LG’s 50th Anniversary

No matter how little his name is heard these days, even a tiny inclination to western music will have you “knowing” at the mention of Lylie Godridge. Back before choirs and musical ensembles blossomed like mushrooms and a-capella was the fashionable kind of singing to do, he was making musical history in our little island. Now, it is reported, some ask if the LG Singers are from LG at Abans!

“It was a good opportunity for us to learn that humility must go hand in hand with what we do” laughs current choirmaster (and Lylie’s son) Willie Godridge. And far from being an insult to the choir, it seems a testimony to Kalasuri Lylie’s character and integrity as a musician that the LG Singers aren’t a famed choral ensemble.

Even as a young boy, John Lylie Godridge, born March 4, 1928 to a poor family in Kotahena, showed clear signs of musical genius. His beautiful treble earned him scholarships to school and the attention of scores including the then Governor of Ceylon, Sir Andrew Caldecott. Already more than familiar with stage performance and radio air-play, at twenty-three he was made a soloist in the Colombo Philharmonic Choir’s rendition of Bach’s ‘St. Matthew’s Passion’, earning the chance to meet the likes of Peter Pears and Benjamin Britten. In 1981 Lylie was commissioned by President Jayawardene to tour the world as Sri Lanka’s Singing Ambassador, and in 1993 honoured with the Kalasuri title. Scores of music lovers remember him for his mellow baritone, others for his skill at all things musical, but despite all his worldly achievements, most remember Lylie Godridge for his jolly, unassuming nature, his humility, and his gentleness.

While any of us would have grabbed the opportunity to make a fortune and rise in society, Lylie Godridge, despite his “star” qualities, remained true to his conviction that as his musical abilities were a gift from God, he must use them as a gift to God. He placed his commitment to Christianity above every kind of achievement, moving further and further away from profit-making ventures. Though to some his choices may have seemed peculiar, to those he inspired, there was no replacement.

The LG Singers (now careful to call themselves the Lylie Godridge Singers!) seem a reflection of the dear old man that started them up and kept them going to his very last days in 1998. And this character that refuses to be affected by ambitiousness and remains simple is what sets the LG Singers apart from (boldly we say) all other vocal ensembles in Sri Lanka.

Willie remembers their heyday when Christmas time alone was packed with upto fifteen performances, and a year’s work probably involved close to thirty nights of singing. From there the LG Singers have come to rare performances made only on request, but their spirit remains the same.

The choir is just heading into its 50^th anniversary, and from its birth at 2A Allen Ave., on 15 May 1962, hardly anything has changed, not even the practice/rehearsal (both words are inaccurate, really!) schedule. As many of the “boys” (very much so at heart at least!) put it, they look forward to the weekly session. Whether they are preparing for a performance or not, Tuesday evening 6pm is the “sacred” time “like Sunday mass” as Eshantha de Andrado, member of 25 years, puts it. “It’s like the boys club” laughs Willie, “without the wine and the women”, but plenty of the song.

And the songs themselves have hardly turned over. A special thanksgiving service celebrating the 50^th anniversary of the LG Singers will be held on 19 May at St. Paul’s Church on Kinsey Road starting 6pm. Of the nearly twenty spiritual numbers they plan to sing that night, Willie says only two have been added to the repertoire after he took over from “Pater”. ‘Swing Low’, ‘Nobody Knows’ and ‘Let the Heav’n Light’ are among the popular spirituals on the program while those like ‘Rock-a My Soul’, ‘Spiritual Medley’ and ‘Sinner Man’ are the LGs’ favourites, the ones Willie laughs they have “possessed”.

Negro spirituals have always been the LGs’ forte, but over the years they’ve built up a vast repertoire of a-capella numbers ranging from classical to contemporary styles. The LGs staggering commitment to music and to the man behind their music – nearly every Tuesday of the year for fifty years is no small feat! – if nothing else, has taken them places. They have performed in Galle, Jaffna, Batticaloa, many times in Kandy and twice in fact in India. A potential performance in Israel though it never materialized still speaks volumes for the strength of the choir. Through all this, not one of the LGs has ever profited a cent or intended to do so, all proceeds from their performances being donated to charity.

Even as they celebrate their 50^th anniversary this year with a thanksgiving service and not a gala performance at a grandiose location, the LG Singers honour their founder’s vision of music as a “gift from God” that must be shared, not made use of. Lasantha Tennekoon, Choirmaster at Trinity College, Kandy has teenage memories of the LGs as “a jolly bunch of people” and Lylie Godridge as a man who understood the “true spirit” of music and simply “wanted music to live on” in people’s lives. And it is probably this joy of sharing that makes the LGs’ meetings absolute stress-free fun.

