What must my father had felt when he got himself to Penang from Sri Lanka some eighty years ago? He was a body builder and a prize fighter other than a well sought after Goldsmith having worked for De Silva Jewelries. He claimed to have designed and mounted a three hundred pieces of diamonds on a pendant for the 'first queen" or Permausuri Agong of Malaysia and had shown me the black and white picture which he showed me with pride a long time ago. He also claimed that he had been comissioned to do a one foot tall solid gold sculpture of the Hindu God 'Lord Murugan" which till this day is transported from the Temple in the 'Little India' district of Georgetown to the Botanical Gardens temple for the Thaipusam or Kavadi Celebration. I distinctly remeber him telling me with pride that the idol is no more as shiny as when he worked on it if I looked at it today, it will be black in color from som much cows' milk being poured over it over the years by the devotees. I mad saveral journies myself to view this statue over the years and everytime i look at it my father's image came to my mind and I only felt sadness as I reflected his life in the country he chose to live and die..
My father was a great artist by his own right, a Goldsmith who was one of the last of his kind whose methods was from the old ways where very litlle if not no machines nor technology were involved in the creating of his works. I had the opportunity to watch him for years absorbed in his own world of creating pieces of handcrafted jewelries for the Royal Family in Kuala Terengganu. From a piece of gold bar the size of a two to three inch long pencil he would forge it into tiny links of a chain for a necklace and the remaining into a a pendant to go with. Each link painstakingly done using the arhaic tools including the foot operated bellows for the torch burner. Sometimes i could feel the the tears of frustration in his eyes when he over burn or melt the gold more than he needed to and had to start all over again.
My father was one of the most patient man that I have come to know now that i am approaching his elderly life and having succumed to alcoholism was his escape and downfall. It had torn him from the respect he could have well deserved from his children if not his wife. In all the years I had lived with him after being readopted into my immediate family at the age of twelve, I had come to know my father and felt the inner duffering of one who had given up hope and country to survive in another man's land. Despite his shortcomings, my father was well respected and loved by those who knew him for his reseved and gentle nature. In a way they had honotred his creative ability as a 'Master Golsmith" and overlooked his weakness.
I write this this early in the morning in Dubai because I felt my father's prescence when I woke up and found the black and whit picture of me placed in a folder by my oldest son. I also realized how much I wish to make a trip to Sri Lanka to feel the roots of my father's and my grandfather's heritage. I have been told that there is no cjance of tracing back my bloodline on my fathe's side but it would be just as rewarding for me to understand where he came from for my own self discovery of who I am.
In his letter written to me to inform me of my father's death, my eldest brother wrote "with the passing away of our father a capter in the history of this family has come to an end..." I was angered by this comment from him at the time but i understood his implication too...how e needed to erase the Singhalese-ness in us and embrace the Malay-ness!! But life and its ironies...when my two children got their 'Newly issued Malaysian Birth Certificates' thye were both included as Singhaleses!! I did not paid attention to this untill my daughter asked me out of the blue, "Hey dad, whats a Singhalese?" The spelling in the birthcertificate itself was wrong but I knew waat it meant. SUCH IS!!!
Henceforth I am proud to be a Singhalese even if the rest of my family claim themselves as Malays.
My father was a great artist by his own right, a Goldsmith who was one of the last of his kind whose methods was from the old ways where very litlle if not no machines nor technology were involved in the creating of his works. I had the opportunity to watch him for years absorbed in his own world of creating pieces of handcrafted jewelries for the Royal Family in Kuala Terengganu. From a piece of gold bar the size of a two to three inch long pencil he would forge it into tiny links of a chain for a necklace and the remaining into a a pendant to go with. Each link painstakingly done using the arhaic tools including the foot operated bellows for the torch burner. Sometimes i could feel the the tears of frustration in his eyes when he over burn or melt the gold more than he needed to and had to start all over again.
My father was one of the most patient man that I have come to know now that i am approaching his elderly life and having succumed to alcoholism was his escape and downfall. It had torn him from the respect he could have well deserved from his children if not his wife. In all the years I had lived with him after being readopted into my immediate family at the age of twelve, I had come to know my father and felt the inner duffering of one who had given up hope and country to survive in another man's land. Despite his shortcomings, my father was well respected and loved by those who knew him for his reseved and gentle nature. In a way they had honotred his creative ability as a 'Master Golsmith" and overlooked his weakness.
I write this this early in the morning in Dubai because I felt my father's prescence when I woke up and found the black and whit picture of me placed in a folder by my oldest son. I also realized how much I wish to make a trip to Sri Lanka to feel the roots of my father's and my grandfather's heritage. I have been told that there is no cjance of tracing back my bloodline on my fathe's side but it would be just as rewarding for me to understand where he came from for my own self discovery of who I am.In his letter written to me to inform me of my father's death, my eldest brother wrote "with the passing away of our father a capter in the history of this family has come to an end..." I was angered by this comment from him at the time but i understood his implication too...how e needed to erase the Singhalese-ness in us and embrace the Malay-ness!! But life and its ironies...when my two children got their 'Newly issued Malaysian Birth Certificates' thye were both included as Singhaleses!! I did not paid attention to this untill my daughter asked me out of the blue, "Hey dad, whats a Singhalese?" The spelling in the birthcertificate itself was wrong but I knew waat it meant. SUCH IS!!!
Henceforth I am proud to be a Singhalese even if the rest of my family claim themselves as Malays.
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