The Desmond Mallikarachchi Library

 

Way back in the late nineties, the Department of Development Sociology, Cornell University, had a weekly seminar series. On Wednesdays, if memory serves. Typically some renowned academic who happened to be visiting the university or someone specifically invited would speak on a subject on which they had written extensively. Occasionally a graduate student, usually someone who has just defended or was about to defend a doctoral dissertation would be invited to speak. On one occasion, three masters students spoke.

‘Here I am, standing between two colleagues who had just defended their theses, required to speak on my as yet undefended and perhaps indefensible thesis.’

Ice-breaker. Nerve settler. I got quite a few laughs. I remember the tentative title and not much else: ‘Journeying with honour and dignity in search of the vague and indeterminate.’ Today, a quarter of a century later, I can laugh at it all, but instead tend to smile.

Anyway, I did attend the ‘thesis defence.’ After much cajoling and veiled threats. I still remember the pre-defence meeting with my committee (Shelley Feldman and Phil McMichael) and the then Director of Graduate Studies, Chuck Geisler. I ran into Shelley where two corridors met, just outside the room where the meeting was to be held.

‘So young man, do you have a story?’

Shelley was an excellent academic and possessed a strong and even fearsome personality. I just smiled and said, ‘Shelley, when did I ever not have a story?’

We both laughed.

‘We are not putting you on the spot. No one is being judged here,’ Chuck’s voice was reassuring. Then he asked, ‘so what do you have to say?’

That was putting me on the spot, right there.

‘If the question is, “what have you been doing in the eight months that have passed since you last met with your committee,” the short answer would be ‘living.’  

Cheeky. But I had more to say.

‘This thesis is like a plate of rice I’ve been eating for two hours. I’ve lost my appetite and would rather push the plate away. That said, I have completed the thesis.’

And I drew from my bag three printed-and-bound copies of the manuscript. They were thrilled. The defence was scheduled. And I was told, ‘with minor revisions we could give you a terminal masters; but to officially put you on course for a PhD you would have to do extensive revisions.’  

‘I have come to understand that the distinctions between sociology, philosophy and literature are arbitrary and false. I do understand the need for disciplinary boundaries and that you are required to make sure I stay within them.’

Parting shot. With another smile.

My colleagues, as was the practice, had prepared post-defence snacks. I updated them. And said, ‘I am not sure what we are celebrating here.’

So, there were no revisions, minor or major. I returned home, having completed the coursework for the PhD and nothing else to show. Still just a graduate. Unemployed. And wandered into journalism.

Since then, there have been occasions when I’ve asked myself a few questions beginning with ‘what if.’ Rare. And quickly dismissed. I continued however to acquaint myself with ‘the latest’ in social theory, mainly because of sporadic and yet stimulating conversations with accomplished friends in academia, especially Kanishka Goonewardena and Pradeep Jeganathan. I’ve flirted with the idea of returning to postgraduate studies. Again, rare and quickly dismissed.

Until last evening.

Last evening I visited Prof Desmond Mallikaarachchi at his home in Naththarampotha, Kundasale. At 81, he was still thinking, processing and writing. Still alert and insightful. Stimulating. It reminded me of S B D De Silva, the unheralded but easily the most intellectually honest economist the country has known, who was researching well into his nineties.

Desmond spoke of Gananath Obeyesekere, David Leach, Bruce Kapferer, Marshall Sahlins, Terry Eagleton, Pierre Bourdieu, Richard Gombrich, Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida, Antonio Gramsci and of course Karl Marx. He was not name-dropping. The names were mentioned in the course of elaborating on some idea related to some topic we happened to be discussing. He spoke of his own work, almost in passing.

I listened, along with two other contemporaries from Peradeniya University, Premasiri Werawella and Priyantha Wickramasinghe. Desmond was formally attached to the Philosophy Department of that university. We were not listening to a philosophy professor, though. He sounded like a sociologist at times and at times an economist, a psychologist, a linguist, a historian, a political scientist and an anthropologist. And although in so many ways poorer than he, none of us felt that he was talking down to us. He spoke as though to equally accomplished colleagues. We offered the rare comment. He listened. Responded. I cannot remember ever encountering such scholarship and humility resident in a single person.

I was too young, too distracted by the politics of the moment and affairs of the heart to understand that Desmond Mallikarachchi was like a university within my university. Too stupid to look for him.

Too late.

Peradeniya, like most universities in Sri Lanka, divides itself into disciplines. I studied sociology. ‘Philosophy’ was another country. I didn’t have a visa and didn’t even think of a visit. That shouldn’t have been an obstacle because Desmond was a ‘global citizen’ and went wherever he wished. My bad.

Again, ‘what if…’ came to mind. For a moment. But there’s consolation. There is his work. And there’s the open invitation: ‘aney, onama velavaka enna…mehe navathinna puluwan (please come…whenever you want…you can stay the night).’

I don’t know if there are doors and windows in Desmon Mallikarachchi’s heart and mind. Probably not, but even if there were, they are always open.

It’s too late for me to return to theses that never got written, I know. Yesterday I learned that there’s a process I had to follow in order to access the Peradeniya University Library. I will go through the paces soon. There’s also a library in Naththarampotha, Kundasale. The Desmond Mallikarachchi Library. No protocols. No tedious processes to follow. Open 24/7.

I will visit.   

[This article was published in the Daily News under the weekly column title 'The Recurrent Thursday']