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smokingbootJay's funeral yesterday.
It was difficult, all of it: R had taken a day off to attend, booked a BA flight from Edinburgh to London in the morning...and found it cancelled. BA were shit as is now their usual service, he got a replacement flight but it arrived too late. So I represented us, and the day was a little hard not only through sorrow, but because even this small act of respect was made hard by the general rubbish of things. Jay's wife is in hospital and has dementia; they lit a candle for her and all who couldn't make it.
Mahendra Jayasuriya was around 20 years old when I was born. He was the child of a very proper post-colonial family in Sri Lanka, and the stories were many, of cheeky 'party-boy' pranks with relatives and friends, of an effervescent but deep personality as he grew older, an excellent father and husband, a great friend, a loved and loving man, if woefully resistant to the demands of diabetes. He loved his chocolates and a little red wine, and he had a fine taste for good whisky; he was a profound gent as well as a merry one, taking his freemasonry very seriously. I was sat in a pew of them, and have decided that this will do as a collective noun for the order.
The service had the addition of what might have been a fascinating sermon from the venerable Mangala, a buddhist monk who spoke, not only quietly but from behind a white and gold fan. I hope his words pleased the family, for apart from those moments when he would begin; 'The Buddha said...' not a word reached the back pews. The white cloth was placed upon his coffin, later to be offered to the monk, as I understand it, and later still to be stitched into holy robes. Water was poured from a vessel to an overflowing cup to symbolise transferring merit to the deceased in the realms of rebirth/atonement... I cannot say much about these things, knowing little of Buddhist ritual, and even less of its Sri Lankan forms. I hope that wherever he is, he is happy. For one moment in my mind's eye, I saw him like a giant looking down on his family full of love. He was smiling.
Jay's three sons stood before us, all grown, the pride of their father, their faces like those of little boys, and for some reason it is this memory that brings me tears. A thing I found strange; no children there, though a tape of the final poem being recited by the eldest grandson was played. At the end, the little voice shouted 'We love you Grandpa!'
What songs were chosen for or by him? Raining in My Heart by Buddy Holly, Smile by Nat King Cole, Time to Say Goodbye by Bocelli and Brightman, Loving You by Randy Newman, You're My Best Friend by Don Williams, Bridge over Troubled Water by Simon and Garfunkel, Always Look on The Bright Side of Life by Monty Python, and finally Bring Me Sunshine by Morecambe and Wise. Those choices probably say more about Mahendra than any eulogy.
Goodbye Jay.
It was difficult, all of it: R had taken a day off to attend, booked a BA flight from Edinburgh to London in the morning...and found it cancelled. BA were shit as is now their usual service, he got a replacement flight but it arrived too late. So I represented us, and the day was a little hard not only through sorrow, but because even this small act of respect was made hard by the general rubbish of things. Jay's wife is in hospital and has dementia; they lit a candle for her and all who couldn't make it.
Mahendra Jayasuriya was around 20 years old when I was born. He was the child of a very proper post-colonial family in Sri Lanka, and the stories were many, of cheeky 'party-boy' pranks with relatives and friends, of an effervescent but deep personality as he grew older, an excellent father and husband, a great friend, a loved and loving man, if woefully resistant to the demands of diabetes. He loved his chocolates and a little red wine, and he had a fine taste for good whisky; he was a profound gent as well as a merry one, taking his freemasonry very seriously. I was sat in a pew of them, and have decided that this will do as a collective noun for the order.
The service had the addition of what might have been a fascinating sermon from the venerable Mangala, a buddhist monk who spoke, not only quietly but from behind a white and gold fan. I hope his words pleased the family, for apart from those moments when he would begin; 'The Buddha said...' not a word reached the back pews. The white cloth was placed upon his coffin, later to be offered to the monk, as I understand it, and later still to be stitched into holy robes. Water was poured from a vessel to an overflowing cup to symbolise transferring merit to the deceased in the realms of rebirth/atonement... I cannot say much about these things, knowing little of Buddhist ritual, and even less of its Sri Lankan forms. I hope that wherever he is, he is happy. For one moment in my mind's eye, I saw him like a giant looking down on his family full of love. He was smiling.
Jay's three sons stood before us, all grown, the pride of their father, their faces like those of little boys, and for some reason it is this memory that brings me tears. A thing I found strange; no children there, though a tape of the final poem being recited by the eldest grandson was played. At the end, the little voice shouted 'We love you Grandpa!'
What songs were chosen for or by him? Raining in My Heart by Buddy Holly, Smile by Nat King Cole, Time to Say Goodbye by Bocelli and Brightman, Loving You by Randy Newman, You're My Best Friend by Don Williams, Bridge over Troubled Water by Simon and Garfunkel, Always Look on The Bright Side of Life by Monty Python, and finally Bring Me Sunshine by Morecambe and Wise. Those choices probably say more about Mahendra than any eulogy.
Goodbye Jay.
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Date: 2019-07-23 08:54 am (UTC)