Anil Tittawella is no more, and as much as there is nothing more certain in life than death, it always comes as a surprise. On Saturday morning I was informed that Anil had passed away. I had no words to express, the shock was immense, the regret indescribable.
I had not met Anil for years now, and it was not just because of the pandemic. Our close connection had somewhat derailed before that, and it was
not because of his lack of trying to connect over and over again, but simply because I had found myself becoming more and more of a recluse, burying my head in history books as a form of recreation. Now, Anil has become history, and can only live in my memory, and whatever regret I have is of no use.
Anil left us in the inimitable style he lived his life, without making much of a fuss. He was a very private person, and therefore one felt quite privileged to be his friend. I say this with a smile because some of us close to him had a joke about his modus operandi — we called it his “cloak and dagger” operation. He revelled in that persona, and went to great lengths to live his personal life under the radar. Paradoxically though, within that private life he was a very social animal. He loved those little get-togethers amongst close circles of friends and the chats over the single malt whiskeys he enjoyed. He was extremely well read and well connected to certain elites of the country so he could wax on eloquently into the night, informing, educating, and entertaining us on various matters, particularly on politics. So, after a good night of fellowship with his close circle of friends he went to sleep last Friday and I was told in the wee hours of the morning he had woken his wife Suranjika to tell her of some discomfort he was experiencing, and soon he was gone.
Anil Tittawella was a strong man and a good comrade in arms when it came down to a fight. As a corporate lawyer, I believe he was a good man to have on board. At home he was a good father, whenever we met on his visits to Sri Lanka, he would always take the time to tell me about his children and wife in New Zealand. There was always a funny quotient in these stories but that was Anil, he always looked at life on the lighter side. His quirky sense of humour always underlined his conversations. To me, he was a calming spirit, when I became agitated over something or the other. He was greatly loved, but in the same vein it may be just the opposite for some, because he could be intimidating at times and did not suffer fools gladly. He was unashamedly an elitist and a proud Kandyan. At his wedding, in his ancestral home dressed in traditional upcountry garb, which I found was rather worn out. When I pointed this out to him after the ceremony, drawing his attention to a small tear in his overcoat, he looked upon me with near contempt and said that what he was wearing was almost 150 years old.
The first time I met him was when I visited the Law College to meet a friend. I believe the year was 1982 . I was wandering around aimlessly, when I was suddenly accosted by this somewhat podgy, rather dangerous looking character who demanded that I declare my intentions of treading the hallowed ground of that institution. When I told him I was looking for Kumar Paul, an old school mate, he softened a bit and pointed me in the right direction. Many years later we had become close friends and one day when I reminded him of our first encounter and my first impression, which was that he had a thuggish demeanour, he chuckled gleefully, happy to have given off those vibes. However, despite that rough exterior he portrayed, I soon learned that he had a heart of gold. The stories I can relate of our shenanigans are many, some of them surrounding the watering holes of SSC, Orient Club and United Club. It was on one of those watering hole nights that he got an emergency call from Kandy. It was a life saving mission as he had to take plasma from Colombo for an uncle who was in hospital. Kumar Paul was also with us and we together made this mad midnight dash for the hills. Those were the times when we were game for anything and our bachelor days could be put down as one big adventure in living for the moment. Our friendship went on, long after we got married and we often met at family gatherings. The last time I interacted with him was on the phone when his brother Mano had passed and he made an acidic remark of me remembering him only at times like that, which I tried to deflect unsuccessfully. We promised to meet each other but sadly, it did not happen.
Now he is in the great beyond and even though we believe we will meet again, there is no certainty of that. He will always live in my heart - a memory etched in love and friendship. A friendship that happened on a chance encounter because we had common friends. Anil also spoke of another nexus we had. He said that we had common roots as we both started off on the Hultsdorf Hill — he in Law College and me at the Sun newspapers. We made a close connection which lasted for many many years, which could be marked as a highlight in both our lives.
I will miss you Anil Tittawella, Rest in Peace my friend!
Tyron Devotta
