcar nor the hotel signboard remains to recall the trams that dominated Colombo’s roads, and carried many thousands of commuters, for well over half a century.
Tramcars seem to have been introduced into Colombo, not long after London, by a British Mayor in the late 19th century. This was an age when motor cars were unknown, the European elite sped to work in rickshaws drawn by wiry ‘coolies’ and ‘natives’ of standing trundled along in ox-drawn buggy carts. Electric tramcars would have been a sensation for the silent speed with which they moved large numbers of people to the far corners of the then ‘Garden City of the East’. Although the steam engines of the CGR carried passengers from town to town, there was no mode of public transport within the city till the advent of tramcars. It is difficult to imagine the sensation they would have caused and the panic they struck in rickshawmen and cart-bulls.
A few First Class seats up in front were reserved for Europeans – the Master Race. Henry W. Cave (Book of Ceylon 1908) devotes quite a few pages to tram travel as the best way of seeing the sights of scenic and exotic Colombo.
The reputed European (what else?) firm of Bousteads owned and operated tramcars under licence from the Municipality. A long arm mounted on the flat roof linked trams to the electricity lines that powered their silent progress. Trams were about the size of a small bus and came in two models. The earliest and commonest, illustrated here, had 10 or 12 long rows of wooden slatted benches in ‘toast rack-style’ facing forward.
The other was rather like a railway compartment with a doorway at the centre, benches along the sides and a ceiling rod for standee passengers to cling to. Some unique features distinguished the “driver’s cabin”. The driver steered the tramcar while standing. Steering was by an impressive metal tiller with a shining brass knob as a handle. At his feet was the button for the loud bell he clanged to announce halting places and clear the tracks of carts, cyclists and pedestrians.
Two broad footboards, one above the other, ran along the length of the tramcar – for the ticket collector’s progress and steps for passengers to mount and dismount.
Trams were very passenger-friendly and had very short runs between halts. I seem to remember about 10 halts between Maradana Railway Station and Punchi Borella. In the same tradition as the CGR, most tram drivers were burly Burgher gents in impressive khaki uniforms. Ticket collectors were drawn from the ‘lesser breeds’. Sadly, there has been no Carl Muller to document the rise and fall of these knights of the tramways.
Although I spent the first six years of childhood in Colombo I cannot recollect travelling by tram at all. So it was in 1946, when I left Ratnapura for a school in Colombo, that I first encountered them with goday wonder. But I soon got reasonably adept in hopping on and off without mishap and forking out the requisite five cents! for travel between two halts. Not long after, I experienced the camaraderie of frequent tram travellers.
As I clambered on to the tram, a descending traveller pressed an unpunched ticket into my hand as a gesture of solidarity. As the son of a school principal, and not yet wise to the ways of the world, I crumpled his gift and conscientiously paid my five cents to the ticket collector. As time went on I learnt the trick of slyly sliding along my bench seat to the end furthest away from the ticket collector working his way along the footboard on one side of the tram. But this manoeuvre could be accomplished only when there were no other passengers between me and the coveted ‘escape seat’. It has to be admitted that such luck was much rarer than the boasts we made of such escapades.
For some inexplicable mechanical reason tramway lines/rails were not above ground but embedded below the road surface.This gave rise to interesting phenomena.
One was the slippage of rickshaw and bicycle wheels into the embedded rails Once he off-loaded his embarrassed passengers, the rickshawman easily lifted his rickshaw out of the rut and trotted off to the clang of the annoyed tram driver’s bell and rude remarks of unruly passengers . The other phenomenon was when a bicycle on a slippery surface wobbled into one of these ruts. Extrication was followed, as usual, by clanging of the driver’s bell accompanied by passenger hoots.
My brother, who had borrowed my bike, fell victim to this misadventure. No sooner had he pulled his bike out than a cart ran over it to the vast amusement of tram passengers and passers-by. But for a bent spoke or two my sturdy ex-Army war-horse, a relic of jungle warfare gifted by an army uncle,was none the worse for the encounter.
My loveliest memory, however, was the wondrous sight when the trams travelled at night over roads that had just been tarred and spread with the requisite layer of sand. As the lighted tram scrunched over this sand it sparkled magically with a myriad sparks.
Somewhere in the 1950s, for some mysterious reason, the Municipality decided to scrap Colombo’s tramways. Some diehard romantics boarded the last tramcar to Grandpass, decorated it with streamers and balloons, and hired a Kotahena funeral band to dolefully belt out the Funeral March to the tramcar’s final halt.
Let this brief piece be a requiem for a charming mode of transport and a way of life long lost to belching buses, skittering trishaws and traffic-jammed cars.
I sometimes wonder whether, in the dead of night, one can faintly hear the clang of a ghostly bell as a phantom tramcar trundles past the Terminus at Panchikawatte and the Tram View Hotel of Punchi Borella on its way to rusty death.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Paradise Misplaced
by Captain Elmo Jayawardena
Our island was called Lanka in pre King Vijaya times. Valmiki s immortal Ramayanaya had King Ravana ruling the land from the city of Lankapura. That was almost four thousand years ago. The Arab traders termed it Jaziratul- Yaqut, island of rubies. Some called it Serandip, some Ceilan, from which the Portuguese picked Ceilao and the European map- makers coined Ceylon. Many were the names from the many that came, and they all were collective in their comment in the description of this land. Bar none, everyone agreed and noted in their chronicles that this island was indeed the complete Paradise. We never gained it. Let s be honest about that part. We simply inherited. The Gods from their celestial dome, in their infinite kindness, gifted this Paradise to us, the beautiful island of Lanka, to the people of Sri Lanka. The privilege of being born and belonging to such a place can only be rightfully expressed if one can take the turmoil out and look through the veils of disharmony that obscure what lies beyond. The purity of the land, still remains, so much unspoiled. The occupant of Paradise, still smiles, in spite of the battering he had received from the time we were reborn after the colonials left. Mother Lanka dawdles, whilst her sons and daughters drowse in ignorance, somewhat a prelude to the disasters ahead. .
Ruben walks daily carrying his Malu Kada following the footsteps of his father and grand father. His son Saman tags along, apprenticing the trade, helps to weigh the fish, cleans the broad blade knife as his father barters with the housewives, haggling for the bargain. They leave, father and son, with the little boy shouting Malu Malu straining his tender vocal chords. The fishmonger to be, on his first lessons. No change. Podi Hami prays every day. That s all she can do. She and her son Sirisena, did try every possible means, and failed. No they couldn't get a letter for employment. Wrong party, not our people, that is what the man said. Not that Podi Hami had any inclination of what happened in the parliament or who sat aloft. She merely crossed the ballot papers. There was always too much controversy in the news and people spoke in such different tones about their leaders that Podi Hami had long given up in her little mind to seek the truth. That was impossible. She merely voted and got branded. Now she sees young Sirisena, a posthumous corporal, beret and braid, in black and white, immortalised in a cheap framed photograph, hanging on the nail infested bedroom wall, boring his eyes at her, a sad and constant memory of a war where mainly the poor make the payments. A Porsche glitters inside a show room at the Bambalapitiya junction. A young boy pushes his crippled father, looking at the cars. The old man sits crumpled, folded along with his worldly belongings, in a rickety old chair that rolls on warped wheels. Donated by the Lions, says the back. A blind man and his woman share their lunch, seated on the pavement of Dickman s Road. Someone had been generous. The woman, withered and wasted, raises a bath kata to her toothless mouth and hears the world with sightless eyes, whilst the husband waits his turn, scratching his mottled skin of burnt black- Citizens of Paradise.
The sun goes down and the pavements become the bedchambers for the super poor who pray for the rains to hold till morning. These are no fairy tales of my redundant imagination. They are the stories of Paradise. The day-to-day events that play sad and silent along the cacophony of achievement. Don t tell me they are isolated, oh no, not by a long shot. They are the unheard, the ignored and the expendable debts of the displaced denizens of Paradise. The stentorians are there, loud and clear, announcing to the world and beyond, the inflated paths of progress, with rainbow visions for the morrow, splashing milk and honey stories. But, isn't there a big question mark? Isn't there some straining needed to seek the truth? I'm not talking of devolution and separations, politics don't interest me. I m like Podi Hami, totally confused between right and wrong and where lies the light. I m writing of the core, the very basics that humans search for, Uncle Sam's stuff, the pursuit of happiness type, the very essence that Paradise should be made of, which I think, is sadly missing at present. They leave Paradise by the thousands. Why? That is a good question. Look around and you will see the answer. They move out to pursue their happiness elsewhere. Not by choice, but by reasons of sheer necessity. The Sri Lankan Diaspora is everywhere, from the chilly summits of Northern Canada to the dry lands of Tasmania. From sushi land to Swaziland. From the deserts of Dhahran to the lush green valleys of New Zealand. You see them with their little Sri Lankan clubs , clinging on dearly to memories of a homeland, torn between a new life and what they left behind. It s a love they cannot shed, a romance gone rotten, and they gather and lament, speak in sad nostalgic tones and save miserly to visit and spend a week or two in their much loved and beloved Paradise.
Why do these inheritors leave Paradise? Something must have gone wrong in the system. The exodus only began after we were reborn. Hence, the blame is not with the colonials and their House of Commons. It is ours and ours alone, lying firmly in the Pontius hands of the custodians who were chosen to charter our future, and seemingly have failed in their delivery. Isn t it a fact that there is a mass cry for employment outside. The mason and the maid lead, followed by the waiter, the janitor and the bartender. Name him, and he is there, looking for agents to send him to some far away Valhalla. The banker too, and the medicine man, fill passport forms, standing side by side with the young urban professional and the academic erudite. All looking across the sea, from the shores of Paradise. There are some consolations too, one cannot be totally paranoid. The factory jobs are there for the tradeless. Foreign Marks and local Spencer make the mint and scope the cream and the poor Paradisians eat the peanut. Still, it's something to keep the kitchen fires burning. The rest of the no skills pawn their souls to go abroad. Local Dick Whitingtons charging into the unknown, exploited at every toll gate (there are many) and slave in alien homes in the Middle East and Asia, sending their carefully hoarded pitiful dirams and dollars to their loved ones, whilst counting agonising days to return home. Sixty years have gone by from the day of independence. The blameless blame, the nameless suffer, the shameless go on, ramroding their way to erode and annihilate Paradise. No need to further elaborate, the reasons are obvious. Some things happen to be best left unsaid. Let me be the coward and let discretion become the better part of my limited attempts at journalism.