It would be misleading to imagine though, that since they seem to have so much time for fun, and since as even Shanthilal Perera, who has been with the LGs now for 26 years, “can’t really think of anything that has changed”, that the Lylie Godridge Singers has deteriorated in any way. Paul Bibile was one of the twenty-odd singers first invited to form the group, and remains the only original member who still sings with them. At 79 going on 80, his voice is unbelievably steady and firm, and one is unlikely to find him catching his breath whether he sings or speaks or works one of his two jobs. If he is any indication of the level of vocalist produced and breath and voice control demanded by the LGs, then one cannot help but be impressed.

Funnily enough, not many of the LGs see themselves as musicians, and according to Willie, some of the current members were not even quite sure they were capable singers until they started singing with the choir. This is one of those “things” about a genuine love for music, that while sharing the love and joy of a good listen, one inevitably also shares something of one’s gifts and talents in the capability to produce. It works like love; giving increases the receiver’s ability to give. And so they sing and sing and sing...for themselves undeniably, for God inevitably.

Born to Write: Samantha Modder

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“I was born to write

You may not like what I have to say

Or the way that it is said

You may not think that it's the best

Thing you've ever read

But I was born to write

When emotions find the way

To be still in time and space

When hours pass and I feel alive

As each word falls into place

I know I was born to write…”

(Born to Write)

Samantha doesn’t know how or why she started writing; she’s simply always been doing it (her parents have poetry she wrote when she was four years old – when most of us were probably not sure how to spell anything!). “If you find something interesting you just write about it” she says simply, seemingly confused as to why anyone would be interested.

But then, it’s not every day that a nearly-17-year-old publishes her second collection of poetry. And not just any old collection of rhymes either. Though In a Head Like Mine features poems from when she was between 10 and 14, there’s quite some depth of thought in the works. ‘You From Where?’ and ‘Jesus, My Shooting Star’ for example deal with serious issues that are personally very important to Samantha: identity and Christianity. “I try to put a little bit of humour in it, but [Christianity] is a big part of who I am, so I’m not gonna joke about it” she tells me, matter-of-fact.

But more often than not, there’s lots of humour in what she writes. She pokes fun at her not-so-tech-savvy mum, her super-spy brother, her friends, and just picks up little things (homework, dust-balls, vegetables, cockroaches!) from everyday events, adds lots of wit and sarcasm, whips it together with tonnes of imaginative insanities and puts together a delightful concoction of unbelievably good poetry.

And then she illustrates them too! Samantha’s second love (after writing) is drawing, a flair for which she loves to show off. “That’s something I’m not embarrassed about” she laughs, explaining that since she simply draws images, and not what she feels, she’s not as self-conscious about her painting as her poetry. “The reason why this book took so long to come out was that I really didn’t wanna publish it” she admits, “I write for me, and if you read the stuff I write, then you know a lot about me, it’s very personal”.

She begins, in a mocking, super-flowery accent describing how her parents have “always been very supportive” (they have the kind of relationship that leaves no room for false emotion but plenty for good laughs) but gets serious with a truth she took “a long time” to realize. “I recognize the importance of not being ashamed of what you have”. Publishing has helped her share and assert the strength she receives from knowing that “this is what I do, and it’s good”.

How she switches modes, from playful to serious, confused to confident, reveals not only what seems an instinctive desire to “capture” and highlight moments (as she does with her poems) but also her love of treading the boards. “I love to act!” she smiles, a tad regretful though, that she doesn’t have more opportunity to do so. Now, we’re starting to think she’s one of those “perfect” girls from out of a movie. She has smooth but striking features and a slender figure, tops most of her classes, wins prizes, writes, acts, draws, sings a little, plays a little sports, and everyone seems to love her. But Samantha Modder defies the box I’ve arranged for her. “We got kicked out of here (the quiet little tea-shop where we’re having our highly animated and giggle-punctuated conversation) once for playing Uno” she tells me quietly, grinning broadly, “cus we were banging our hands down on the tables really loud and stuff”.

The story, in fact, is not all that difficult to believe. There is a persistent glint in young Miss Modder’s eyes that sparkle as they roam the area, seizing things up, and I learn, she is not fond of jewellery, heels, party dresses or shopping. She will most definitely not be stereotyped.

 

It’s quite likely that it is this quietly rebellious streak in her that makes Samantha’s writing so surprisingly mature and well-controlled, allowing her to see and represent the irregularities in everyday situations. “So this is what it feels like/To be alive” she writes at 13 years old, in ‘I Watched the Ball’, unexpectedly sensitive to the unintentionally marginalized, the true writer’s sensibility. These moments of what her father calls “thoughtful, creative calm” were not so frequent in her earlier works on aliens, haunted houses and panthers drinking Fanta, as they are now. The passion and intensity of a few more years added to her age are starting now to show on her notebook of scribbles and doodles;

“There's a pain deep inside me

That never goes away

It sits and hides quietly

Waiting

For the moment, for the word

That will make it come

Gushing out

In hot salty tears

And tiny little gasps

Of air as I try to breathe…”

(untitled)

“Love?” we wonder aloud, to which the sweet-sixteen laughs. “I've never been in love, and I haven't imagined myself in love, AND I think that most people who think they're in love aren't really in love... So!” you really can’t expect her to be how you expect, or to feel uncomfortable that she is not what you expect, because in her own words;

“…right now, right here, this very place

I know what I must do

Sculpt these words and form these lines

'Cause I was born to write

For you.”

