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Monday, November 25, 2019

ANULA and VIJITHA NIKAPOTHA




email from Geri Jayasekara

  She pulled strings. He blew his own horn.

The sad news some months ago of the sudden demise of Anula Nikapotha, née Aluvihare, brought back memories that I would like to share with the Batch of 1960. We had known her from the days in the Block - this demure batch mate of ours, pleasing to the eye, dressed in Kandyan sari and wearing thick-lens spectacles.

Starting, as far back as I can remember, ever since we entered College, Anula and Vijitha were a classic pair, - pun intended - and added to the number of other romantically linked couples in our Three Hundred Batch. At no time when outside the lecture venues could either of them be seen without a smile on their faces. Just try it and check for yourselves, it’s not easy to speak for long periods while smiling at the same time. But they both always did it, while in College, and, in my experience, even ever after. Rumour had it that they even smiled while sleeping! Their smiling faces epitomised their graceful and charming nature that made them the genteel couple liked by all.

For most of us while in the Block, Beethoven, Mozart, Wagner and Offenbach could well have been among the equally strange names such as, Bartholin, Meckel, Waldeyer and Hesselbach, that were associated with our study of anatomy. But Vijitha and Anula were on first name terms with these celebrated icons of classical music, as some of us were to learn later.

Music was in their DNA. Anula played the violin and the keyboards and Vijitha played the French horn. I’m not aware of the other instruments I’m sure they were competent with. A batch mate who had once borrowed Anula’s biochemistry notes told me that among the complex formulae we were forced to learn, there had been indecipherable notations that had in fact turned out to be portions of music scores! However, although music was a subject they were steeped in and felt deeply about, neither of them ever made a public display of their vast knowledge or skills, and very few, including me, knew of their musical prowess till much later into our medical course.

I got to know the Nikapothas closely only quite some time after we qualified in 1965 . We essentially bonded at one of our batch get togethers, probably the one in 1990 at the Hotel Topaz/Tourmaline, Kandy, but I’m not quite sure. From then on, we got on very well.

Domiciled in the U.K, on their visits to Colombo they have had dinner with us many times, with Vijitha often bringing a bottle of single malt Scotch. These were occasions for interesting chit-chat on anything other than medical topics or people in medicine. At these, I tapped their vast knowledge of most things worth knowing in music, but could butt in only occasionally.

Constructed in the likeness of the proximal convoluted tubule of the nephron, the French horn, when uncoiled, would measure, without exaggeration, about twelve feet. This was the only worthwhile bit of knowledge I had to show off about the instrument played by Vijitha during one such conversations over a drink. It was in stark contrast to the bountiful knowledge they both possessed about various musical instruments. Once, having told me that the French horn was a treble clef instrument though it frequently played in bass clef, and proceeding to the supposedly accepted practice of keeping the horn as an F instrument, Vijitha went on to relate that it was a German, Fritz Kruspe, who is credited as being its likely inventor. Frankly, I couldn’t care a clef about all that worthless tosh, and if I hadn’t distracted him with another drink, for all I know he would’ve possibly gone on to tell me the names of Fritz Kruspe’s in-laws!

Anula’s visits here were mostly for professional purposes, as she, without any ostentatious show of goodness, contributed extensively to further the local scholarship in child psychiatry. Little known to many was her keen interest and involvement in the upliftment of the children who had been affected by the extended conflict in the country. This, and her altruism in obtaining financial support for them  are not only noteworthy, but are also to be admired and applauded.

Roshi and I visited London only very rarely. When informed of our last visit, Anula had arranged a memorable treat for us. The evening commenced with a stage play, the ‘Showboat,’ at the Gillian Lunne. That thoroughly enjoyable performance was followed by an extended stroll in the busy and interesting environs of the Royal Opera House and the Covent Garden Market. Winding up at their town apartment, we indulged in a bottle of exquisite Cabernet Sauvignon Paso till the empty was discarded to the recycling bin. The culmination of that delightful evening was a sumptuous dinner at a cosy little Italian restaurant, the delicious food being enhanced by a flavorful Pilastri Rosso Piceno.

Those entrenched to their gills in music erroneously think that all others are too. I can’t read a note, and my interest in opera knocks off around the pleasantly listenable and less serious ones such as ‘Carmen’ and the ‘Marriage of Figgaro.’ At our place once, the casual statement that I had seen the former opera performed at the Royal Albert Hall had given Vijitha the misconceived notion that I’m an opera buff, which I definitely was not. No sooner he went back to London, he had posted me DVDs of some famous operas. How very nice of him. But to me, their titles were so serious, and I took a considerable time just to pronounce them! Listening to one, the shrill, ear-piercing notes of the Prima Donna gave me goose pimples and Roshi came out in a thin sweat. But, I mean to say, what a generous thought that was.

Even though I would never listen to them, I didn’t have the heart to give these DVDs away to any opera lover, however deserving they were. They are somewhere in the house though I know not where. And there they will remain, the knowledge reminding us of the lovely couple who considered us, their friends.

Vijitha, whenever we meet, we talk about the nice times we’ve had over the years, in Medical College and after. As we continue to advance in age, we must continue to reminisce. So visit us soon, Roshi and I are looking forward to it - and there’s a 15 year old Dalmore reserved for the occasion!

Geri Jayasekara

Nov 24, 2019, 9:42 PM (6 hours ago)

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