Call me a fool if it pleases you and I ll accept it. But let me trickle some sanity to your thoughts. Just to kindle an interest. Totally non political. I cannot and do not separate the villain from the venerated, the line is too thin and the facts are wildly scattered. The truth certainly is in masquerade. The Lankan Paradise is not lost, not yet. It is certainly misplaced. That much can be clearly seen, lest one be blind. What happens in the end to things that are misplaced? They never get found and as time goes by; it sure will become something permanently missing. Ours is a Paradise misplaced. Let us all valiantly search, it is not too late. Let us collectively find ourselves and our land, before it vanishes beyond the limit, and becomes a Paradise Lost.
Our island was called Lanka in pre King Vijaya times. Valmiki s immortal Ramayanaya had King Ravana ruling the land from the city of Lankapura. That was almost four thousand years ago. The Arab traders termed it Jaziratul- Yaqut, island of rubies. Some called it Serandip, some Ceilan, from which the Portuguese picked Ceilao and the European map- makers coined Ceylon. Many were the names from the many that came, and they all were collective in their comment in the description of this land. Bar none, everyone agreed and noted in their chronicles that this island was indeed the complete Paradise. We never gained it. Let s be honest about that part. We simply inherited. The Gods from their celestial dome, in their infinite kindness, gifted this Paradise to us, the beautiful island of Lanka, to the people of Sri Lanka. The privilege of being born and belonging to such a place can only be rightfully expressed if one can take the turmoil out and look through the veils of disharmony that obscure what lies beyond. The purity of the land, still remains, so much unspoiled. The occupant of Paradise, still smiles, in spite of the battering he had received from the time we were reborn after the colonials left. Mother Lanka dawdles, whilst her sons and daughters drowse in ignorance, somewhat a prelude to the disasters ahead. .
Ruben walks daily carrying his Malu Kada following the footsteps of his father and grand father. His son Saman tags along, apprenticing the trade, helps to weigh the fish, cleans the broad blade knife as his father barters with the housewives, haggling for the bargain. They leave, father and son, with the little boy shouting Malu Malu straining his tender vocal chords. The fishmonger to be, on his first lessons. No change. Podi Hami prays every day. That s all she can do. She and her son Sirisena, did try every possible means, and failed. No they couldn't get a letter for employment. Wrong party, not our people, that is what the man said. Not that Podi Hami had any inclination of what happened in the parliament or who sat aloft. She merely crossed the ballot papers. There was always too much controversy in the news and people spoke in such different tones about their leaders that Podi Hami had long given up in her little mind to seek the truth. That was impossible. She merely voted and got branded. Now she sees young Sirisena, a posthumous corporal, beret and braid, in black and white, immortalised in a cheap framed photograph, hanging on the nail infested bedroom wall, boring his eyes at her, a sad and constant memory of a war where mainly the poor make the payments. A Porsche glitters inside a show room at the Bambalapitiya junction. A young boy pushes his crippled father, looking at the cars. The old man sits crumpled, folded along with his worldly belongings, in a rickety old chair that rolls on warped wheels. Donated by the Lions, says the back. A blind man and his woman share their lunch, seated on the pavement of Dickman s Road. Someone had been generous. The woman, withered and wasted, raises a bath kata to her toothless mouth and hears the world with sightless eyes, whilst the husband waits his turn, scratching his mottled skin of burnt black- Citizens of Paradise.
The sun goes down and the pavements become the bedchambers for the super poor who pray for the rains to hold till morning. These are no fairy tales of my redundant imagination. They are the stories of Paradise. The day-to-day events that play sad and silent along the cacophony of achievement. Don t tell me they are isolated, oh no, not by a long shot. They are the unheard, the ignored and the expendable debts of the displaced denizens of Paradise. The stentorians are there, loud and clear, announcing to the world and beyond, the inflated paths of progress, with rainbow visions for the morrow, splashing milk and honey stories. But, isn't there a big question mark? Isn't there some straining needed to seek the truth? I'm not talking of devolution and separations, politics don't interest me. I m like Podi Hami, totally confused between right and wrong and where lies the light. I m writing of the core, the very basics that humans search for, Uncle Sam's stuff, the pursuit of happiness type, the very essence that Paradise should be made of, which I think, is sadly missing at present. They leave Paradise by the thousands. Why? That is a good question. Look around and you will see the answer. They move out to pursue their happiness elsewhere. Not by choice, but by reasons of sheer necessity. The Sri Lankan Diaspora is everywhere, from the chilly summits of Northern Canada to the dry lands of Tasmania. From sushi land to Swaziland. From the deserts of Dhahran to the lush green valleys of New Zealand. You see them with their little Sri Lankan clubs , clinging on dearly to memories of a homeland, torn between a new life and what they left behind. It s a love they cannot shed, a romance gone rotten, and they gather and lament, speak in sad nostalgic tones and save miserly to visit and spend a week or two in their much loved and beloved Paradise.
Why do these inheritors leave Paradise? Something must have gone wrong in the system. The exodus only began after we were reborn. Hence, the blame is not with the colonials and their House of Commons. It is ours and ours alone, lying firmly in the Pontius hands of the custodians who were chosen to charter our future, and seemingly have failed in their delivery. Isn t it a fact that there is a mass cry for employment outside. The mason and the maid lead, followed by the waiter, the janitor and the bartender. Name him, and he is there, looking for agents to send him to some far away Valhalla. The banker too, and the medicine man, fill passport forms, standing side by side with the young urban professional and the academic erudite. All looking across the sea, from the shores of Paradise. There are some consolations too, one cannot be totally paranoid. The factory jobs are there for the tradeless. Foreign Marks and local Spencer make the mint and scope the cream and the poor Paradisians eat the peanut. Still, it's something to keep the kitchen fires burning. The rest of the no skills pawn their souls to go abroad. Local Dick Whitingtons charging into the unknown, exploited at every toll gate (there are many) and slave in alien homes in the Middle East and Asia, sending their carefully hoarded pitiful dirams and dollars to their loved ones, whilst counting agonising days to return home. Sixty years have gone by from the day of independence. The blameless blame, the nameless suffer, the shameless go on, ramroding their way to erode and annihilate Paradise. No need to further elaborate, the reasons are obvious. Some things happen to be best left unsaid. Let me be the coward and let discretion become the better part of my limited attempts at journalism.
Call me a fool if it pleases you and I ll accept it. But let me trickle some sanity to your thoughts. Just to kindle an interest. Totally non political. I cannot and do not separate the villain from the venerated, the line is too thin and the facts are wildly scattered. The truth certainly is in masquerade. The Lankan Paradise is not lost, not yet. It is certainly misplaced. That much can be clearly seen, lest one be blind. What happens in the end to things that are misplaced? They never get found and as time goes by; it sure will become something permanently missing. Ours is a Paradise misplaced. Let us all valiantly search, it is not too late. Let us collectively find ourselves and our land, before it vanishes beyond the limit, and becomes a Paradise Lost.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Walking to Work in SL
The fun of a walk to work in Sri Lanka
By Louise Gray
From Telegraph.com.uk
Louise Gray's blog of working for a tree conservation society in Sri Lanka
I have been in Sri Lanka long enough now to just about have a routine. In other circumstances that might mean things could get boring. Here it is quite the opposite. Take my walk to work.
As soon as I step out my front door on Kirula Road, Colombo 5 I am confronted by men with armfuls of guns. It is a local security firm and they are always very friendly but I have not quite got used to being greeted by groups of men unloading AK47s from white vans first thing in the morning.
I turn onto a dusty street already full of traffic to be greeted by a familiar cry: "Madam! Taxi!" It's the dawn patrol of tuk tuk drivers. I ignore them and walk on, but they persist. "Ok madam, get in".
"No, thank you," I refuse. "I am walking."
This will take some time to sink in as maybe one or two tuks trail me down the road hoping I will change my mind.
By the time I have reached my first obstacle fondly known as rat corner, because I usually narrowly miss stepping on a rodent at this juncture, they have peeled off.
advertisementI will get a few more by the time I turn on to Jawatta Road, the main thoroughfare I have to negotiate. The traffic is dreadful. Big Lanka Ashok Leylands, the local buses and undisputed kings of the road, roar past scattering terrified tuk tuks.
"There are zebra crossings which are meant to stop the traffic but the only protection they give you in Sri Lanka is if you are run over on a zebra crossing it is the driver's fault, whereas if its anywhere else it is your own fault. They would certainly not have much sympathy with someone so stupid as to attempt to walk to work, especially when I have so many offers of transport.
"Hello miss taxi?"
"No, really, I'm walking."
The roads I pass reflect the rulers of the country from the Portuguese Don Carolis Road to the very British Ascot Avenue. In the same way the places of worship reflect the mixed religion in the country, from the majority Buddhists, 18 per cent Hindus and minority Muslims and Christians.
The Buddhist shrine is always adorned with offerings of fragrant flowers, fresh fruit and water and I will often see worshippers stopping to offer prayer. The Hindu temple is even more colourful with its tangle of Gods and wafts of incense. By comparison the Anglican church on the corner and the mosque seem dull in the extreme.
Anyway I can never stop without attracting attention. "Aha! You want a trishaw madam?"
"No, I don't."
I'm really just being stubborn now as it is hot work walking in 30ºC plus and while there is no AC in tuk tuks there is a moderately cooling breeze. If you are lucky the driver will have garlands of flowers around the windscreen, pictures of laughing Chinese babies or psychedelic seat coverings lovingly protected by sheets of clear plastic.
Like London taxi drivers there is always plenty of chat almost always beginning with "Where you from?" followed by "You married?" I prefer to practice my Sinhala but this can be confusing for everyone involved.
I press on past various Sri Lankan ministries. I pass the ministry of water and irrigation and the ministry of youth empowerment and socio-economic development. There is also a ministry of religious affairs and moral enlightenment and a department of ayurveda. Sri Lanka has one of the highest numbers of ministries in the world with more than 100 members of cabinet. Unfortunately I do not go past the ministry of silly walks.
