What
is a nation and how do we recognize it? On the face of it, these are
easy questions to answer. We can talk of name, location on a map, a
history, physical attributes, demographic details and such. However, if
it is a notion, a sensibility, a relationship even, then it is hard to
pin it down.
Like love, one might say. Hard to define but
eminently recognized in the unspeakable sorrow and in the indescribable
bliss it generates or is made of. One knows it, but cannot really
define it or fully describe it.
‘The Nation,’ is also the name
of a newspaper. This is about THAT. Every newspaper has a story or
rather a newspaper or even a media house is made of many stories. I am
not referring to the content that is produced but the institution
itself. Many stories because there are so many parts to that ‘building.’
Many stories, also, because there can be more than one narrative. Many
stories because not everyone is associated with such an organization
from Day One to Day Now, if you will.
At first, like a new born
baby, it had no name. It was merely the English paper that Rivira Media
Corporation was planning to produce. ‘Rivira’ of course was the name
chosen for the Sinhala newspaper and once the newspaper’s name was
decided upon it was also adopted as the name of the organization, which
was a subsidiary of the Arpico Group.
Krishantha Cooray was the
founder CEO. Upali Tennekoon was the founder Editor of ‘Rivira.’ My
association began with Upali, who recommended me to Krishantha.
Krishantha wanted me to be the founder editor of the English newspaper. I
declined citing lack of experience and was duly appointed as Deputy
Editor (Features).
The paper didn’t have a name. I remembered a
by-then-defunct newspaper. The Nation. The name was at the time owned by
Azath Salley. It was purchased. The editor, I believe, came up with a
tagline: ‘fiercely independent.’ Phoenix O&M was tasked to come up
with a publicity campaign. Irvin Weerackody adopted the line I
suggested, ‘The Nation above all.’
And so, in mid 2006, both
newspapers were launched. I was tasked to write the weekly editorial and
this I did unit things soured (that story will have to wait). I handed
over my resignation to Krishantha in late December that year. My friends
in the Rivira editorial staff organized a farewell party for me.
Speeches were made. Among the observations made, was the following. In
Sinhala of course [I believe towards the end of the function Keith
Noyahr (Associate Editor) and Pushpakumara Mathugama (Photo Editor)
turned up and Krishantha of course was present, but the rest were from
‘Rivira’].
‘One leaves a building, a post. Friendships remain.
Sometimes if one stays, it is as though one has left, and sometimes in
order to remain, one has to leave. Time will tell if I left or
remained.’
Things happened. People left. A few years later, I
returned to ‘The Nation’ as its Editor-in-Chief. And a few years after
that, again in controversial circumstances, I left. That story will also
have to wait.
October 22, 2015. That was my last day at ‘The
Nation.’ Said my goodbyes, took my belongings, left. That day I
remembered something I had said almost 8 years before. Yes, at that
farewell party.
‘There’s a nation I lived before I joined “The
Nation.” That nation existed long before I was born and it will remain
long after I’ve gone. I lived in that nation even as I worked at this
nation. And I shall continue to live in that nation after I leave this
nation.’
Here’s an address: No.742 Maradana Road, Colombo 10.
That’s where Rivira Media Corporation was. It was the address of ‘The
Nation.’ That address changed not long after I left. Now there’s no
company, no ‘Rivira’ and no ‘The Nation.’ Except in the memories of
those who were associated with these entities and those who read the
publications. Vije is a good friend of mine
This nation, on the other hand, is not reducible to
an address. It’s about belonging. That’s not an address that can be
written.
NOTE: If you want to read 'The Nation' that I inhabited, you might find it in the stories of the people whose lives made that paper:
Vije is a good friend of mine,
Fahad and Dilina are word-robbers
People who do have-to-do things
Looking for the idyllic in dismal times
Water the gardens with the liquid magic of simple ideas, right now
There's canvas and brush to paint the portraits of love
We might as well arrest the house!
The 'village' in the 'city' has more heart than concrete
Vo, Italy: the village that stopped the Coronavirus
We need 'no-charge' humanity
The unaffordable, as defined by Nihal Fernando
Liyaashya keeps life alive, by living
The 'We' that 'I' forgot
'Duwapang Askey,' screamed a legend, almost 40 years ago
Dances with daughters
Reflections on shameless writing
Is the old house still standing?
Magic doesn't make its way into the classifieds
Small is beautiful and is a consolation
Distance is a product of the will
Akalanka Athukorala, at 13+ already a hurricane hunter
Did the mountain move, and if so why?
Ever been out of Colombo?
Anya Raux educated me about Juvenile Idiopathic Arthritis (JIA)
Wicky's Story You can always go to GOAT Mountain
Let's learn the art of embracing damage
Kandy Lake is lined with poetry
There's never a 'right moment' for love
A love note to an unknown address in Los Angeles
A dusk song for Rasika Jayakody
How about creating some history?
How far away are the faraway places?
There ARE good people!
Re-placing people in the story of schooldays
When we stop, we can begin to learn
Routine and pattern can checkmate poetry
Janani Amanda Umandi threw a b'day party for her father
Sriyani and her serendipity shop
Forget constellations and the names of oceans
Where's your 'One, Galle Face'?
Maps as wrapping paper, roads as ribbons
Yasaratne, the gentle giant of Divulgane
Katharagama and Athara Maga
Victories are made by assists
Lost and found between weaver and weave
The Dhammapada and word-intricacies
S.A. Dissanayake taught children to walk in the clouds
White is a color we forget too often
The most beautiful road is yet to meet a cartographer
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