My friend Ajith
The life story of a good friend
As I prepare to unfold this tale, I feel it only fitting to provide a small but crucial detail for my dear readers. I was blessed with the friendship of two individuals whose names, though not identical, echoed each other. One was Ajit Eustace Martin, a steadfast ally I met during my days at St Benedict’s College. The other, my companion from my humble hometown, was Hugh Ajith Perera. Yes, Ajith with an “H”, a small distinction that sets him apart from the other Ajit. And it is the story of this dear friend, Hugh Ajith Perera, that I am eager to share with you now.
I was eighteen, working as an apprentice, learning the ropes of international telecommunications. My friends’ circle was growing fast. In your teenage years, your friend’s friend becomes your friend. I was big-time into friends, particularly in my hometown, where friends with similar interests in fashion, music, lifestyle and a smattering of western values were hard to find.
Among my recent pals was a gang of friends: Edward, Cyril, Suneth, Rohan, Mahinda, Leonard, and Ajith. Edward and Cyril were brothers. Leonard, Mahinda and Ajith were first cousins. The majority of them worked together in the Inter-Continental Hotel in the city. They regularly hung out together, mostly in our home village and nearby streets. The younger of the lot, Mahinda, Leonard and Ajith, were jobless. Before soon, Ajith and I became close friends. Ajith hung out with me, often staying overnight at my home.
Ajith continued to spend as much time at my home. My mother would treat him to meals. We had no spare beds, and we both shared one. Ajith did not own many clothes and often borrowed my clothes for his daily wear. Sharing was in my DNA, so I willingly shared everything with him.
Ajith had dropped out of school a year ago without completing his studies. I encouraged him to go back to school and finish his studies. I went to his school, paid his fees and enrolled him again after speaking to the principal. I bought his schoolbooks. When Ajith started going to school again, I felt delighted. I had a sense of achievement. I was proud of Ajith.
Ajith had a streak of truancy in him and hated school. Often Ajith would abscond from school. Despite my best efforts, Ajith did not continue his studies for long, dropping out after a few months. Once you give up on school, it is tough to go back. So there went my plans to help Ajith with his education.
Our friendship continued. Ajith was hanging out with friends and did not see the reason for hard work. I juggled my apprenticeship, part-time studies at Aquinas and social life. I helped him as much as possible, looking after him in every way. My family home was always open to him. He came in and left whenever he wanted. We both attended many dance parties and social gatherings with our extended network of friends; I often paid for his social expenses. I had his back.
In the mid-seventies, a generation of aspiring young men left Sri Lanka to find freedom in the West. I left Sri Lanka to work in Dubai. Although I was no longer in Sri Lanka, Ajith continued to visit my parents and write to me by mail. Snail mail, before the advent of the internet.
A few months after I left for Dubai, my younger sister, a day after turning eighteen, eloped with her lover. She had carried on a clandestine affair, married secretly at sixteen at the behest of this man, much older than her. It was the biggest calamity and crisis my family faced. My parents were devastated by the tragedy that had fallen on them and their only daughter. But unfortunately, my parents were yet to inform me of this dreadful event as they struggled with the terrible pain they were going through.
Ajith wrote me a letter offering support and comfort, assuming I knew what had happened back home. The news in Ajith’s letter broke my heart, and I cried the whole night about the loss of my little sister. It was one of my darkest moments in life. But, despite the shock it caused me, I learned what had happened to my family through Ajith.
I am grateful that Ajith chose to share and ease my pain with a caring letter. He was there in my time of need and showed concern, kindness and empathy. In addition, he looked after my parents in Sri Lanka during this agonising period, often visiting them and staying at my home. These were generous acts by Ajith, about eighteen at the time.
We remained friends writing to each other by overseas mail. During my visits to Sri Lanka, I brought him T-shirts and jeans.
A few years later, Ajith took the lead in patching differences between my sister and my parents and bringing them together.
Some seven or eight years later, my mother wrote to me to advise that Ajith had arrived in Dubai as an immigrant worker and sent me his address. I visited him straight away. He was employed as a driver for a garment manufacturing company in Dubai. He shared the accommodations with a few male drivers and many female workers. Their living conditions were appalling; the communal areas were filthy. They were paid meagre salaries. Here, I was working for a global bank, riding the corporate ladder, earning probably thirty times the wages of my friend, and living in relative luxury. What a contrast to my friend from my teenage years! It was the moment; a light bulb went off in me about the social inequity of life in glittering Dubai. I returned home a changed man.
I met Ajith a few more times in Dubai, often inviting him to a meal and drinks at my home. He immensely enjoyed visiting my home. It was a break from his tough life. Unfortunately, Ajith did not last long in Dubai; he quit his job and returned to Sri Lanka.
Ajith’s connection to Dubai did not stop there. A few months later, his younger brother, Anil, came to Dubai. He, too, was on a meagre wage and had to share similar horrible living conditions. Within a short time, Anil, too, was fed up with his lot in Dubai and wanted to return to Sri Lanka. He was desperate to get out but did not have enough money for his return ticket. I willingly paid for Anil’s return airfare. A simple thing for my friend, Ajith.
The financial and social disparities in Dubai were haunting me. The episodes faced by Ajith and Anil haunted me. They sealed my decision to leave Dubai. I saw firsthand Middle Eastern countries’ exploitation of innocent underprivileged people. By then, I had two small children, and I did not want them to grow up in an unjust society that abused vulnerable people.
A few short years later, I emigrated to Australia with my young family leaving Dubai.
A few years later, I got a letter with terrible news from my mother in Sri Lanka. My friend Ajith had died of an unspecified ailment in his sleep. He was thirty-seven years old. He was married and left behind a widow, and two children, one of which was yet to be born. I was heartbroken.
On my next trip to Sri Lanka, I visited his widow and children. I saw his parents too on that trip. It was strange for me to greet his father, who had since aged and mellowed, almost unbelievably in contrast to his previous self. It was the first time he talked to me. They were happy to see me; perhaps I reminded them of their son, who was no more. Ajith’s brother, Anil, was now a tri-shaw driver in Sri Lanka.
It is strange how fate decides one’s future, and Ajith and I had to traverse very different paths.
A friend in need is a friend indeed. And Ajith was one such excellent and warm friend. We have helped each other in Ajith’s short life.
Often, I wish I had done more for Ajith. He did not deserve what he got in life. His voice echoes in my head sometimes. May he rest in peace with his bright smile.
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