Deveni: a one-word koan that’s priceless ~ Malinda Words

When Ravindra Devenigoda brought out his first and probably only book of poems, 'Kamatahan Rupiyalai (One rupee per koan)' his friends, all in good humour, altered the wording on the poster announcing the launch: 'Kavatakam Rupiyalai (one rupee per cunning scheme).'

I first met Deveni in Peradeniya. Several years junior to me, I got to know him on account of political beliefs shared at that time. This was in the mid 1990s. He could write. He was just another political associate but one with whom I hardly discussed politics. We talked mostly about literature and philosophy. Those conversations gave me insights into Deveni, his interests and passions mostly. He didn’t really talk about hopes and aspirations, further education and careers etc. He could draw. He could write. He could not but smile.

In ‘Kamatahan Rupiyalai,' Deveni revealed the sources of his thinking, beliefs and imagination. It was all deeply rooted in history, heritage and culture related to his country and in particular his native Ratnapura.

In a short introduction, Deveni wrote what was essentially an exchange between himself and the famed Balangoda Man of prehistory. Where do we come from, where are we and where are we going, then, were questions that he grappled with. That framed him. Indelibly.

It was years later that I got to know of an instance when Deveni effectively and exquisitely combined his poetic and advertising skills in the ultimate personal endeavour of winning over a girl.

They both worked at Grey’s Advertising, Deveni as a copywriter who doubled as an art director, Ivanthi, his wife to be, an illustrator. One day, Ivanthi, who simple hated the fact that Deveni smoked, had picked up a packet lying on his desk as she passed it and crushed it in her hand. Deveni had smiled. He had then torn out a piece of the packet, scribbled something on it.

නුඹ කිවියකි
සියලු පදරුත්
නිසි ලෙස
ගැලපුන

[You are a poem where all meaning is perfectly aligned]. He secured that account. They were married not too long afterwards.

There are many ‘Deveni stories,’ and I must thank a friend and former colleague who wrote a short note titled ‘Maha Kalu Sinhalaya’ as one piece in a series of articles on individuals and ways in the advertising industry.

The title was drawn from the curriculum vitae Deveni had submitted at an interview for a copywriter at Grants Advertising. I had something to do with arranging the opportunity. Deveni showed me this CV. He had described himself and his skills using a several forms of Sinhala, from the highly to the street-colloquial. And yes, he was dark. ‘Kalu’ wasn’t out of place.

He got the job. He quit without giving notice. It wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last. This naturally exasperated his superiors; they loved him, admired him, needed him and yet were livid that he left without saying why. He never bothered to collect the wages owed him. Not in any of these instances.

There were times when he worked alone, i.e. he was a one-person agency. On one occasion, someone known to him and who treated him like a younger brother, told him about an opportunity to design a campaign for a bank. She was at the time handling the bank’s marketing operations.

‘You have to understand, Malli, that there will be other agencies also pitching for this account, big, established players in the industry.’

‘Akke, mama namata vitharai deveni,’ he had responded with a smile, referring to the fact that the word ‘deveni’ meant ‘second.’ Deveni only in name, he insisted. That was confidence. Self belief.He prevailed over the big boys and girls in the advertising industry. He did not last. He quit. Without warning. He left many unanswered questions.

Deveni never understood money. He owed much to many. Money and explanation. He was humble and remorseful even though he was pathologically private about his doings.

One night, in the middle of overseeing the entire parliamentary election campaign of a major political party, he had requested Ivanthi for a cup of coffee.

‘It was after a very long time that we had spoken calmly to each other. Then he said “sorry,” and collapsed.’

‘Even today, I am struggling to understand his “sorry,” Ivanthi said at his funeral. And there, in a small village in Ratnapura, witnessing the grief of hundreds of people and overhearing random conversations I learned that indebted though he may have been, he had helped dozens of people and not all of them friends or family. All it took was for him to learn that someone needed money for something, maybe a critical and expensive surgery for example. He gave. They weren’t loans. They were gifts. Given with a smile and pledges to repay dismissed with a wave of his hand and the very same smile.

Ivanthi and their two children struggle to this day. He may have known the future that he had in the end created for them; hence his ‘sorry,’ the last word this beautiful man of many words ever spoke. A priceless koan.

06 May 2023

Deveni: a one-word koan that’s priceless

['The Morning Inspection' is the title of a column I wrote for the Daily News from 2009 to 2011, one article a day, Monday through Saturday. This is a new series. Links to previous articles in this new series are given below]

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