I also pass the national identification office where there is a massive queue of people every morning waiting to get identity cards. Since the end of the ceasefire between the government and Tamil Tigers earlier this year and an increase in terrorist bomb attacks, it has been necessary for everyone to have ID on them at all times for the many police checks. Almost in defiance of the ethnic conflict the queue is a mixture of Hindu Tamils, often with ash on their foreheads, and Sinhalese Buddhists.
"Bakeries" offer short eats like egg rotis from trailers on the back of bicycles, hawkers sell pineapple with chilli and disfigured beggars sell lottery tickets to the crowd.
There are intermittent pavements until I get to the streets around the embassies and international aid headquarters in an area known as Colombo 7. This is a bit like Sri Lanka's version of Mayfair hence you have "Colombo 7 mums" which I guess are a little like Stepford wives but with stricter morals.
Intermingled with the blaring horns of tuk tuks and buses are the sleek UN 4x4s. The streets are a little more leafy here and for a while I tried to practice identifying trees on the walk to work. But standing underneath a tree with my field guide to the common trees and shrubs of Sri Lanka invariably drew so much attention and tuk tuks that I soon gave up.
I do know that there are rain trees and Indian willow as I scuttle from one to another glad of the shade. Unfortunately there are not as many trees in Colombo as there used to be. Part of my job as communications advisor to Ruk Rakaganno, the Tree Society of Sri Lanka (http://rukrakaganno.sacredcat.org), has been firing off angry letters to the press complaining of this fact.
There are even rumours that trees are being cut to stop terrorists depositing bombs in them. This is a high security zone and soldiers in blue combats patrol the streets. At first it made me uncomfortable but after a couple winked at me, I got used to them.
I have got used to a lot of things in Colombo. The heat, the crows, the nice and not-so-nice spicy smells. I have even taken on a few Sri Lankan habits. At work I eat a lunch packet of rice and curry, I try not to think about bombs, I wobble my head when I don't want to do something but feel too polite to say no.
At the same time I try to keep an eye out for the unusual things like a monk with a mobile phone or a whole family travelling on one motorcycle. It is only a week before I leave Sri Lanka and I want to make sure I remember the extraordinary experiences and even the ordinary ones like the tuk tuk drivers who persist even as I am turning into the entrance of my work.
"Hello, madam, you need a tuk, tuk?"
"No!"
Of course, I could always have jumped in a tuk tuk for 75p (after 10 minutes hard haggling) but where would be the fun in that?
By Louise Gray
From Telegraph.com.uk
Louise Gray's blog of working for a tree conservation society in Sri Lanka
I have been in Sri Lanka long enough now to just about have a routine. In other circumstances that might mean things could get boring. Here it is quite the opposite. Take my walk to work.
As soon as I step out my front door on Kirula Road, Colombo 5 I am confronted by men with armfuls of guns. It is a local security firm and they are always very friendly but I have not quite got used to being greeted by groups of men unloading AK47s from white vans first thing in the morning.
I turn onto a dusty street already full of traffic to be greeted by a familiar cry: "Madam! Taxi!" It's the dawn patrol of tuk tuk drivers. I ignore them and walk on, but they persist. "Ok madam, get in".
"No, thank you," I refuse. "I am walking."
This will take some time to sink in as maybe one or two tuks trail me down the road hoping I will change my mind.
By the time I have reached my first obstacle fondly known as rat corner, because I usually narrowly miss stepping on a rodent at this juncture, they have peeled off.
advertisementI will get a few more by the time I turn on to Jawatta Road, the main thoroughfare I have to negotiate. The traffic is dreadful. Big Lanka Ashok Leylands, the local buses and undisputed kings of the road, roar past scattering terrified tuk tuks.
"There are zebra crossings which are meant to stop the traffic but the only protection they give you in Sri Lanka is if you are run over on a zebra crossing it is the driver's fault, whereas if its anywhere else it is your own fault. They would certainly not have much sympathy with someone so stupid as to attempt to walk to work, especially when I have so many offers of transport.
"Hello miss taxi?"
"No, really, I'm walking."
The roads I pass reflect the rulers of the country from the Portuguese Don Carolis Road to the very British Ascot Avenue. In the same way the places of worship reflect the mixed religion in the country, from the majority Buddhists, 18 per cent Hindus and minority Muslims and Christians.
The Buddhist shrine is always adorned with offerings of fragrant flowers, fresh fruit and water and I will often see worshippers stopping to offer prayer. The Hindu temple is even more colourful with its tangle of Gods and wafts of incense. By comparison the Anglican church on the corner and the mosque seem dull in the extreme.
Anyway I can never stop without attracting attention. "Aha! You want a trishaw madam?"
"No, I don't."
I'm really just being stubborn now as it is hot work walking in 30ºC plus and while there is no AC in tuk tuks there is a moderately cooling breeze. If you are lucky the driver will have garlands of flowers around the windscreen, pictures of laughing Chinese babies or psychedelic seat coverings lovingly protected by sheets of clear plastic.
Like London taxi drivers there is always plenty of chat almost always beginning with "Where you from?" followed by "You married?" I prefer to practice my Sinhala but this can be confusing for everyone involved.
I press on past various Sri Lankan ministries. I pass the ministry of water and irrigation and the ministry of youth empowerment and socio-economic development. There is also a ministry of religious affairs and moral enlightenment and a department of ayurveda. Sri Lanka has one of the highest numbers of ministries in the world with more than 100 members of cabinet. Unfortunately I do not go past the ministry of silly walks.
I also pass the national identification office where there is a massive queue of people every morning waiting to get identity cards. Since the end of the ceasefire between the government and Tamil Tigers earlier this year and an increase in terrorist bomb attacks, it has been necessary for everyone to have ID on them at all times for the many police checks. Almost in defiance of the ethnic conflict the queue is a mixture of Hindu Tamils, often with ash on their foreheads, and Sinhalese Buddhists.
"Bakeries" offer short eats like egg rotis from trailers on the back of bicycles, hawkers sell pineapple with chilli and disfigured beggars sell lottery tickets to the crowd.
There are intermittent pavements until I get to the streets around the embassies and international aid headquarters in an area known as Colombo 7. This is a bit like Sri Lanka's version of Mayfair hence you have "Colombo 7 mums" which I guess are a little like Stepford wives but with stricter morals.
Intermingled with the blaring horns of tuk tuks and buses are the sleek UN 4x4s. The streets are a little more leafy here and for a while I tried to practice identifying trees on the walk to work. But standing underneath a tree with my field guide to the common trees and shrubs of Sri Lanka invariably drew so much attention and tuk tuks that I soon gave up.
I do know that there are rain trees and Indian willow as I scuttle from one to another glad of the shade. Unfortunately there are not as many trees in Colombo as there used to be. Part of my job as communications advisor to Ruk Rakaganno, the Tree Society of Sri Lanka (http://rukrakaganno.sacredcat.org), has been firing off angry letters to the press complaining of this fact.
There are even rumours that trees are being cut to stop terrorists depositing bombs in them. This is a high security zone and soldiers in blue combats patrol the streets. At first it made me uncomfortable but after a couple winked at me, I got used to them.
I have got used to a lot of things in Colombo. The heat, the crows, the nice and not-so-nice spicy smells. I have even taken on a few Sri Lankan habits. At work I eat a lunch packet of rice and curry, I try not to think about bombs, I wobble my head when I don't want to do something but feel too polite to say no.
At the same time I try to keep an eye out for the unusual things like a monk with a mobile phone or a whole family travelling on one motorcycle. It is only a week before I leave Sri Lanka and I want to make sure I remember the extraordinary experiences and even the ordinary ones like the tuk tuk drivers who persist even as I am turning into the entrance of my work.
"Hello, madam, you need a tuk, tuk?"
"No!"
Of course, I could always have jumped in a tuk tuk for 75p (after 10 minutes hard haggling) but where would be the fun in that?
Sunday, June 08, 2008
A Sermon from Mount Mary
A Sermon From Mount Mary
By Nalin Fernando.
Where have they all gone?
I am thinking about the Railway Burghers, not the flowers in the plaintive melody made popular during the Vietnam War.
Recently, I met one of them who did not uproot himself while almost everyone nearest and dearest to him had sought new pastures abroad to work or to retire.
He was the ultimate railway man, born in Mount Mary and he hoped to die in the vicinity in which he had lived all his life.
Once upon a time (he told me, over an arrack at the Twentieth Century Club where he was a guest) Eric de La Motte was bringing the 72 Up Night Mail from Badulla to Colombo.
He was piloting the old steam war-horse that had chugged along for well over thirty years, never failing if it had enough coal and water.
Melo, his ever-loving wife (home calling Melo, outside calling Maloney) was all a twitter as she was wont to be when he stays away overnight after taking the 463 Down Passenger two mornings before.
She had spruced up the railway quarters they lived in.
The floor was mopped, brushed and gleaming.
Although cobwebs stretched across the ceiling, one could comb your hair looking down at the floor as in a good Burgher home.
She dusted the paper flowers in a glass vase on an imitation ebony tea-boy.
She kept her quarters shining just as Eric liked his steam gauge glass and brass fittings in the loco cabin to sparkle.
The leftover ox tongue stew had been warmed up.
The raw onion and green chilli sambol and the bread cut in practical three-inch thick chunks were on the dining table that was draped with a blue and white checked plastic tablecloth.
The table stood on four tinned fish cans full of Jeyes fluid to keep the ants away.
Eric and Melo were well known in railway circles as a "lovely couple".
There was a grand do at the Railway Institute three years before when they celebrated their silver wedding anniversary.
Melo, now was shunting towards fifty, but she still maintained vestiges of her pleasant face and figure that had been the rage of the institute get-togethers in the days gone by.
Her bust, tummy and hips were about five inches rounder and her once delicate rear brake wagon was more prominent.
But, after two children, now grown up, what happened to Mrs. Hepponstall happens to all.
When they first met, Eric was a dashing young fireman who shoveled a stylish spade of coal.
He was tall, handsome and had a tattoo of a snake coiling round a totem pole on his left upper arm.
