Dushyanthi
A chance meeting with a beautiful soul
I was a rookie at Aquinas University College and one of the youngest in the academy. Aquinas was the only private tertiary education institute in Sri Lanka in 1972. It was an ivy league school only the rich and famous could afford. Almost every student came in their car. Some students drove their vehicles. So you can understand my plight; I was one of the few students who came to Aquinas by bus. The closest I got to owning a vehicle was being an owner of a bicycle. It was my first experience in gender-mixed education, having attended boys-only Christian schools up to then — an exciting time for someone on the cusp of turning seventeen from a middle-class family.
My goal was to be a management accountant affiliated with the Institute of Cost and Management Accountants in London. However, on top of lecture fees at Aquinas, regular subscription and exam fees were charged in British Pounds. Aquinas’ exorbitant fees were equal to an average person’s monthly pay. I wonder how my father afforded my fees with three children and an extended family to feed.
Life in Aquinas was vastly different to my school life. The dress code was casual. All studies were in English medium. My studies up to high school were in Sinhala, the primary language in Sri Lanka, which was another drastic change. There was a small group of international students from Malaysia and Male. Everyone seemed older than me; most students were in their early twenties. When you are seventeen, an age gap of a few years seems enormous, and one can feel disconnected and out of place.
As luck would have it, there was a handful of students from my age bracket, hailing from my old school. Errol, Tyrone and Carlyle were in the same boat, too young to mingle with the seniors. It took us no time to form our mini-group and hang out between breaks. Errol wore shorts, the only boy to do so, a rarity at Aquinas. Tyrone was over six feet tall for a Sri Lankan. A few weeks later, Quintus, a fellow student of our mate Carlyle joined our group. Both Errol and Tyrone were from a similar social background, kids of the average middle class, working families. Quintus’s family had a business making confectionaries.
A beautiful girl also studied in my class. She was charming and delightful, and her name was Dushyanthi Rajiyah. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She resembled a Bollywood actress with sharp features. She had a range of colourful bell bottoms and matching tops; Dushyanthi hardly repeated them. Her hair was jet black and long. She came to school in a Mercedes Benz, a car only owned by the rich and famous. Her chauffeur picked up and dropped her off. I watched her every move, how she got off the car, where she sat in our class, what she did during her breaks and all her elegant moves every day. I could go on and on about Dushyanthi and how mesmerising she was.
How we became friends is a mystery to me. Did I talk to her first, or whether she spoke to me first?. I am not sure.
Economic studies taught were about the free market economy in the western world; I struggled with no real-life experience of an open economy, for Sri Lanka was a closed, socialist country. Moreover, the Economics lecturer, Mr Dalpadadu, rambled in class, making it hard to follow his lectures. Dushyanthi understood my plight and helped me get around economic theories during our lunch breaks.
I loved Dushyanthi’s company and the grace with which she carried herself. She spoke eloquently, which helped me pick her cues and improve my English. Dushyanthi lived in Rosemead place, the most expensive street in Sri Lanka in Cinnamon Gardens, in Colombo 7, a suburb I could only dream about.
Within a short time. I became the envy of the senior boys. Many of them were trying to be Dushyanthi’s friend. She ignored them and carried herself. Some of them were trying to coarse me to introduce them to her. I politely ignored them. I could not betray my friendship with Dushyanthi, although that would have allowed me to join the seniors club as a return favour. The seniors could not comprehend how an ordinary youngster could be so influential with Dushyanthi. I did not know either.
To complicate matters further, Dushyanthi was engaged to be married. Her fiance came to Aquinas on some days to pick her up after class in his car, in another shiny limousine. So here I was, my first year in a university, struggling with a friendship, feeling odd in an alien environment. I was a confused boy, albeit with a good friend.
We continued our friendship. The dumb teenager I was, I was hopelessly infatuated. On some days, after class, Dushyanthi dropped me at the bus stand on her way home. Me getting into her car was another event that irked the seniors to their jealousies.
Later that day, I wrote in my diary: I was stupid to pretend I knew the meaning of ‘cons’ in the car. I felt so tiny, not knowing what it meant. I cannot find the word in my dictionary. Please do not think I was stupid. What did you mean? Why did you not look at me in the car? Smile with me tomorrow, please.
Dushyanthi invited me to visit her at their home during the study break. I felt so happy and proud to be invited to her home. I dressed in my best clothes on the day I visited her home. I took a bus and found my way to the posh street of Rosemead place in Colombo. Every house on the road was a double-storey mansion with extensive manicured gardens and expensive cars parked in their driveways.
Dushyanthi welcomed me and introduced me to her mother and her younger brother. Her brother was about my age. Dushyanthi’s mother was equally elegant and kind as Dushyanthi. The Rajaiyahs were charming and went out of their way to make me comfortable in their stylish home.
I visited her a few more times in their spiralling home. I was in seventh heaven. Not since childhood had someone brought me such happiness.
But it was not to last. That was our destiny — young people from two significantly different backgrounds.
A few months went by, and Dushyanthi stopped coming to Aquinas. Her absence was a big mystery. There was no longer any contact.
At a young age, we are hard-wired to move on quickly. So I moved on.
That was the last of Dushyanthi.
Although I did not have the privileged upbringing Dushyanthi had, my life turned out well after Aquinas. The following year since I met Dushyanthi, I was in a prestigious job in Sri Lanka, and three more short years later, I left Sri Lanka for good.
Many decades later, having achieved much in my personal and work life, I was curious to see where Dushyanthi was, a person who helped me to be myself and liked me for what I was as a confused teenager. I had been googling and searching for her name, and I could not find any social media presence for Dushyanthi. I wondered whether she stayed in Sri Lanka, married her wealthy suitor and had a graceful and prosperous life. I was also afraid of whether Sri Lanka’s subsequent civic strife and violent war had affected her. She was a Tamil, and being Tamil was vulnerable despite her class and connections. I was afraid for her well-being. I also wondered whether she had migrated to a western country with her family as many affluent Tamil families did.
On one of my recent visits to Sri Lanka in 2017, I went looking for her home in her old street in Colombo 7, No 45, Rosemead place. Her erstwhile house was not there. It had been demolished, and much smaller two-storey dwellings in its place. I looked for anyone who could tell me where the Rajiyahs could be now. Unfortunately, all new houses were gated, and I could not find anyone to enquire about Dushyanthi’s present whereabouts.
I still need to find out where Dushyanthi is. But I want to thank her for her kindness and gracefulness to a somewhat shy, skinny, awkward boy. I have met many beautiful girls; she is one of the most beautiful and gracious girls I have ever met. She trusted me, and I reciprocated her trust.
Although unrelated to this story, Quintus bought me my first ever Coca-Cola drink at the cafeteria at Aquinas. I had never tasted Coke until then. I had unwittingly refrained from that deadly sugar liquid till I turned seventeen. It’s a feat that I am immensely proud of today.
Where are my characters today?
You may wonder where Errol, Tyrone, Carlyle and Quintus, who hung out with me at this coming-of-age time, are. Errol became a qualified accountant and ran the only duty-free franchise in Sri Lanka. Tyrone migrated to Canada and practises as an accountant in Toronto. Quintus became a famous music artist in a boys’ band in Sri Lanka, “Gypsies’. Now, he is a successful businessman. I have kept in touch with all of them and cherish my friendships.
To date, I have no idea where Dushyanthi is, the generous main character of this story.
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