moi

from a speech to the toastmasters club on 9th july 2008

In the wee hours of the morning in the middle of a hot August in 1959, up in Kandy, an elephant in the Kandy perahara, ran amok. 8 people died and scores were injured. Some were gored by the enraged pachyderm whilst many others were trampled during the ensuing human stampede. The incident is relevant not only because of the ensuing human tragedy but also because at the precise moment in time, in the Kandy hospital kicking and squalling, a child was born. That child was me and ever since then I have had a most peculiar relationship with elephants. The relationship is straight line and one dimensional. They see me. They get enraged. They charge. My friends tell me that this is not altogether unusual.

I have an early recollection of being taken to the Dehiwela zoo and standing near the elephant enclosure. An enormous trunk comes out of no where and swipes me flat. Elephants in the enclosure seem agitated. The incident was not connected with those at my birth and I survived my formative years without further trauma and no contact with the beasts as I was never taken to the zoo again. Then, in the early ‘80’s, I was posted to Trincomalee as branch manager to Aitken Spence Insurance where I had started my working carrier. I used to travel to Colombo for meetings on a little Yahama RS 125 motorcycle. One morning I was peacefully putt putting past a place called the Yakka Wangua on the Kantalai - Harbarana road, when out of the morning mist an elephant burst out of the thick jungle and ran madly after me. The encounters thereafter came thick and fast.

Handapanagala; and together with some friends we had gone down to the tank one evening to watch elephants. We were standing on a rock near the water and watching a herd in the distance, when from the nearby jungle another troop of the beasts approached. Two males erupted from the group and hurtled towards our group making us hurriedly scramble up the rock for safety. We were stuck there until well after night fell and had to be extricated by some other visitors. At Yala every time I visited with family or friends we had a close encounters with the animals whilst at Udawalawe the beasts appeared even more irritated. A couple of years ago at the park with some visiting cousins we sped round a track and were slap bang in the middle of a large herd. 5 of the animals immediately rushed the jeep trumpeting angrily. We were only saved by the tracker who leaned out of vehicle and shouted something at the animals. They stopped reluctantly, almost at the bonnet of our vehicle and stood shoulder to shoulder not allowing us to pass for a number of hours. Once again, we had to be rescued by a passing vehicle. More recently on a trip to Trinco with some cousins, we stopped at Habarana for an evening trip into the surrounding jungle. After a rather boring drive in the tall lemon grass we headed back to the Harbarana town when out of the gloom trumpeting madly – you guessed it – an elephant charged our jeep. I swear to you it looked the same as the one which charged my bike all those years ago.


I have no idea what this all means except that none of my family and friends will now come on holidays or trips with me where there is the remotest sniff of elephant. The only assumption that does make some logic is that, perhaps, I was a negative impact on elephants in some past existence.

In my life, elephantine issues are not restricted to encounters with the animals as I also have an unfortunate habit, like Don Quixote of old, of tilting at windmills. That is, taking on impossible issues. Two examples one from the distant past and one more recent will serve to illustrate my point.

In the late 70’s, the teaching staff in the college I was studying at, decided to go on strike. One of them, in their wisdom had assaulted the college Rector and had been thoroughly sacked and the others, in their wisdom, decided to take on the college and church authorities by striking. Not satisfied with that. this group of upstanding individuals went around from class to class, grade 1 right up to the AL’s classes asking them to walk out as well. They politely reminded the kids that they were in a position of power to decide on passing exams, university entrances etc. and it would be a healthy choice to support them. As senior prefects of the school, 5 of us decided that this was wrong any way you sliced it and decided to run the school ourselves. When the teachers did walk off one morning, the five of us divided the school into 5 broad areas and held the students in the classes. However, slowly as the day wore on one by one our colleagues found the task too difficult until by day end only two of us were left holding the fort, like Custer at his last stand. Subsequently, we had long serious meetings with the authorities, wrote lengthy reports, wrote protests to the Church authorities etc to no avail. The Church authorities transferred the Rector to another school, the teacher in question was reinstated and we resigned. My disdain of organized religion dates back to this period.

More recently, the professional association of which I am a council member was headed in a direction which was beneficial only to the larger more established members. Reasoning and lengthy meeting with them to take a more balanced view of the requirements of all members big and small were ignored. These were a group of people who are among the most powerful in the industry in which I earn a living. However, their actions were clearly self serving and a small group of us decided, after repeatedly failing to get them to see reason, to “un-elect” them at the Annual General Meeting of the association. This we successfully did and today the association’s activity is more in keeping with a democratic process than it used to be.


My life is peppered with these kind of issues which seem to charge out at me from the mist and fog of life. Most end with egg on my face but sometimes they succeed and then it seems to make all the other times worthwhile. I am resigned to and quite comfortable with this peculiar aspect of my character.

I am a Dutch Burger and the Dutch Burger Union in Colombo has about 171 regular members. That number is in decline. My particular ancestor landed in Colombo as an ensign on board a Dutch trading vessel in 1741. I am the last of my line left in Sri Lanka and when I die, the genealogical line in Sri Lanka, which I represent, dies out as well. My middle name sandwiched between two thorough Dutch names is “Lasantha” and I used to get kidded a lot by my cousins and friends about it. However, when I was old enough for such things to annoy me I asked my father about it. He told me that I was born during what was a mass exodus of burghers from Sri Lanka due to the polices and strategies of the political thinkers of the time. No one knew where we would be in the years ahead and times were uncertain but he wanted, he said, to gift me with a permanent connection to the country of my birth and which would, no matter what, be a part of me. I retain that fierce pride in being a Sri Lankan – and never mind the charging elephants, and these days the occasional tiger.