Melo often recalled those leathery palms of his in her soft hand and on her softer shoulder when he came up to her at a Christmas social and said, "dance".
They were married three weeks later and her mummy and daddy, also railway folk, approved of the match.
Old Meerwald was very proud of his s-I-l, especially his ability to drain two drams in one "gallop" and then nonchalantly crush the glass with his leathery bare hands.
Melo was giving the front steps a final swish and sweep when she spotted Dottie (outside calling Dorothy) doing the same chore in the adjoining quarters.
Dottie was Melo's good friend although socially inferior since her husband, Andrew, was still on the Puttalam run drawing cattle wagons and a few second and third class carriages.
"Erico coming soon", cried out Melo. "Bringing a leg of farm pork and bacon from Nanu and a bottle of Tiddenham Barrow from DLA. Making bacon and eggs. Pork for lunch".
"So, so, matinee show today", she replied mischievously.
Melo tried hard to blush at Dottie's naughty suggestion, failed miserably and only managed to coyly toss her short crop of hair.
"Don't be silly, Chile", she replied and walked in with a sly smile.
Eric arrived soon after in his favourite rickshaw.
It had been a satisfying run from Badulla.
The steam charge had been steady and he had not got any red signals approaching Fort that tested his patience after a long run.
He carried under his left arm-pit a parcel and on his right hand a bottle, both wrapped in old newspaper.
His overnight bag was slung on his left shoulder.
Moreover, if you think that the items wrapped in newspaper were leg of pork and a bottle of passion fruit, you were sadly mistaken.
The parcel was two pounds of fresh bread that Eric got from a florist cum undertaker after every run to Fort in appreciation of bringing back safely a basket of flowers from Blackpool.
The bottle had the last two shots of black arrack, the original contents having been progressively reduced at Bandarawela, Pattipola, Nanu Oya, Gampola and Polgahawela.
Eric walked in and placed his cargo on the dining table, took his shoes off and reclined on the armchair.
He turned to Melo and said "glass" in the same tone and timbre as he once said "dance" or says "coal" to his fireman when the steam gauge hits the warning line.
He paused until the glass was fetched and then said "food".
He was a man of few words.
Now, Melo had to fry bacon and eggs as previously boasted to Dottie.
If there was no bacon in the house, how was she to produce the sound and smell of frying bacon for which Dottie must surely be waiting with envy on the other side of the thin partition walls of the railway quarters?
Melo was a real one.
With a deft flick of her wet fingers she sprinkled water into a hot pan of old bacon fat.
Dottie, with her ears against the wall, heard the sizzling sound of water sprinkled on hot oil and aroma of bacon fat was in the air.
She resigned herself to the fact that her Andy could hardly be expected to bring back pork or bacon from Muslim dominated Puttalam.
Eric downed the remnants of the bottle in a single 'gallop".
He was ready for food after having had for dinner only a tasty but small parcel of rice and curry given to him by a certain tootsy-wootsy in Badulla - a middle-aged wife of a much older retired Sinhalese head guard with whom he had a discreet understanding.
When the plate of ox tongue stew had been wiped clean with the last chunk of bread, he released a subdued belch akin to a short blast of his steam hooter on seeing a jaywalker on the tracks ahead of him.
He rose from his chair unbuttoning his shirt, and loosening his belt and waistband he lounged in the armchair with his feet up on the extended foot-rests.
"Duckworth and Joppe coming for lunch. Buy some soda and beef. Duckworth bringing brinjal pickle. Rice and curry. Wake me when they come", he said in a rare long speech.
In three minutes he was fast asleep.
Melo spent half an hour de-stoning the rice, washing the dhal and peeling the potatoes to fry later.
She then stepped out dutifully towards Dematagoda with a shopping basket in her hand to buy some chicken necks for bites.
She could hear Dottie somewhere in the front of her quarters and was sure that she would be seen going out.
She put on a fleeting self-satisfied smile.
She tossed her short hair and smoothened it down on a side with her free hand.
She then wiggled her hips and hitched up her knickers.
How to disappoint that woman about the matinee, chile.
By Nalin Fernando.
Where have they all gone?
I am thinking about the Railway Burghers, not the flowers in the plaintive melody made popular during the Vietnam War.
Recently, I met one of them who did not uproot himself while almost everyone nearest and dearest to him had sought new pastures abroad to work or to retire.
He was the ultimate railway man, born in Mount Mary and he hoped to die in the vicinity in which he had lived all his life.
Once upon a time (he told me, over an arrack at the Twentieth Century Club where he was a guest) Eric de La Motte was bringing the 72 Up Night Mail from Badulla to Colombo.
He was piloting the old steam war-horse that had chugged along for well over thirty years, never failing if it had enough coal and water.
Melo, his ever-loving wife (home calling Melo, outside calling Maloney) was all a twitter as she was wont to be when he stays away overnight after taking the 463 Down Passenger two mornings before.
She had spruced up the railway quarters they lived in.
The floor was mopped, brushed and gleaming.
Although cobwebs stretched across the ceiling, one could comb your hair looking down at the floor as in a good Burgher home.
She dusted the paper flowers in a glass vase on an imitation ebony tea-boy.
She kept her quarters shining just as Eric liked his steam gauge glass and brass fittings in the loco cabin to sparkle.
The leftover ox tongue stew had been warmed up.
The raw onion and green chilli sambol and the bread cut in practical three-inch thick chunks were on the dining table that was draped with a blue and white checked plastic tablecloth.
The table stood on four tinned fish cans full of Jeyes fluid to keep the ants away.
Eric and Melo were well known in railway circles as a "lovely couple".
There was a grand do at the Railway Institute three years before when they celebrated their silver wedding anniversary.
Melo, now was shunting towards fifty, but she still maintained vestiges of her pleasant face and figure that had been the rage of the institute get-togethers in the days gone by.
Her bust, tummy and hips were about five inches rounder and her once delicate rear brake wagon was more prominent.
But, after two children, now grown up, what happened to Mrs. Hepponstall happens to all.
When they first met, Eric was a dashing young fireman who shoveled a stylish spade of coal.
He was tall, handsome and had a tattoo of a snake coiling round a totem pole on his left upper arm.
Melo often recalled those leathery palms of his in her soft hand and on her softer shoulder when he came up to her at a Christmas social and said, "dance".
They were married three weeks later and her mummy and daddy, also railway folk, approved of the match.
Old Meerwald was very proud of his s-I-l, especially his ability to drain two drams in one "gallop" and then nonchalantly crush the glass with his leathery bare hands.
Melo was giving the front steps a final swish and sweep when she spotted Dottie (outside calling Dorothy) doing the same chore in the adjoining quarters.
Dottie was Melo's good friend although socially inferior since her husband, Andrew, was still on the Puttalam run drawing cattle wagons and a few second and third class carriages.
"Erico coming soon", cried out Melo. "Bringing a leg of farm pork and bacon from Nanu and a bottle of Tiddenham Barrow from DLA. Making bacon and eggs. Pork for lunch".
"So, so, matinee show today", she replied mischievously.
Melo tried hard to blush at Dottie's naughty suggestion, failed miserably and only managed to coyly toss her short crop of hair.
"Don't be silly, Chile", she replied and walked in with a sly smile.
Eric arrived soon after in his favourite rickshaw.
It had been a satisfying run from Badulla.
The steam charge had been steady and he had not got any red signals approaching Fort that tested his patience after a long run.
He carried under his left arm-pit a parcel and on his right hand a bottle, both wrapped in old newspaper.
His overnight bag was slung on his left shoulder.
Moreover, if you think that the items wrapped in newspaper were leg of pork and a bottle of passion fruit, you were sadly mistaken.
The parcel was two pounds of fresh bread that Eric got from a florist cum undertaker after every run to Fort in appreciation of bringing back safely a basket of flowers from Blackpool.
The bottle had the last two shots of black arrack, the original contents having been progressively reduced at Bandarawela, Pattipola, Nanu Oya, Gampola and Polgahawela.
Eric walked in and placed his cargo on the dining table, took his shoes off and reclined on the armchair.
He turned to Melo and said "glass" in the same tone and timbre as he once said "dance" or says "coal" to his fireman when the steam gauge hits the warning line.
He paused until the glass was fetched and then said "food".
He was a man of few words.
Now, Melo had to fry bacon and eggs as previously boasted to Dottie.
If there was no bacon in the house, how was she to produce the sound and smell of frying bacon for which Dottie must surely be waiting with envy on the other side of the thin partition walls of the railway quarters?
Melo was a real one.
With a deft flick of her wet fingers she sprinkled water into a hot pan of old bacon fat.
Dottie, with her ears against the wall, heard the sizzling sound of water sprinkled on hot oil and aroma of bacon fat was in the air.
She resigned herself to the fact that her Andy could hardly be expected to bring back pork or bacon from Muslim dominated Puttalam.
Eric downed the remnants of the bottle in a single 'gallop".
He was ready for food after having had for dinner only a tasty but small parcel of rice and curry given to him by a certain tootsy-wootsy in Badulla - a middle-aged wife of a much older retired Sinhalese head guard with whom he had a discreet understanding.
When the plate of ox tongue stew had been wiped clean with the last chunk of bread, he released a subdued belch akin to a short blast of his steam hooter on seeing a jaywalker on the tracks ahead of him.
He rose from his chair unbuttoning his shirt, and loosening his belt and waistband he lounged in the armchair with his feet up on the extended foot-rests.
"Duckworth and Joppe coming for lunch. Buy some soda and beef. Duckworth bringing brinjal pickle. Rice and curry. Wake me when they come", he said in a rare long speech.
In three minutes he was fast asleep.
Melo spent half an hour de-stoning the rice, washing the dhal and peeling the potatoes to fry later.
She then stepped out dutifully towards Dematagoda with a shopping basket in her hand to buy some chicken necks for bites.
She could hear Dottie somewhere in the front of her quarters and was sure that she would be seen going out.
She put on a fleeting self-satisfied smile.
She tossed her short hair and smoothened it down on a side with her free hand.
She then wiggled her hips and hitched up her knickers.
