“The Bonsoir Diaries” by Kumar de Silva is a cocktail of chapters, bursting at their seams with pithy asides, a trail of faux pas, and tit-bits from behind the scenes, marinated with anecdotes and drizzled with nostalgia, revealing everything you never saw on your favourite television show…from the ‘80s through the ‘90s into 2000.
Colombo was all agog when the countdown to George Keyt’s 90th birthday began in 1991; 17 April was the precise date. Giving a greater dimension to the event was that this was NOT a posthumous, psychedelic, tear-jerker celebration, but rather one at which Keyt himself was to be present, graced by none other than President R. Premadasa.
Everyone who owned a “piece of Keyt” had a stake to greater fame during that year. We made the cardinal mistake of announcing (weeks prior) that we were working on “The Bonsoir George Keyt Special”. Lo and behold the French Embassy telephone exchange received polite yet persistent calls: “…Kumar or Yasmin of the Bonsoir studio please.” Telephone operator Lakshmi Wijayatilleke passed them all onto us. These were known and unknown callers requesting to be featured on this programme. I found this very amusing and equally embarrassing too. What ruse could I use to push them all aside?
To our rescue came the George Keyt Foundation (GKF), its Chairman of the Board of Trustees Cedric de Silva and his charming wife, Sita de Silva, who was also the Foundation’s Secretary. They were our safest bet in terms of selecting resource persons and sourcing material.
I’m no Keyt specialist, and so the GKF helped us to produce a well-rounded programme which brought out the many facets of the man. We interviewed Nihal Rodrigo and several others on Keyt and his contribution to modern Sri Lankan art. We spent an entire day with Ven. Dheerananda Nagitha Thera, filming the fabulous Keyt murals at the Gothami Viharaya in Borella.
We were also lucky to speak to W.J.G. Beling, the only other surviving member of the “43 Group” at that time. He was very old, very short of hearing, and almost totally blind. Instincts made me keep the camera continuously rolling. Beling spoke to where my voice came from.
[caption id="attachment_133665" align="alignright" width="334"]
George Keyt[/caption]
They were disjointed sentences and there was no second take. We strung the sentences and got an interesting angle from a fellow artist.
The highlight was our exclusive interview with Keyt himself. He was carefully brought and deposited on a comfortable chair in Cedric and Sita’s sitting room. He too was feeble at 90 but had a vivid memory. We made it quick and didn’t tire him. Kusum Narayan, his wife of Indian origin, was younger and easy going, and spoke with relative ease.
Sita was the perfect hostess that morning and had prepared a spread. There were “cutlis”, “pattis”, and “sanjasen”. I was instantly reminded of “issaraha kema”, a throwback from our colonial past which refers to the sophisticated and light Anglo-European cuisine such as courses (“causes”), the Ceylonese adopted at dinner time, as opposed to the relatively heavy native food.
Dr. Lakshmi de Silva, my former lecturer in English at the University of Kelaniya, who enlightened me on this, said that during her childhood, when servants were interviewed prior to being hired, they were asked if they could make issaraha kema. Apparently, one bright young woman had rattled off a list of items she could make and jubilantly proclaimed in the vernacular: “I can even make sanjasen.” Sandwiches, for heaven’s sake. God save the Queen!
[caption id="attachment_133666" align="alignleft" width="542"]
President R. Premadasa at Keyt’s 90th birthday celebrations at the Lionel Wendt Art Gallery[/caption]
Although not technically a part of issaraha kema, these new terms became common parlance and were pronounced so differently by the domestics of that era, and many of the current era too. And so, cutlets became “cutlis”, patties became “pattis”, beefsteak became “bisstek”, stew became “istuu”, and short eats became “sorties”. Gosh what food we eat!
Hospitable to a fault, Sita hovered around us, plying trays of food. There was iced coffee too. But what irritated her most was the mess we made of her meticulously polished floors. There were camera and light boxes all over. Added to her thinly concealed agony were miles of cables like snakes swarming all over her sitting room.
As an old Wesleyite, I had firsthand experience of the Dunuwille sisters’ legendary penchant for polished floors. Shelton Wirasinha, the Wesley College Principal of yore, was married to her equally fastidious sister Manel, who made the floors of the Principal’s Bungalow – Karlsruhe House – shine like mirrors. No one was ever allowed to walk on them. If one did, it was purely at one’s own risk!
At the end of the interview, our recording assistant Shelton began collecting the boxes, cables, and light stands in great haste. I saw the floor getting scraped and Sita’s face swiftly turn colour. It turned into a deep royal purple. I leapt on him and froze him. She beamed in visible relief, took a deep breath, and said: “Aney lamaya, magay polish karapu terra cotta floor eka please hoo-ranna epaah harider.”