Puppet-Master Premin

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A little further than the instructed one kilometre down the by-road, we stop to ask for directions. With no address and only a given name to go with, success seems unlikely. But we are mistaken, for not only down Elpitiya Road but through the Ambalangoda district, the puppet master Premin is more than just well known. The legacy his father Ganwari Jemis and his father’s father Ganwari Podi Sirina left for him, which he struggles now to guard, is that well treasured.

Kalabhushana Ganwari Premin is passionate about his puppets. The decades he has dedicated to learning and adapting traditional naadagam scripts, musical forms and dances has taken him to many stages and carnival sites around the world. Not only is he one of the country’s leading puppeteers, he is also an ardent historian and promoter of the art. His small smiling eyes light up animatedly as he pulls out volume upon volume of neat scrapbooks on which posters, paper-cuttings,  photographs, letters and even envelops, connected to Sri Lankan puppetry and dating from the 1940’s are meticulously arranged.

Premin’s grandfather, Ganwari Podi Sirina Guru is popularly considered the father of traditional puppetry. He is accredited with introducing not only screens to the Sri Lankan puppet stage, but also the popular Nango Hami and Sellan Lama characters who sometimes perform introductory acts to the main play. Podi Sirina is recorded to have presented the controversial (and immensely popular) play ‘Ehelepola’, based on the massacre of the Kandyan family of that name, before the Duke of Edinburgh in 1870 at the Bagatale Walawwa. The Duke and his retinue were so thrilled with the performance that, according to Premin, they awarded Podi Sirina a gold medal as well as five hundred rupees – a fortune at the time!

Such royal encouragement helped Podi Sirina and his contemporaries work towards improvement and propagation of the art across Sri Lanka, but unfortunately was not enough to prevent the complete cast of 47 puppets from the ‘Ehelapola’ play from being sold in 1910 and shipped to West Germany. Although puppets were not unfamiliar to a European population, the stature of the life-size creations are said to have created a stir, miniatures being the norm.

These figures, as all other traditional Sri Lankan puppets, are made of the wood of the goda kaduru tree. It is soft and pliable, as well as light, perfect for the job. The puppet is fashioned as a number of parts measured to exact proportions, the calculation of which is known as path bindeema. Once the separate pieces have been carved and detailed, the painting begins.

Traditionally, either valicchi (a concoction made of various powdered natural ingredients) or dorana thel were used to colour the puppets. The centre of the massive dorana tree, which grows in our rainforests, is carved out and the cavity set fire to. The sap then drips into coconut shells arranged at the bottom of the cavity, and is later treated before used as paint. Different colours and patterns are used to define characteristics of the figure, pink skin always indicating femininity while bold patterns signal either divine or legendary characters.

The pieces of the puppet are now jointed together, and costuming begun. “They’re just like actors” smiles Premin as he opens box after box of polythene-wrapped clothes, “each puppet has many outfits”. Those of royalty are made of orange, black and blue velvet lined with cotton and adorned with pearls, beads and sequins, while greens, purples, chains, jewels and gold and silver thread dazzle the other costumes.

Whenever there is a performance scheduled, Premin spends a number of days before, going through the collection of puppets and costumes, repairing and packing. A good troupe consists of at least 30 puppets he says, describing how after being placed in cloth bags and padded with lots of cloth in between to prevent damage, a lorry is required to move the set.

The puppet stage is made of two sections, the front for the play proper and the elevated back for the hidden artists. Puppeteers bend over the separating screen as they work, leaning their weight on a smooth pole to prevent spine injury as the figures, despite being hollow, are rather large and heavy. Premin treasures a nearly two hundred year-old head-part of one mammoth piece, the face of an aristocrat fitted with the typical moustache made of human hairs, which he believes belonged to a nearly six-foot figure.

“Meka raekaganna, meka kaewa” Premin sighs, pointing first to his belly and then the damaged face-figure, as we speak of art in contemporary Sri Lanka. If there is one thing he regrets, it is how traditional art which has intellectual as well as entertainment value is not appreciated as well as more modern forms, and is simply exploited for financial gain. “We have a tradition of puppetry that has exceeded that of many other countries, but hardly any reception in our own land” he shares regretfully. And this, he believes, is causing the art itself to decline in standards.

Nostalgically he speaks of a time when as a young boy he would tour the country with his father, performing at carnival after carnival for months on end, during school vacations. “I have seen all the masters” he declares proudly, reminiscing the good times of his youth, “but they were masters mostly because they had an audience that enjoyed and critically understood their work, so they were continually challenged”.