How to disappoint that woman about the matinee, chile.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Lankan Musicans
Sunday Times Nov 26 2000
'Largely Latin Show'
'Largely Latin' concert will come alive at the western garden of the BMICH on December 1.Billed to perform are several Sri Lankan born musicians who have risen to international repute, two foreign stars, and a bevy of accomplished local performers, carefully selected for their musical style and technical virtuosity, the organizer said.
The international contingent to 'Largely Latin' comprises Sri Lanka's Dylan Lye, Hussain Jiffry, Dulip Wijesinghe and Sunil de Silva.
The international contingent will also include vocalist Carrie Gibson and keyboardist Stan Ganapolsky. Both are from Canada and have performed with Buddy Miles among other world renowned musicians.
The local contingent, which will perform guest spots during the four-hour extravaganza comprises Alston Joachim (bass); Harsha Markalanda (keyboards); Ravibandu Vidyapathi (percussion); Revel Crake (guitar); Shiraz Noor Amith (drums); and the Caribbean expatriate vocalist Suzanne Wallace.
Hussain Jiffry - (Bass/Vocals/Arranger/Composer) born and raised in Colombo, Hussain has become one of the most sought after bassists in Los Angeles.
In 1982 while performing with a local band in Sri Lanka, Hussain was offered to tour Europe with R & B Band, and eventually spent six years on the European club circuit. In 1988 he moved over to Los Angeles to study music at the Musicians Institute in Hollywood, California. He graduated from MI in March 1989 receiving the school's highest award, the Vocational Honors Diploma.
Hussain is a Faculty Member of the Los Angeles Music Academy and has written the Latin Styles curriculum.
During the past ten years Hussain has gradually grown busier and more in demand as his reputation has spread as a player, writer and producer. He regularly tours with Sergio Mendez and has also toured and recorded with Whitney Houston, Dione Warwick, Michael Bolton, Freddie Ravel, Stephanie Powers, Pocket Change, Tom Scott, Robert Kyle, Chaka Khan, Carol King, Gloria Gainer and Tito Puente.
Sunil De Silva (Percussionist)- Born in Sri Lanka, Sunil de Silva got his first major break when he was invited to perform with the famous SAVAGES, which toured Vietnam.
Sunil who now lives in Australia has played on over 280 CDs and Albums, including the latest of INXS and MIDNIGHT OIL and has won all Major Music Instrumental Awards in Australia, including: Best Studio Player, Best Jazz Percussionist and Best Latin Percussionist. He currently performs with Doug Williams' new band, LR MIX and as well as the COOGEE BROTHERS.
Sunil has also performed with Renee Geyer, Marcia Hines, James Morison, Tommy Emmanuel, Jenny Morris and Wendy Mathews and has toured with Prince, Paul McCartney, INXS, Midnight Oil, Germaine Jackson, Peter Allen, Tears For Fears, John Denver and Bob Marley.
Dylan Lye (Guitarist/Vocals/Band Leader Guitarist/vocalist) - Dylan Lye, moved over to Hongkong with the Jetliners in the early eighties to perform at the Regent Hotel.
Dylan has performed at many leading venues in Hongkong, Macau, China and Singapore with reputed international musicians and has even headed Quintels comprising international musicians touring Colombo on a couple of occasions.
Dulip Wijesinghe (Bubu) (Drums/Percussion/Vocals) - born in Sri Lanka, Bubu has performed extensively in Hongkong with the Jetliners. He has backed many local and international artistes including Glen Frey (Little River Band). Simon Gallagher and Georgie Fame.
Bubu works in the Macau and Hongkong circuit, making an impression at the Jazz Club, JJ's (Grand Hyatt) and BB's. He has also performed with the Anthony Fernandez Big Band, SNJO Japanese Big Band, the Venezulan Salsa Band and the Hongkong Academy of Performing Arts' 56-piece Orchestra and regularly teams up with the Dylan Lye Quintet.
George Siegertsz
Once again to those days
by Geoff Wijesinghe - Sat, Mar 2, 2002
George Siegertsz, who passed away in London last week at the age of 82, was one of the last of a generation of post-World War Two musicians.
George was a regular at Lion House at the Bambalapitiya Junction. He was one of the motley group of young men who visited the popular eatery, which served more as a "cup tea punt" (a cup of tea and a fag) club where these youth chatted for long hours of this, that and the other.
Although the group comprised many toughs who walked around like pocket editions of Humphrey Bogart, George Raft and Spencer Tracy, the tough guys at the time of the silver screen, George Siergertsz was more interested in chatting and in music. He was the country's number one whistler, a fine art and often his friends at Lion House, would gather round a table and listen to him whistling the popular tunes at the time.
About one in two months or so, George Siergertsz had a 15-minute program over Radio Ceylon and would whistle the popular tunes of the day, haunting melodies, many of them World War Two favourites such as "Time Goes By", "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square", "A Long Way to Tipperary" and "The White Cliffs of Dover".
Many of us younger one who kept in touch with the Lion House crowd knew well in advance when George Siergertsz, a lean, tall, gangling figure was going to whistle over Radio Ceylon.
Incidentally, although some of his pals operated in grey areas, George never blew the whistle on them to the cops. He was only interested in whistling fine musical tunes. The Lion House group, I would not like to describe them as a mob, although some of them were men of violence looking out for a fight.
One morning we read the sensational news in the "Daily News" of two of the Lion House boys having stowed away successfully on board a ship from Colombo to Southampton. If my memory serves me right they were Hula Mortier and Kingsley Rodrigo who, according to their buddies, have gone to the UK to become coal miners.
When I last heard of them many years ago they had in fact made their way to London and were domiciled there. The years following World War Two produced musicians of fine vintage in this country. Foremost of them was Erin de Selfa who was discovered by the doyen of Sri Lankan showmen Donovan Andre, a former racing correspondent attached to the Times of Ceylon, which was published in the evenings and on Sundays.
She was recruited to sing in the group which was known as Red Tail Minstrels and grew up to be dark and dusky, and her voice was very much like the posh Shirley Bassey. Once she grew up, Erin was a regular over a Radio Ceylon. She then left for London under contract to the famous "Talk of the Town" nightclub in London, which was patronized by celebrities.
I had the privilege of listening to Erin over the BBC one night. This was the first time that a Sri Lankan musician had been honoured by BBC, at the time the premier broadcasting station in the world, a highly prestigious achievement.
Her renditions of "Blue Moon", "As Time Goes By", "I can't help Falling in Love with You" and several other sentimental songs, were of the highest international standards.
Several years later, another Sri Lankan Yolande Wolfe, an old girl of Holy Family Convent of Bambalapitiya and whose father owned a building at the top of Retreat Road, followed in Erin's footsteps and became popular in the US.
That was in the early 1950s, the George and Gerry Crake brother were the seniors in the local music scene and they too were regulars over Radio Ceylon. They had a band known as the Crake Brothers, Gerry had a rich, deep tenor. There was also the Millionaires' dance band who practised in a house at Edward Lane.
They had the big band sound and their rendition of the Glenn Miller favourite "Take the A-train", which is a perennial, was superb.
The biggest end-of-the-year dance in the late 1940s was at the Town Hall where several bands played and there was one hectic rush for tickets.
Some of the Lion House "boys" got involved in a brawl at one of those New Year's Eve dances, which ended tragically in the death of a young man, who fell out of an upstair window when taking a punch.
The pint-sized Carl Cooke, the former Thomian wicket-keeper, had a ballroom dancing school opposite Lion House directly behind the petrol shed at the Bambalapitiya Junction. In this sprawling old house he also established the 20th Century Club, no doubt getting the inspiration from the name 20th Century Fox, the international film producer.
One night, some of the boys who had the habit of dropping in for drinks at the 20th Century Club, imbibed more than they should have had and inspired by Bacchus, took all the club's flower pots and placed them on Carl Cooke's billiard table. Being a mild mannered man, all Carl could say was "what have you fellows done? You have damaged my billiard table. And I will have to replace it with new clothes."
Carl, of course, being a peace-loving man, paid for the repairs. But the neighbourhood was very angry with the Lion House crowd for having abused Carl Cooke's hospitality, for he was very popular. Carl's brother Percy who has played for S. Thomas' was my headmaster for long years
Jazz in Ceylon
Daily Nedws Sat Oct 20 2007
Jazz in Sri Lanka inside out
CONTRARY to its nowadays’ apparently diminished and rather muted disposition as a commercially well-established art form, jazz was Sri Lanka’s most acclaimed and urbanely widespread style of music in the 40s and 50s.
Although one hardly gets to hear any jazz being played in the city’s famous pubs, sports clubs or night clubs any more than a beat group playing one or two jazz songs from a podium as of today, the spicy sounds of the Caribbean and Mexico were once gaining wider notice in the country’s big hotels.
Burgeoning Jazz sessions were taking place at the Galle Face Hotel in Colombo, the Taprobane and the Mount Lavinia Hotel.
The musicians were all European nationals for there was no local jazz bands or musicians in Sri Lanka during those early years of post-independence. Most of these European bands resembled Swing or Big Bands in the US while some of them resembled the characteristics of Territory Bands that were playing jazz in smaller United States cities.
There were no electronic keyboards or electric guitars available at the time of the development of jazz. The instruments in use were pianos, clarinets, harmonicas, oboes, saxophones, trumpets, drums and semi acoustic-guitars.
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The European jazz musicians brought these instruments to the country to play their music.
This is the early history of the beginning of jazz music in Sri Lanka.
The current article has been composed by us to serve as material for future reference outlining the history of jazz music in Sri Lanka.
As pointed out by pianist Suriyakumaran Veerasingham, a second generation jazz musician and an authority on Western music in Sri Lanka, “Most of these EU bands played a lot of jazz. They also played standards and ball room music.”
The city of New Orleans with a well-established large black population is regarded as the place of the origin of Jazz and or its evolution by many authorities.
Jazz great Louis Armstrong, and his teacher, one of the first great cornetist Joe “King” Oliver, and other influential musicians including Jelly Roll Morton hailed from New Orleans.
In the early years, Brass bands paraded in New Orleans and played to comfort families during funerals and performed at numerous functions including social dances, a character that is discernible from so call “Papare” bands in Sri Lanka.
