An innings cut short, but one that touched us in many ways

Although family, friends and others who knew Aubrey Kuruppu well are shattered by his untimely death, the manner of his passing, while having tea at the Royal Mall in Kandy, was poignant and in a way appropriate. Aubrey was known to offer tea to anyone he was conversing with at the Arts Faculty Senior Common Room, the many canteens in the University of Peradeniya, Paiva’s Tea Room when it was in existence and in later years at the Royal Garden Mall.

Aubrey and I came from similar backgrounds. We were Anglicans (although he had ceased to be a regular church-goer several years ago) and had attended Anglican schools—he completed his secondary education at S. Thomas College, while I did so at Trinity. He read English for a special degree at the University of Peradeniya in the late ’60s, while I followed almost two decades later. He was Coordinator (Arts Faculty) of the English Language Teaching Unit when I was Head of the English Department from 1992-1998. His office was opposite mine and we could literally see each other when seated at our desks, so would often step into one or the other’s office for a chat.

In 1965, I was in what was then called Standard 5 at TCK when I saw Aubrey play for S. Thomas’ against M.T.M. Zaruk’s Trinity team (they later became contemporaries on campus) and subsequently for the Central Province XI against Mike Denness’ England side at Asgiriya. I vividly recall Aubrey having to retire hurt but returning to battle out an innings against a potent English bowling attack. When I once reminded him of that knock, Aubrey told me an amusing anecdote related to it. He had got a faint edge while batting but did not “walk”, as they say. The umpire had turned down the appeal. According to Aubrey, “These English cricketers know their ‘nicks’ so from that point onwards Tony Grieg and others fielding close to me kept asking if I did not know that I had got a touch and why I had not made myself scarce despite the umpire’s decision.”

Aubrey and I had grown up listening to cricket on BBC Test Match Special, Radio Australia, All India Radio and our own Bertie Wijesinghe/Lucien de Zoysa commentaries. We would often discuss the different styles and idiosyncrasies of individual commentators on radio while exchanging cricket anecdotes. Given this interest, it was inevitable that Aubrey would go on to become an able cricket commentator. He had played the game at club level and (given his English degree) possessed an excellent command of English. Furthermore, he did not feel the need to put on what used to be called a “pol

katu” accent to impress anyone. His Sri Lankan way of speaking sufficed. Many cricket followers will miss his voice on radio and his erudite views on the game.

Since Aubrey became a cricket administrator in Kandy, he had access to complimentary tickets to matches and once gave me two passes to watch the Sri Lanka vs. England Test Match at Asgiriya. They were about the best seats in the house in the Old Pavilion with the families of the cricketers. I would often find cricket enthusiasts of his acquaintance besieging him for tickets and he always tried to oblige. Aubrey was indeed a generous man — sometimes to a fault! One day I had occasion to grumble about a person who had borrowed money from me and had seemingly forgotten about it. He laughed off my complaint saying that he could open a bank with the money that people owed him. Many retired hall servants, peons and others regarded him as the “go to” person when in financial difficulty.

The problem in adopting such a stance is that, while many will appreciate his munificence, others could always exploit the situation. As Aubrey’s response to me would suggest, he had the propensity to become a victim of his own generosity. But that is how Aubrey wished to live and I am sure he was blessed for his altruism.

Aubrey had an infectious laugh and a wonderful sense of humour to the point of being boisterous, as some of his colleagues in Peradeniya fondly recalled at his funeral. These characteristics endeared him to those who came from different strata of society. He was equally at home among politicians, diplomats, peons, Vice Chancellors, the higher echelons in the Cricket Board and the schoolboys he coached. Although he was not very comfortable with even semi-formal functions, he would attend my birthday soirées out of a sense of loyalty and would usually be the first to arrive. Sadly his attendance faded in recent years when the challenges of meeting deadlines as a journalist and his moving to a new residence a little away from Peradeniya made it difficult for him to join.

Given his connections, education and leadership qualities, Aubrey could easily have found a lucrative job in Colombo after graduation and retired at the highest level but he preferred the quiet life of a teacher, cricket coach and journalist in the hill country. As he once informed me, quoting Macbeth, “‘vaulting ambition’ is not for me.” Journalists would often refer to him as “The evergreen Kuruppu” because he played club cricket for a lengthy period.

Those of us who knew him well are saddened that the Almighty did not extend the innings of this non-smoker, teetotaller and physically active individual. Seventy four years were much too brief a span for such a man. Still, we should be glad that he lived long enough to touch our lives in multitudinous ways.