Premin yearns to build a similar audience in contemporary society and thereby promote the growth of the number of practitioners, which he believes is currently less than two hundred, because he is thoroughly convinced of the value of this art. “I can’t help but imagine the possibilities”, he speaks animatedly of television, advertising, media and education combined with puppetry. Dreamily he remembers how “once in Kurunegala, my father had to stop in the middle of the ‘Ehelepola’ because the audience was moved to tears and wailing. That is the kind of impact we can create.”

Next Friday, 21 October, Premin will bring his vidhane’s and puja dancers, his stilt-walkers and fire-eaters, his satirists and his historical characters to present Colombo with a performance at the Navarangahala at Royal College, starting 6:30pm. He hopes it will help improve public awareness of, and interest in the art. Premin’s son, fourth-generation artist Indika, too will join him and his company on this trip. He smiles shyly, admitting that he has been playing with his father’s puppets since he was a very young child. Despite his love for the art, the necessity of feeding the little mouths at home has kept him from pursuing it full-time.

Indika’s little four-year-old daughter hurries her grandfather as she expertly helps him fit a puppet twice her size into its cloth bag. She is already on her way to taking up the family legacy. Giggling shyly, she follows the 65 year-old artist from his house, down the narrow gravel path that leads to Pokuna Paara off Elpitiya Road. He gently tells her to go back home, as he is heading to Colombo to finalize plans for the programme, it is immensely important to him. “Naethiwunanam mata vitharai, raekunanam mulu ratatama.”

Of A Man Who 'Sees' No End

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His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” “Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him.” John 2: 2-3 (NIV)

These words from the Bible constantly inspired Margaret, mother of Don Patrick Mervin Weerakkody to be positive about her youngest son’s blindness. Though he could perceive light and make out obstacles at birth, his sight deteriorated fast and left Patrick, more popularly known as Wimal completely blind. “It was like her slogan” he chuckles as he recalls his childhood. Margaret and Wimal’s father Johannes, were both educators by profession and so strove to give their youngest an education equal to that which their three older children received. Their home was an environment conducive to learning, and Wimal picked up fast from what his brothers and sisters brought home from school. Their young uncle Juluis Perera, a master violinist and music teacher, created in Wimal his special favourite, an early love of music. And so a genius was put in the making.

In 1954, at nine years of age, Wimal entered the School for the Blind at Ragama, where he gained his elementary education as well as basic musical knowledge, mastering the piano, accordion and violin. These skills equipped him well for his task as a young teenager playing the role of organist and choirmaster at his local church as well as secondary school. He also acquired skills essential for the visually impaired academic – reading Braille script and typewriting – at this school. By the time he entered Christ King College in his hometown Thudalla, Ja-Ela for his secondary education, Wimal was well equipped not only to work on a par with his sighted classmates but even to top his class. He left school in shining glory, having passed the Advanced Level Examination at the very top of the national rank.

“Most of the responses I had from people in my young days were Christian, they were matter of fact about my blindness” reflects Wimal, now Professor. “At university it was different” he shares, describing snide remarks about karma and such. “The fact that I am a Christian has helped me a lot, my outlook is more positive because of that.”

Prof. Wimal Weerakkody. (c) Kalpa Rajapaksha

And this positive outlook he inherited from his mother has helped Wimal Weerakkody achieve amazing feats in life. Going through university and getting a BA and PhD he says, have been his greatest achievements to date. He admits the task was positively difficult since he did not have the convenience of facilities visually impaired students now have as study-aides. “I had to depend on sighted readers” he explains, adding that “the subject was difficult for the average reader and required a high standard of English” and was therefore the task even more trying. Nevertheless he trudged through, and in 1971 obtained his BA with First Class Honours in Classical Languages. Upon receipt of a scholarship he then commenced studies at the University of Hull, obtaining a PhD in Classics in 1977. Upon returning to Sri Lanka, Wimal Weerakkody joined the staff at his alma mater, the University of Peradeniya, and was subsequently made Professor of Classical Languages; a position he held for nearly ten years, until his recent retirement.

Among his academic achievements are translations of famous Greek and Latin texts ‘Phaedo’  and ‘The Republic’ by Plato, Hesiod’s ‘Works and Days’, works by Cicero, plays by Plautus and Terence as well as ‘Louise Braille: A Touch of Genius’ by Michael Mellor among many others. He is also a Vadya Visarad, (B.Mus.) of the First Division from Bhathkanda Sangeeth Vidyapeeth, Lucknow, India, and has won many international academic awards and scholarships including those awarded by the Commonwealth as well as SAARC.

Though his academic achievements are great, it is the gentle and compassionate person Prof. Weerakkody is, and the high values that motivate him, which his students and those who have the blessing to know him appreciate most in him. “My inspiration has always been my desire to help other persons with disabilities” he says unassumingly, “I try to acquire skills that help them and then impart it to them.”