A Papare band uses trumpets, a bass drum for beat, a pair of cymbals and most of these bands play simple jazz standards like “When the Saints Go Marching In.” After the EU jazz bands left the country, several Indian musicians came to Sri Lanka from Goa, who settled in the country, said Suriyakumar.
Among these Goanese families were good jazz musicians. The Menezes family was one among them with Roger Menezes.
The family of Manilka Vasagar was another family of jazz musicians from India. Lucky , Valantine and Nesen Vasagar became acclaimed jazz musicians. Among the characters of musical importance were Erin De Selfa, who was the wife of Donovan Andre. Erin brought down a number of foreign jazz bands to the country.
Jazz singer Yolande Bavan is another key figure. She went to America where she formed the famous Lambert Hendrix and Bavan trio, which received international acclaim.
The first generation musicians played predominantly light jazz or ball room music and jazz standards.
Saxophonists Harold Seneviratna and Edgar Hebber, Milroy Passe De Silva, guitarists Gazaril Amith, pianists Eric Batholomeusz, Sunny Batholomeuz, Dr. Gulasekaran (Dr. Gulli), Jimmy Emmanual, Jerry Crake and Raddy Fereira features prominently in the early development of jazz in the country. This was the time the piano style, which developed from ragtime was popular.
The first generation includes drummers Faleel Ziard and Cass Ziard, pianist\drummer Adrian Ferdinandz, Patrick Nelson Combo and Arden Nelson Combo.
As pointed out by Suriyakumar the musicians who came after the first generation of jazz musicians took the level of music to a higher level.
“There are no pure jazz musicians in Sri Lanka for the fact that it will be hard to earn one’s bread if one is a pure jazz musician here,” he said.
“The basis of jazz is improvisation. technically speaking if you are playing “Funeral March” and improvise on it, it means you are playing a jazzy version of Funeral March,” he explained. Helen Lucus, Steurt De Silva, Sisil Rodrigo and trumperters Papa Miskin and Latiff were among those who played jazz in Sri Lanka.
Guitarists Raja Jalaldeen, Dilan Lye, Raj Seneviratna and Derek Wickremenayake are among the second generation of musicians. Also the pianist\singer Priyanthi Manamperi, Noeline Honter and Dalrene Suby.
Musicians Aruna Siriwardena, Upali Fernando, Sunil De Silva (the percussionist for Santana), Hussain Jiffrey (who plays for George Benson and Yani) have also contributed much to the development of jazz.
Among those who promoted jazz music in Sri Lanka are Tommy Perera, Tita Nathaniez, Mahes Perera, former Minister Haren Coreya and Bala Namasvayam.
Jazz Unlimited, the jazz club of Sri Lanka to promote jazz music organise sessions of jazz music every month at CR&FA with the participation of many up and coming jazz bands and singers. Among them are senior players like Harsha Makalanda and Dilrukshi Sirimanna.
Jetliners
Happenings
The sixties came alive
by Mahes Perera
The opening chords of the Shadow's hit 'Shazam' by the original Jetliners switched on an evening of music of the 60s at the BMICH on Sunday December 19 that will long be remembered and treasured.
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The Jetliner Reunion Concert was truly amazing, in that the members after such a long time came together to perform to their fans with the same professional verve and vitality they were associated with, in their halcyon days.
The rhythm section with Indra Raj on guitar, Felix Fernando - bass, Anton Gunewijeya - rhythm guitar and Harris Jurangpathy drums, re-created with ease the fascination of the Shadows repertoire performing selections like Shadoogie, Quartermasters Stores, Foot Tapper, Wooly Bully and more including the catchy Midrun.
It was a pleasure to hear and see Indra Raj still slick and casual with his fretwork that breathed the Shadows fire, and Harris Jurangpathy sounding strong on the skins.
Not forgetting the throbbing bass of Felix Fernando and Anton Gunewijeya's supportive rhythm guitar.
The first set of vocals, was performed by Ishan Bahar who sang 'Young Ones', 'Summer Holiday,' 'On The Beach' and later on in the show 'Funny Feeling I'm Falling in Love With You' and more with the Ishan aplomb.
Mignonne's vocal entry was the appropriate 'Those Were The Days' - sung with a great deal of enthusiasm that immediately drew her fans to her.
There were other songs too 'My Boy Lollipop', 'Mangala Mohotha' which she dedicated to her late husband and Manager of Jetliners Tony Fernando, a vibrant Pata Pata which included audience participation and a rousing Bombay Meri Hai. Her keyboard artistry and arrangements played an important part in the presentation. She was assisted on a second keyboards by Cumar Pieris.
Sohan Pieris back on the Sri Lankan stage swung into the ballads 'Man Without Love', 'Ten Guitars', 'Release Me', 'Green Green Grass of Home' 'Mohair Sam', 'Black is Black', 'Delilah' and 'I Got No Satisfaction' that were lapped up by the audience.
The Original Jetliners Re-Union Concert proved that age was no barrier for showmanship in the music industry which is missing in today's scene.
Their dedication and commitment to their music came through with strength in their performance on stage. The programme was packed with delightful hits of the 60s too numerous to mention due to space.
What a selection they pulled out from the musical chest! Congratulations!
Sunday Observer jan 2 2005
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Jetliners shake up Down Under
From a Special Correspondent reporting from Australia
When the curtain went up on January 30 1999 at the Blacktown Civic Centre in Sydney the original Jetliner put to rest doubts and questions in the minds of the Sri Lankan community here whether these six guys, getting together after 35 years, some having quit the music scene completely, could deliver the goods.
The very first note, the very first drum beat after the breathtaking introduction (creatively produced by Sohan and Ishan with the help of Tomie of Sound Shaft Studios, Sydney) had the Sydneyites stunned. As a guest commented, "I didn't know whether to cry or scream in joy. Finally, I did both."
The guitar mastery of Indra Raj (Switzerland) the booming bass of Felix Fernando (Melbourne) and rip-roaring rhythm of Anton Gunavijaya (London) and the dynamic drumming of Harris Jurangpathy (Denmark) zoomed us back to the 1960's and the Coconut Grove of Galle Face Hotel.
Then entered Ishan Bahar (Sri Lanka) beat boy extra-ordinary of the 60s (looking like a page from the swinging sixties) to the strains of the theme song from the Cliff Richard movie the "Young Ones" making everyone feel 35 years younger. And finally to complete the picture came Sohan Pieris (Hawaii) with his smooth rendition of "Man Without Love" which had the couples on the dance floor remembering the good old carefree days. The Jetliners ended the introduction bracket (set) with their version of the Shadows hit "Apache" with footwork, movements and the works.
From then on there was no stopping the Jetliners giving the 525 guests at the Civic Centre the time of their lives with their characteristic renditions of hits of the Shadows, Cliff Richard, Elvis, Englebert to name a few. Saying adieu, with their farewell rendition of the old time classic "May The Good Lord Bless & Keep You" brought tears, flooding us with fond memories of Sri Lanka.
It was no different at the Moorabin Town Hall in Melbourne, the following Saturday, 6th February. The 880 guests were given the full treatment. It was so electrifying that not only did the teeny boppers of the 60's let their hair down, the younger generation, most of them, I'm certain had been dragged by their parents for the show, stood stunned with mouths agape listening to the beautiful, refreshing sounds of the Jetliners, Ishan and Sohan ably supported by the Keyboard wizardry of Raddy Ferreira (Sydney). It was such a "turn-on" some of the teenage girls joined the Jetliners on stage for their final bracket to bump and grind with the boys.
Once again their farewell song was a touching and emotional one.
A special bouquet to Randy Pieris (Sydney) for the great effort to make this "Reunion" a reality. As the "boys" commented in unision, "NO RANDY NO RE-UNION".
Sunday Times Feb 28 1999
Mignonne Fernando
Mignonne Fernando
by Ilika Karunaratne
Daily News, Sat Jun 14, 2003: Every fairy tale has its own bete noire - A 'Once upon a time' or 'happily married ever after', also usually demands a thorn. To Mignonne Rutnam, as she was then, her fairy tale began, when she met Tony Fernando, when she was just sweet sixteen. He was first her Manager, and later, both husband and Manager. The thorn to them, was Tony's illness and death, which was to take him away last year, after a 38 year old marriage, made in heaven.
Mignonne, has always been my favourite female Sri Lankan singer. Her voice in my ears, is like sun warmed honey, and no-one, then or now, can hold a candle to her. Each one of us takes the death of a loved one in a different way. Each of us swims in our own pool of grief; our own flood of memories. Loneliness becomes constant, memories become companions and darkness becomes a haven for fantasy. Mignonne's first reaction to the shock, was to take herself away; to spend time with her daughter in Dubai. She then returned to immerse herself in work.
"Tony knew that I wanted to do this CD, and it was his dream too. Music to me, is a gift from God; I am forever in his debt, for this wonderful gift. My mother helped me to develop it, by her knowledge of it, and her encouragement. But it was because of Tony's inspired management that my music sprouted and blossomed. I worked hard, to see that this dream of ours, Tony's and mine, came true, by producing this album. It seemed to be an eternity in the making, but it has been a labour of love, and a total experience of mind, body and soul", she said of her new CD released recently.
You have been away a long time. How would you describe those years? "Working at The Regent, Hongkong, was a truly enthralling experience. It is a place where the rich and famous gather almost daily, as you can see from the Daimlers parked outside. It was voted the world's best hotel, for three years in a row, by The Institutional Investor. It rises above the glittering lights of Hongkong, on the very edge of the world's most spectacular harbour".
Mignonne showed me a picture of the room in which they sang, with enormous glass windows, almost the length and breadth of the room. She also related an interesting legend about it; that it is built in the path of the nine dragons, as dragons can walk through glass; so it doesn't disturb their freedom of movement! The view seems panoramic, and at night, with an azure sky, the stars would look like diamonds., sparkling on dark silk.
"Our time there was really wonderful. It was the best years to be there too; meeting interesting people, organizing and creating music to suit individual tastes. There were various dimensions to performances; some would like old music, like Joe Loss for instance. We played at several traditional weddings too, society functions, with the sophistication of Chanel and Karl Lagerfield clothes, a Cartier launch of the perfume, 'Panthere', brings back nostalgic memories, of a real live panther, being carried in on a palanquin, by Nubian slaves. Julio Iglesius, who popularized that ubiquitous song, 'All the girls I loved before' performed at shows that we did.