P.S. That was one unforgettable recording. Sita and I often had a good laugh reminiscing. Sita passed away a few years ago. Bless her soul!
The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect those of this publication.
Colombo was all agog when the countdown to George Keyt’s 90th birthday began in 1991; 17 April was the precise date. Giving a greater dimension to the event was that this was NOT a posthumous, psychedelic, tear-jerker celebration, but rather one at which Keyt himself was to be present, graced by none other than President R. Premadasa.
Everyone who owned a “piece of Keyt” had a stake to greater fame during that year. We made the cardinal mistake of announcing (weeks prior) that we were working on “The Bonsoir George Keyt Special”. Lo and behold the French Embassy telephone exchange received polite yet persistent calls: “…Kumar or Yasmin of the Bonsoir studio please.” Telephone operator Lakshmi Wijayatilleke passed them all onto us. These were known and unknown callers requesting to be featured on this programme. I found this very amusing and equally embarrassing too. What ruse could I use to push them all aside?
To our rescue came the George Keyt Foundation (GKF), its Chairman of the Board of Trustees Cedric de Silva and his charming wife, Sita de Silva, who was also the Foundation’s Secretary. They were our safest bet in terms of selecting resource persons and sourcing material.
I’m no Keyt specialist, and so the GKF helped us to produce a well-rounded programme which brought out the many facets of the man. We interviewed Nihal Rodrigo and several others on Keyt and his contribution to modern Sri Lankan art. We spent an entire day with Ven. Dheerananda Nagitha Thera, filming the fabulous Keyt murals at the Gothami Viharaya in Borella.
We were also lucky to speak to W.J.G. Beling, the only other surviving member of the “43 Group” at that time. He was very old, very short of hearing, and almost totally blind. Instincts made me keep the camera continuously rolling. Beling spoke to where my voice came from.
[caption id="attachment_133665" align="alignright" width="334"] George Keyt[/caption]
They were disjointed sentences and there was no second take. We strung the sentences and got an interesting angle from a fellow artist.
The highlight was our exclusive interview with Keyt himself. He was carefully brought and deposited on a comfortable chair in Cedric and Sita’s sitting room. He too was feeble at 90 but had a vivid memory. We made it quick and didn’t tire him. Kusum Narayan, his wife of Indian origin, was younger and easy going, and spoke with relative ease.
Sita was the perfect hostess that morning and had prepared a spread. There were “cutlis”, “pattis”, and “sanjasen”. I was instantly reminded of “issaraha kema”, a throwback from our colonial past which refers to the sophisticated and light Anglo-European cuisine such as courses (“causes”), the Ceylonese adopted at dinner time, as opposed to the relatively heavy native food.
Dr. Lakshmi de Silva, my former lecturer in English at the University of Kelaniya, who enlightened me on this, said that during her childhood, when servants were interviewed prior to being hired, they were asked if they could make issaraha kema. Apparently, one bright young woman had rattled off a list of items she could make and jubilantly proclaimed in the vernacular: “I can even make sanjasen.” Sandwiches, for heaven’s sake. God save the Queen!
[caption id="attachment_133666" align="alignleft" width="542"] President R. Premadasa at Keyt’s 90th birthday celebrations at the Lionel Wendt Art Gallery[/caption]
Although not technically a part of issaraha kema, these new terms became common parlance and were pronounced so differently by the domestics of that era, and many of the current era too. And so, cutlets became “cutlis”, patties became “pattis”, beefsteak became “bisstek”, stew became “istuu”, and short eats became “sorties”. Gosh what food we eat!
Hospitable to a fault, Sita hovered around us, plying trays of food. There was iced coffee too. But what irritated her most was the mess we made of her meticulously polished floors. There were camera and light boxes all over. Added to her thinly concealed agony were miles of cables like snakes swarming all over her sitting room.
As an old Wesleyite, I had firsthand experience of the Dunuwille sisters’ legendary penchant for polished floors. Shelton Wirasinha, the Wesley College Principal of yore, was married to her equally fastidious sister Manel, who made the floors of the Principal’s Bungalow – Karlsruhe House – shine like mirrors. No one was ever allowed to walk on them. If one did, it was purely at one’s own risk!
At the end of the interview, our recording assistant Shelton began collecting the boxes, cables, and light stands in great haste. I saw the floor getting scraped and Sita’s face swiftly turn colour. It turned into a deep royal purple. I leapt on him and froze him. She beamed in visible relief, took a deep breath, and said: “Aney lamaya, magay polish karapu terra cotta floor eka please hoo-ranna epaah harider.”
P.S. That was one unforgettable recording. Sita and I often had a good laugh reminiscing. Sita passed away a few years ago. Bless her soul!
The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect those of this publication.