He has truly done much more than has been expected of him as a voice of the visually and otherwise impaired, and as Coordinator of his brain-child; the Special Needs Resource Centre (SNRC) at the University of Peradeniya. Every year, Prof. Weerakkody conducts a number of workshops which he hopes will provide the visually impaired with skills for a better life. Although the workshops are geared at educating and providing specialized skills, it’s undeniable that the participants have immense fun in the learning process and go away having made good friends and wonderful memories. Prof. Weerakkody is a genial person by nature and an entertaining and enthralling teacher, and his lectures and teaching session are coloured with jokes and anecdotes which his students find difficult to forget. Among these unforgettable workshops number those on Braille Music notation for teachers and students as well as on special IT skills for the visually impaired, all conducted at the SNRC.

Prof.'s special watch with braille dots to mark the time.
How he clasps his hands together is typical of his patient, unassuming nature.
(c) Kalpa Rajapaksha

“I feel information is primary, that’s why we started the centre” explains Prof. Weerakkody as he describes how he once very informally approached a representative of the World Bank and was able to secure a donation of 50,000 USD for each national university that was willing to utilize it to help the handicapped. Though the fund was allocated for use over two years, Prof. Weerakkody and his staff of unconditionally dedicated volunteers managed to stretch the funds over four years. “Now we have trouble maintaining the centre” Prof. says, explaining that funding is very hard to come by. The centre takes on projects such as the recording of the pansiya panas jataka and school syllabi for grades 9-11, which are funded by organisations such as the Buddha Shasana Madhyasthanaya and the American Embassy. These funds nevertheless, do not provide any backing for the running of the centre or for the undergraduate students the centre is pledged to support.

Prof. Weerakkody believes that Sri Lanka has sufficient resources to provide visually impaired students with a good quality tertiary education, but that “attitude changes are necessary” for the proper allocation of these resources to be made possible. The attitude of the general public towards the handicapped population is also “mixed” he says, adding that despite the fact that “people are sympathetic”, there exist in our culture “age-old prejudices” regarding mental and physical handicaps. Prof. recalls the incident of a fellow undergraduate returning to his room on his way out for an examination, because the blind ‘apala’ student Wimal Weerakkody has stepped onto his path. Such incidents and attitudes are not only sad and embarrassing but also detrimental to the creation of a positive environment for the visually impaired within our country.

But Prof. Weerakkody has not allowed such events to deter him from achieving his goals and dreams. He has overstepped boundaries even unimpaired persons would consider insurmountable, mastering not only the fields of classical languages, philosophy and music, but those also of administration and information technology.

Since retiring a few months back, Prof. Weerakkody has been catching up on what he mischievously calls “outstanding work that lies on my table and my conscience”. He looks forward to completing a Sinhala translation of The Oresteian Trilogy by Aeschylus and quiet hours in his house hidden in the cool hills of Gampola. “I haven’t decided on anything yet” he smiles “I’ll just take things as they come”. Typical, one would feel, of how he has lived so far, grappling with immense obstacles and never faltering in his walk to bring glory his Maker.

Penelope (Pene Hayley) Gordon

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When I hear Penelope Gordon is 78 years old, I’m worried about how bored I’m going to be, making conversation with an old lady. But if I’ve ever enjoyed listening to stories of the past over a cup of tea, it had to be at Hayley’s down Dean’s Road last week. The great-granddaughter of Charles Pickering Hayley, founder of what is now Hayleys PLC, is one lady who is not going to let time play his games with her.

When Charles (known fondly as Chas) Hayley boarded the Percy Douglas heading towards Sri Lanka – what was then Ceylon, the “crown jewel” of the British colonial empire – in 1871, it must have been with a knot in his stomach and fear in his heart about leaving home. It is quite likely he never imagined at the time, the scale of what he would achieve on the island. In 1878 he founded Charles P. Hayley and Company, a small coir trade which would grow into what is now Hayleys PLC, one of Sri Lanka’s biggest multinational businesses involved in Global Markets, Agriculture, Transportation, Consumer Products and Leisure and has sister companies in seven countries including the USA, France, India and Japan.

Nearly a century and a half later, as Penelope (aka Pene) Gordon walks in through the Bandaranaike International Airport for the twenty-first time in fifteen years, her heart sings “I’m home, I’m home!” What her great-grandfather achieved in Sri Lanka was more than a family legacy and much more than just a booming business, it was the making of a history and a home. “Little did I know what I wonderful seed I was planting on that far away day” he is believed to have said of himself, and he probably never knew how little he knew.

Pene Gordon was born in Hatton in the year 1937 to Ray Beadon and Phyllis Hayley, the granddaughter of Chas Hayley. Her father being a planter meant that Pene’s childhood was spent mostly on tea estates in the Nuwara Eliya and the upcountry areas. “I remember going to Hill School” she smiles, adding “and running around the lake” with a twinkle in her eye. “My father was a rugby player, he played for Dimbulla, as did my brother-in-law as well as my husband. So I was always on the rugby field or the golf course” she laughs, adding that the girls played a lot of tennis and indulged in their father’s love of building swimming pools by growing up “in the water”.