Singers, dancers, comics, Broadway veterans, brought great entertainment, as well as the celebrity touch to the performances. So many shows with so many different themes; one was in the styling of 'In a Persian market', another was 'A night in Manhatten' I created the whole score of music for many of these shows. Often, after the star of the evening performed, we would play music for dancing. 2.30 a.m. is the time they call 'carriages' which means that the function was over and it was time to go home. Alan Zeman, is a famous figure in HongKong, who owns several clubs and streets in Hong Kong we played at his son's 'Bar Mitzah and played only jewish music on that occasion:".
When was the beginning of your spectacular career in music? "We began right here in Colombo, at the Coconut Grove at The Galle Face Hotel. Our next spot was The Taj Mahal in Bombay, then to Singapore, where we won our first international awards. Our first break in Hong Kong, was at The Talk of the Town, which was a revolving restaurant. We came back here and performed too, before our long stay in Hong Kong".
Sohan Peiris says that he owes everything he is today to Tony and you. What about the original jetliners? "The original jetliners are scattered all over the world now, but we did get together for a concert in Australia recently. We are all keen on performing here, where it all began and are working on it, and trying to work out sponsorship. Tony managed all hotel musicians in Hong Kong. He was a most gentle ruler, who ruled his kingdom of music, with a firm, but fair hand.
We formed a company for this and had 16 to 20 musicians under this umbrella. We played for almost every grand opening at The Regent, where the creme a la creme of Hong Kong would be present. We once had a millionaire who wanted to have dinner alone with his wife in the atmosphere of Sherwood Forest, with our band playing soft music.
We created this and he was so happy with the evening that he gave me a gift of a mink teddy bear. I had to give this to a child before I returned here, as the mink would not have stood our climate! Another wonderful memory was 'The Captains Ball', held by the Captain of The Q E 2. We had one band in the foyer, another playing light classical during dinner, and still another for dancing.
The joy of creating and organizing music left me little time for boredom. We used to practise two days in the week and perform for three days in the week. Our apartment was just next to the hotel. It was great fun while it lasted, but in 1997, we decided come back home, and go back only for seasons. Our two sons have finished University now and are both living and working in the US. The last two years for me, were devoted to Tony's health and everything else came after that. I wanted to launch my CD in February, but I felt it was insensitive in the midst of the war in Iraq, to launch a CD, which was a celebration of life".
What of the future? I would like to do seasons in the US, where my sons are. I would very much enjoy doing the musical score for a Sinhalese film. I like to be flexible and introduce new concepts in music". Mignonne's world has been a kaleidoscope; a constantly changing prism that mixed, mingled and overlapped to create shades and patterns. On stage, she is the quintessential star of spellbinding presence; shimmering and shining.
To meet and talk to her on her own, she is a lovely person, with beauty of soul that somehow shines through. I almost cried as I listened and watched her on video, singing 'I am proud to be Sri Lankan', in all three languages, Sinhalese, Tamil and English. The background showing all the beauties of our country. Our beaches, the ruined cities, temples and our children of all communities, who are after all our future. This song, should I think be used on radio, on TV, on Sri Lankan, Airlines and by The Tourist Board. It is so beautiful and heart warming and could be a pathway to permanent peace.
"Wherever I may have wandered, I have never failed to take a part of Sri Lanka with me, and have always projected my country through my music. I wear either Kandyan saree or 'Redda hatte', and wear a 'nalal patiya too', when I sing in Sinhalese or Tamil. My heart has always been right here, in Sri Lanka, and I would like to do more for our country".
Her soft, mellifluous voice as she speaks, radiates a special kind of spirituality, charm and originality. As a composer, lyricist and singer, she has no equal, and is the brightest star of the musical firmament in our country.
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She has been dubbed ‘Sri Lanka’s Ambassadress of Song,’ Mignonne Fernando enjoys iconic status not only in South Asia but also in the Far East, where, for many years she was a resident musician at The Regent Hotel in Hong Kong. She will headline a massive concert in Colombo, capital of Sri Lanka in March 2006. This will be an opportunity for fans of Mignonne and The Jetliners to re-live nostalgic memories of the 1960s and 1970s of the popular music scene on the island
Mignonne is truly an international star and has performed from the United States to Singapore. She has wowed audiences at the Taj in Mumbai in India for several years.
Mignonne Fernando exploded onto the Ceylonese music scene in 1963 when as Mignonne Rutnam she won a song contest on Radio Ceylon. The radio station is the oldest and one of the finest broadcasting institutions in South Asia.
Legendary broadcasters such as Livy Wijemanne, Vernon Corea, Jimmy Bharucha, Nihal Bhareti and Vijaya Corea played her music and that of the Jetliners over the airwaves of Radio Ceylon and subsequently the Sri Lanka Broadcasting Corporation, making her a household name.
Vernon Corea who had introduced The Jetliners at the Coconut Grove at Galle Face Hotel in Colombo in the 1960s played the music of The Jetliners on his popular radio program on BBC Radio London called ' London Sounds Eastern' in the 1970s and 1980s - it was produced by top BBC man Keith Yeomans. Mignonne Fernando's music reached new British audiences in the capital.
She was managed by the music mogul the late Tony Fernando who married her - he made her a star. Mignonne and the Jetliners had star billing in Sri Lanka. They represented the country at international song contests.
A pivotal moment came in 2003 when Mignonne Fernando released her first CD titled 'A Celebration of Life.' Mignonne told the media: 'Tony knew that I wanted to do this CD, and it was his dream too. Music to me, is a gift from God; I am forever in his debt, for this wonderful gift. My mother helped me to develop it, by her knowledge of it, and her encouragement. But it was because of Tony's inspired management that my music sprouted and blossomed. I worked hard, to see that this dream of ours, Tony's and mine, came true, by producing this album. It seemed to be an eternity in the making, but it has been a labour of love, and a total experience of mind, body and soul', she said of her CD.
The Sunday Observer in Sri Lanka noted: 'Mignonne drew her early musical influences she tells us, from Franz Liszt, George Gershwin, Quincy Jones her favorite, Diana Ross and the many well known gospel singers. The music of the Motown World, Jazz and Dave Griusin hold a special place for her inspiration-wise.
The highlights of your CD?
"Mangala Mohotha, the lyrics for which is by the late Karunaratne Abeysekera, I arranged and performed the song and introduced the flute by Sajeewa Gurusinghe. There's the song 'Proud to be Sri Lankan' for which the inspiration came fast after I saw the Imax film 'Blue Planet' - the journey of the space shuttle and when the astronauts said "there down below is beautiful Sri Lanka."
It took me by surprise I was spurred to compose. The lyrics came equally fast like the melody. Our people are forgetting what a beautiful country we live in and I hope the message I'm projecting in the song will be a lasting one.
There are other tracks like 'Den Nivadu Kale', my version of 'Somewhere Over The Rainbow' which was featured on VOA by Judy Massa and broadcast on Simultaneous Satellite Broadcast Worldwide." And of course the Overture which I wrote for the Mignonne and the Jetliners Australia 2000 tours, ' she said.
An outstanding track on her CD 'Celebration of Life' is called 'Island Song' a fusion of hip hop and tabla. This song deserves to be played on western radio stations - by all accounts it should be an international hit if only someone would promote the very best of Sri Lanka's musicians in the west.
Mignonne received a huge ovation when she appeared on stage at a 'Grand Salute to Vijaya Corea' at the BMICH in Colombo. She will play Colombo in March 2006 before spending time in the United States.
To hear Mignonne Fernando's hit: 'Island song' please access the website:
http://www.sinhalajukebox.org/cgi-bin/songs.cgi?action=ShowTracks&artist=A417&compose=.
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Mignonne Fernando and The Jetliners regularly entertained guests at the Coconut Grove and the venue was even popularised in a song. Radio Ceylon recorded music programmes from the Coconut Grove. D.G. William (known as 'Galle Face William'), the Lanka Sama Samaja Party trade union leader, first worked and organised workers here. The Science fiction author Arthur C. Clarke wrote the final chapters of 3001 - The Final Odyssey in the hotel.
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Sunday Observer June 9 2003
Mignonne's `A Celebration of Life' launched
Popularly known as `Miss Music' and as `Sri Lanka's Ambassadress of Song', Mignonne Fernando launched her first CD on Monday May 12, at the Galadari Hotel.
Present was a distinguished gathering of musicians, fans and friends, which included Secretary to the Prime Minister, Bradman Weerakoon and Dhammi Weerakoon, Minister of Commerce and Consumer Affairs - Ravi Karunanayake and Mela Karunanayake, Chairman of ANCL - Nalin Ladduwahetty, Chairman, Hatton National Bank - Chrysantha Cooray and Pamela Cooray, Chairman, Delmege Forsyth and Company - Ricky Mendis and Charmaine Mendis.
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| Mignonne Fernando |
The CD which was sponsored by the Associated Newspapers of Ceylon Limited (ANCL), contains a collection of Mignonne's own compositions which includes the famous Mangala Mohotha, or more popularly known by the first line of the song Kadalle Athivu Kirilli Vage, Island Song, which was selected Runner-Up in the Song Writers Contest conducted by Radio Television Hong Kong in 1981 and Proud to be Sri Lankan - a song composed by Mignonne to celebrate the Golden Jubilee of Sri Lanka's Independence in 1998.
Managala Mohotha was written 26 years ago by Mignonne and for this she obtained a seven year contract with EMI UK. It became the first Sinhala song for video for the inauguration of TV in Sri Lanka on the July 1 1979. Today Mangala Mohothais played at almost all weddings and has come to be known as the Sri Lankan Wedding Song.
The other songs on the CD are Mignonne's own rendition of popular English songs like My Boy Lollop, Bombay Mere Hai, Chiquitita and the perennial favourite Over the Rainbow.
This CD is dedicated in memory of her late husband Tony Fernando whose encouragement and support has been infinite throughout her musical career.
Speaking at the launch, Mr. Weerakoon recollected Mignonne's contribution towards the music scene and her efforts to bring credit to Sri Lanka through music.
He recalled her contribution at the Fifth Non-Aligned Summit Conference held in Colombo in August 1976 when she entertained world leaders from over 84 countries, and earned for herself the title, Lady of the Conference. He elaborated on her magnanimous financial contribution towards the Housing Development Scheme initiated by the then Prime Minister the Ranasinghe Premadasa. He said that this was the very first contribution made by a Western musician.
- B. N.
Douglas Meerwald
Earle Douglas Meerwald was born into a very musical and talented Burgher family in Colombo, Ceylon. The Meerwald Family were well known for being first class, first rate musicians on the island. The Meerwald Brothers - Earle and Clair performed at the Public Hall - where the Empire Theatre now stands in Colombo - as the Alabama Masked Ministrels for over a decade.
There was a wealth of music in post colonial Ceylon. The Big band sound was extremely popular in 1920s Ceylon. The popularity of dance bands increased after World Wars I and II. British musicians visited Ceylon to entertain the allied troops in the 1940s who were stationed on the island. Lord Louis Mountbatten of the South East Asian Command (SEAC) had made Ceylon his headquarters during the war. Music played an important role in boosting morale of the multi-national forces stationed on the island.
Glen Miller and his music was hugely popular in wartime Ceylon. Douglas and his school mates from Carey College Colombo enjoyed listening to the big band sounds on the radio station.
Radio was launched in Ceylon in 1925. The 'Father of Broadcasting in Ceylon' was a British engineer, Edward Harper who initiated the first ever radio experiments on the island.
Broadcasting on an experimental basis was started in Ceylon by the Telegraph Department in 1923, just three years after the inauguration of broadcasting in Europe. Gramophone music was broadcast from a tiny room in the Central Telegraph Office with the aid of a small transmitter built by the Telegraph Department engineers from the radio equipment of a captured German submarine.
Colombo Radio was launched in 1925. This was a historic moment - Sri Lanka celebrated 80 years in broadcasting in 2005 and Douglas Meerwald had the distinction of appearing on many radio programs over the airwaves of Radio Ceylon (the oldest and finest radio station in South Asia) in the 1950s. Douglas has appeared on several music programs presented by the legendary Radio Ceylon announcers of the day.Musicians enjoyed very warm relationships with Ceylon's top broadcasters. Douglas Meerwald knew them all - Chris (Christopher Greet), Jimmy Bharucha, Greg Roskowski, Vernon Corea, Tim Horshington, Claude Selveratnam among a whole host of broadcasting icons of Radio Ceylon.
Meerwald was a dashing cricketer and all rounder at Carey College Colombo in the 1950s.He even won the Spooner Prize at Carey College. His first love was music - this was his natural God given talent. It was 'in the blood.' Douglas Meerwald decided to explore his musical talent. He joined Don Daniels and the Ballroom Hornets and learnt his craft. He soon built up a reputation as one of Colombo's finest crooners. Subsequently Douglas Meerwald joined one of the most versatile and swingiest dance bands in Ceylon - The Manhattans.
He headlined concerts and music events all over Ceylon - The Manhattans played at the prestigious Galle Face Hotel and at the Grand Oriental Hotel. One of Sri Lanka's talented musicians 'Sam the Man' joined the Manhattans in August 1957. This really gave a boost to the big band sound of the Manhattans.
Douglas Meerwald was invited to appear on various music programs over Radio Ceylon.
'Not content with Church singing,Douglas sang the standards with great acceptance.His interpretation of 'The Lady is the Tramp' has the stamp of class. Quite naturally band singing had to come and Douglas started with Don Daniel and his Ballroom Hornets. Later he joined The Manhattans....he was on the air with The Manhattans on the popular series Bristol Nite,' noted Vernon Corea in his popular EMCEE Column in the Ceylon Daily News in 1967. Douglas Meerwald also appeared on Talent Corner and Starmaker on Radio Ceylon - two very popular music programs in the country. The station enjoyed millions of listeners and Douglas Meerwald entertained the entire Indian sub-continent on the Overseas Service of the station.
Douglas Meerwald was not the only Meerwald who was heard over Radio Ceylon - his father and uncle Earle and Clair, both gifted musicians who sang in perfect pitch. They were members of a leading church choir in Colombo - The St.Luke's Church Borella Church Choir. All three Meerwalds sang in the choir on Radio Ceylon and susquently the Sri Lanka Broadcasting Corporation, during Christmas and Easter in the 1960s and 1970s. Douglas Meerwald was a Christian, his faith in Jesus Christ was important to him. The Meerwald family were fully involved in the community in Borella through the work of St.Luke's Church for over 60 years. Serving the community was equally important to the Meerwald family.
Douglas Meerwald was a pioneer musician who contributed to the rich music history of the island, through the big band sound of the 1950s. He died in Colombo in 2003.
Douglas Meerwald pioneered the way in Ceylon from the 1950s - 1960s in the world of music by fronting some of the swingiest big bands in Colombo, including The Manhattans who had a loyal fan base on the island.
The Daily News in Sri Lanka published an obituary of Douglas Meerwald in October 2003:
MEERWALD - EARLE DOUGLAS - Husband of Audrey (Deceased), father of Sandra, Debra and Keith, brother of Julaine, Don and Irma Klyne, father-in-law of Ralph Ferdinands (United States Embassy), expired. Cortege leaves A.F. Raymond's Funeral Parlour at 4.30 p.m. on Thursday 2nd October. Burial at General Cemetery, Kanatte (Anglican Section).
http://www.dailynews.lk/2003/10/02/obits.html
Jimmy Manuel
JIMMY MANUEL - Piaono Virtuoso moves on
MANUEL - JIMMY (Pianist). Beloved husband of late Tita, loving father of Eugene (Willo) and Ninny, Peter and Virgie, Milroy, Ingrid and Bernard Machado and Christopher, much loved Papa of Tatum, Vanessa, Dillon, Sachel and Samara. Remains will lie at A.F. Raymond's Funeral Parlour from 10.00 a.m. on Tuesday 18th March. Cortege leaves the Parlour at 2.30 p.m. on Wednesday 19th March. Burial at General Cemetery, Kanatte (Roman Catholic Section). Daily News Tuesday Mar 18 2008
Those of us who knew Jimmy and his exciting piano playing will remember those halcyon days when he gave his whole self to music and took us into realms unknown with his style and talent. They dont make em like that anymore. He was a great master of the keys.
May God Bless him and may he rest in peace!
MANUEL - JIMMY (Pianist). Beloved husband of late Tita, loving father of Eugene (Willo) and Ninny, Peter and Virgie, Milroy, Ingrid and Bernard Machado and Christopher, much loved Papa of Tatum, Vanessa, Dillon, Sachel and Samara. Remains will lie at A.F. Raymond's Funeral Parlour from 10.00 a.m. on Tuesday 18th March. Cortege leaves the Parlour at 2.30 p.m. on Wednesday 19th March. Burial at General Cemetery, Kanatte (Roman Catholic Section). Daily News Tuesday Mar 18 2008
Those of us who knew Jimmy and his exciting piano playing will remember those halcyon days when he gave his whole self to music and took us into realms unknown with his style and talent. They dont make em like that anymore. He was a great master of the keys.
May God Bless him and may he rest in peace!
Lucky Manickawasagar
The bass note is silenced...
He was not lucky to retire from music at a ripe old age....by a cruel twist of fate his elegant bass notes were silenced, last week. Lucky Manickawasagar left behind the legacy of his bass artistry that will only be memories to his many musician friends who performed along with him and respected his unique style and knowledge of music. He did not have a formal education in music, but he had a remarkable ear for music and pitch, a gift that only a select few are born with. Hailing from a family of musicians - of four girls, four boys, a violinist father and a pianist mother - Lucky once told us that their home at Mutwal was a musical haven and twenty four hours a day were insufficient for the family's music appreciation.
Where do we begin to tell the story of Lucky, whose dedication to music was intense. Like his brothers, pianist/bassist Valentine and bassist Nesan he was a total musician and wanted total freedom for his creativity.
When he was just thirteen and still in school St. Benedict's College he turned 'professional' played bass for seniors like Wally Murray, Clement Coomaravel, Alfred Perera and Duncan Clyde.
A multi instrumentalist who was cool in his drum artistry, Lucky joined the then popular pop group Spitfires before he was chosen by pianist Rex de Silva to sit at the drum stool for the band that enjoyed top rung popularity then - 388 Quartet which included Tom Menezes - trumpet/Milroy Passe de Silva - guitar/Valentine Manickawasagar - acoustic bass/Rodney van Heer - sax, Ishan Bahar and Marie Rosairo - vocals. But his great moments were playing with his brothers - a trio with Valentine - piano and Nesan - acoustic bass and Lucky on drums. This special jazz combination 'The Manickawasagar Brothers' were featured at many concert shows and radio shows and festivals by themselves, as well as in the popular radio show 'The Nightbirds' with Tom Menezes and Percy Bartholomuesz. His rare knowledge in music and the bass in particular required no guidance in chord structures and key changes. He knew how the standards in music should be played and was ready to teach those musicians who wanted to learn.
Free lance on the music scene, Lucky had his moments with other groups as well. He was a regular with the Harold Seneviratne Combo, Harsha and Khrome, Cecil Rodrigo Quartet, Marie Rosairo Quartet and he enjoyed his era with Milestones led by saxophonist Rodney van Heer. He won the Golden Clef Award '93 for the Jazz Musician of the Year presented by the Sunday Observer which rightly recognised his awesome artistry on bass.
Lucky had a style of his own and fitted in with diverse groups, except the bands that played funk and rap. He had his own verdict on that kind of artistry.
Although he listened regularly to many of the global greats in bass he was never a slave to their styles. He had his own theories and his own creative style in playing the bass. He may have borrowed ideas from his brother Valentine who now plays bass in London, or from the late Nesan whom he idolised, but when he took the stage to play with a band he was a solid back bone to any jazz or popular band, making a tremendous impact with his fretboard finger work which left you voice the thought "Man, you are well ahead of your time, you should have been on the global stage!"
Mahes Perera
Sunday Observer Sep 22 2002
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