She remembers even more fondly the time during the Second World War when her father’s appointment to the RFA meant they had to move to Colombo before he was transferred to England. “We lived at 22 Colpetty Lane” Pene informs me, reading my mind immediately after by saying with a giggle “I remember that very well”. It is difficult not to see an image of a troupe of youngsters screaming and running around (“we were naughty and a little wicked, and our nanny was never allowed to do anything about it!” she has just confessed with an impish grin) the Galle Face Green as she talks of flying kites every morning and following the kadala man around.

In 1945, an eight-year-old Pene Gordon visited England for the first time. She remembers fondly her aunt, Violet Hayley who she refers to as a “funny little lady”. Pene screws up her face and squints as she leans forward, imitating her aunt sitting at a sea side café. “We were having tea and it was such a beautiful day” Pene explains, “and she kept saying ‘but there’s such a mist out here’”! She struggles to contain herself as she describes how in their confusion the children watched their aunt carefully to understand her meaning. “And we discovered that she’d powdered her glasses!” she bursts out as we all erupt into laughter. Pene next spent time in England as an undergraduate, returning to Sri Lanka, her home of 27 years, to marry Trevor Gordon and settle down. As were her mother and younger sister Sally after her, Pene was married in Nuwara Eliya. “My son, Graham, was born in London in 1971 because we happened to be there at the time” she continues her story. A few weeks after though, they returned to Sri Lanka and Trevor took up work in Colombo.

The relatively peaceful and comfortable lifestyle into which the young family had settled over the next three years was suddenly torn apart and in 1974, Pene again found herself in unfamiliar territory both physically and emotionally. “My husband got ill with a nervous breakdown and couldn’t be helped here” she explains quietly. “We had to go back to Ireland because that’s where he was from. I had never been there before and it was traumatic” she admits, but stresses “we had to go”. They struggled in Ireland to pick themselves up and at the completion of a year there were ready to welcome Wendy, Graham’s younger sister, into the family.
As Pene watched her family grow and resettle though, a troublesome thought began to take root in her mind. “All of Graham’s baby photos showed him here (in Sri Lanka)” Pene shares regretfully, “but there was nothing for Wendy. She knew nothing about my family and my growing up out here.” Wendy too shares memories of “curry parties” in England and the frustrating awareness that there was “another history” out there for her which she knew nothing about. Until Wendy was nineteen, they simply could not afford a trip back to Sri Lanka, but by this time Pene had made up her mind. “I brought them both back, but particularly for Wendy” she shares, adding that “she has loved it ever since”.

“This is my heart home, this is my heart home” Pene reiterates, moving on to her return to Sri Lanka in 1994. “We went straight up to Kandy because the Perahera was on” she says with a look on her face that says she can’t believe herself, “and it was like murder with the crowds and everything after twenty whole years! But the next day we travelled up to Nuwara Eliya, and we were all tired so Graham and Wendy were both sleeping, but here I was, shaking them, telling them ‘Wake up! Wake up, we’re coming home!’”. She laughs at her own childish excitement. “I don’t know how well you know Nuwara Eliya” she says a little quieter now, “but once you’ve gone up the Ramboda pass and come down into the Nuwara Eliya valley, there’s the sixth green. And by the time we’ve hit the sixth green…” Pene’s voice catches, hushed and overcome with emotion as tears collect in her clear blue eyes. “I’m home! I’m home, you know?” she manages to whisper quietly.
“Things were different” she admits, adding with a grin that “everything was twenty years older. The fairways at the golf club were smaller and the trees bigger, but not enough had changed to make it not home for me.” She recalls appreciatively how staff at the golf club recognized her and spoke to her. Going back to the estate, she recalls, was “just lovely, and it was very emotional”. The room that Pene used as a child and all the furniture around the house was “there just the same” she says, smiling shyly that “it was very antiquated, but it was very nice”.

“I had been away for twenty years without the money to come back” she shares thoughtfully “but I knew I couldn’t let this go on for another twenty.” So Pene Gordon returned home, again, in 1997, the year she turned sixty (“and life begins at sixty!” she laughs) and continues to make the trip to Sri Lanka twice every year since 2001. “I’ve got my memories of growing up on the estate” Pene continues, “and it was like a magic life which I came to appreciate only later.” In gratitude for these untarnished memories and warm feelings of the heart Sri Lanka calls up within her, and inspired by God she says quite simply and frankly, Pene now tries in her little ways to help the people who were part of her history in Sri Lanka.

Despite suffering from diabetes and having had most of her digestive system removed due to health complications last year, Pene is still bubbly and energetic. “It was a bit wow” she laughs, explaining that her spleen, pancreas, gall-bladder and “half” of her stomach contents have been removed. “Let me show you my digestive system now” she grins as she opens a small scallop-shaped case holding two clear enzyme capsules, one of which she pops in her mouth before lifting a cup of tea to her lips.

She was smiling, smiling as she walked into our meeting after a lunch engagement and she is smiling, smiling as she rushes off next to a coffee engagement, a true testament to the energy and fire that runs in her blood. “My mother (Phyllis) is 102 and still very much alive!” she laughs, and I walk away from the meeting thinking Penelope too, must be ageless.

The Glam Game - Jacqueline Fernandez

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“You have to come to an understanding that a sense of your innocence will be lost” she says in a regretful but matter-of-fact tone. We’re not talking about anything scandalous, but it is impressively evident that in the five years between being the girl in the yellow bathing suit with a flower in her hair and the woman getting up-close and personal with Emraan Hashmi in ‘Murder 2’, Jacqueline Fernandez has grown up a lot. “I think then, like everyone when they’re younger, I was naïve” she smiles. “I was just a much younger girl, but I feel now that I can say I am definitely a woman”.

Not that she has lost any of her bounce or that characteristic girlish gaiety. “I’m not saying you have to change yourself” she says earnestly, speaking of how she has matured over the years with experience, reassuring us that “my father would slap me before I started acting all hoity-toity and all! But you’ve got to know the kind of direction you’re going in. That’s how it is.” And testimony to that is the fact that the room that was dull and life-less half a minute before, was lit up and buzzing with activity as soon as she walked in, running up to friends and greeting them with dazzling smiles and laughter.

The difference is that she has grown from a girl who waited for her dream to come to her, into a determined woman who is ready to engage with serious issues and address them immediately. What has driven her return to Sri Lanka, (apart from being on the panel of judges for the Miss Sri Lanka for Miss Universe pageant for 2011) is the desire to return to her motherland what she claimed from it five years ago. “I had some fantastic people supporting me and encouraging me” she smiles warmly, remembering the good times in 2006. “But they’re bittersweet” she shares, of her memories, “because they remind me that I’m older now”.

But with losing time, Jacqueline has gained years and experience, and far from only returning what she took, she plans to fill in what she can of the gaps she has come to see in the Sri Lankan glamour industry, and the training our models get before they enter an international arena. Speaking of her post-Miss Universe-Mumbai experience Jacqueline says, “I went in thinking “I’ve got a good smile and great PR, I’m going to be fine” but I wasn’t. It’s a business, an economy. I know it’s hard, but people don’t really care about you and no one’s out there to make friends” she continues, at the risk of sounding ruthless. Jacqueline may still have a long way to go, but she is definitely not deluded about where she is and where her path will take her. “It’s not a fairytale, it’s not candyfloss. It’s a mature world, and you need to be prepared for that”. But that was not her case, it seems. “I was not prepared.”

So then how did she manage not only to break into Bollywood but also to make ripples-turning-to-waves in such a short time-span? “Actually from a very young age I wanted this whole world of glamour, it was something I wanted to do” she shares unabashedly. Nevertheless we have seen and heard how soon after graduating with a degree in Mass Media, Jacqueline returned to Sri Lanka to work on television and broadcasting with Young-Asia television as well as ETV. “I think when you have an ambition and if you are ambitious, destiny will somehow find a way to lead you back to it. Not in a magical fantasy kind of way, but psychologically. I wanted to be an actor from a young age, and I always had this at the back of my head. So whatever move I made was calculated to get me there”.

Taking things for granted though, is not the style Jacqueline Fernandez advocates. Sure, the modelling/acting career fell in to her lap, but any others she might have, like breaking into an international acting career, she is not going to sit around and wait for. “It’s not about opportunities and it’s not about luck.” There is in those graceful limbs and usually dreamy liquid-brown eyes as she says “It finally comes down to a lot of really hard work”, a split-second of tension and a momentary flash of clear determination.

In recognizing the seriousness of the tasks she has undertaken, and the sheer competitiveness of the industry she has chosen to make her mark in, Jacqueline will not jump to encourage others. “It’s difficult” she shares hesitantly, “and I do feel that I struggled, and at times I did wish that I had more opportunity to gain experience”. Her bid then, is to try and make things easier for the newer models interested in breaking into the international arena. “I know a few girls who went to India to try things out there” she confides, “but they didn’t know what to expect, and when things came as a shock, it made them turn back”. With what might simply be youthful and naïve energy, but what is more likely to be a fiery passion inspired by gratitude, Jacqueline is determined to commit more time from her tight Bollywood schedule, to improving the standards of the Sri Lankan glamour industry. “I am seriously taking on more work” she says, firmly promising that she will make “a conscious effort to be here more”.

Behind these determinations lies a deep understanding of the failings of the system within which she had to struggle in order to break into the larger world of the rich and the famous. And leaving aside prudish modesties, ‘Jackie’ dishes it out straight up. “The problem with the glamour industry here is people don’t make money”. Cut-to-the-chase, she continues, “So the attitude is “what the hell are you doing?” It’s not seen as a decent job, it’s only a hobby.” Jacqueline’s theory is that if the Sri Lanka industry is expanded substantially, sufficiently and efficiently, standards will rise proportionately and chances for international break-throughs will increase. “The reason people get into any business is because the money is still good. That makes you successful and it makes you powerful” she says, adding that “right now, our glamour industry does not have that, there’s no money involved. This is why people look down on it, because it seems frivolous.”

“I get asked the question a lot when I come here” she says, “why I would be a model if I have a degree because “It’s for bimbos and airheads”. But look at people like Naomi Campbell and Kate Moss” she continues triumphantly, defiantly, “they are super, super millionaires! You wouldn’t ask them that question.” Sounds like an argument well-worth one’s money. “It’s a two way thing though, and it will take a long time” she admits, adding firmly “but we’re making a start here. My intention right now is to really help create an international supermodel from Sri Lanka and I think once that happens, its going to be a wake-up call for everyone who thinks this industry is not something good enough to go for”.

Seeing as how Jacqueline Fernandez has in a matter of years re-defined and re-configured the Sri Lankan standard for and understanding of modelling, acting and the world of glitz ‘n’ glam, it’s difficult to be cynical of her plans. “We invent, re-invent, and we evolve” she shrugs, speaking of the maturing of her image. It’s high time evidently, that the Sri Lankan world of movies, fashion and glamour as a whole, took a page out of this starlet’s book.

A Rare Passion - Preethi de Silva

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The precise articulateness of her speech, the firmness of her gestures and the way in which her short hair is held back by clips is enough to tell you that Preethi de Silva is clearly taking no nonsense. But to see her at the keyboard, her small delicate hands coaxing the harpsichord to life under their gentle but firm touch, to hear her bring Handel and Bach back alive, is to know the real woman.


The beginnings of her musical career lie in a mother's vision. Preethi describes how despite being a well-known painter, her mother had wanted to be a musician and how she made sure all her children took music lessons. "My father used to say that he's tone deaf" she laughs, remembering nevertheless that he was encouraging and that he understood their mother. "She pushed me and encouraged me" Preethi smiles fondly, "she believed that I had the talent and went to all ends to get me here".


And "here" is no simple thing. Preethi de Silva had come past the Royal Academy of Music, past scholarships for music studies in Berlin and at the University of Yale with world-renown harpsichordist Ralph Kirkpatrick, past extensive performance internationally, past the publication of a good three-inch-thick book - the result of twenty years of research "on a whim" - and past internationally acclaimed early music ensemble Con Gioia. After all this, the Susan George Pulimood Memorial Oration seems like nothing much, but Preethi shares that is was a "challenging" experience for her.


This year's trip back home has opened her eyes to how "everyone in Colombo goes to music lessons or whatever" but there are those who have nearly no access to musical instruments or training. She speaks of that larger part of our nation "who are just making ends meet or not even making ends meet", reminding me of the teledrama series Arungal, that captured for its audiences, our nation and culture that understands and appreciates the pricelessness of music but disregards it because of its lack of market value. "Music is either just a hobby or just entertainment" Preethi says regretfully, careful to add that there is a difference between art as entertainment and intellectual practice. It takes not just one but many with passion and commitment to make this distinction clear, and Prof. Preethi de Silva is unquestionably one of those.


At the age of seventeen, with father and older siblings all practicing medical doctors, Preethi was faced with the dilemma of choosing between music and medicine. "I was torn!" she exclaims, needing no further explanation, for many of us know the plight of having to choose either the practical or the desired. "But I don't regret the decision at all" she declares matter-of-factly, describing how though medicine seemed at the time like a much more "giving" profession, she has come to realize that performance is "not just for myself" but an act of sharing something with her audience as well.


And so young Miss de Silva found herself studying music, first in London and then in Germany. It was here that she was introduced to something that would define the course of her musical career; the opportunity to perform on antique instruments. "I was always a great admirer of J. S. Bach" she shares, large bright eyes complementing her glittering smile, "it's not just beautiful music, but the structures, the intricacies… everything about it is so inspiring!" She explains with keen interest the workings of the different keyboard types and their differences in tone quality and performance techniques. Playing on the harpsichord and fortepiano (the main instruments for which Bach and Mozart respectively wrote), says Preethi, really helped her to understand the music better. And in the cycle of discovery, her love for the early forms of music grew.


So to be able to study at Yale was exciting for her, not only in itself as it would be for most of us (barring that it would be unimaginable also!), but also because of Ralph Kirkpatrick who was not only a lecturer there at the time but also a world-famous harpsichordist (considered by some, the best to play in this century), and the university's famous collection of 17th and 18th century musical instruments.


Following her studies at Yale, Preethi returned to Berlin to teach until she was offered a post at Scripts College in California, where she taught for over twenty years. She is now retired "but I'm not really retired, you know?" she laughs, explaining that she still engages with some graduate students. "The thing is, once you learn to play or sing, it's something you can't lose. You're never alone with an instrument, it's your friend for life".