TDR cannot be checkmated

 

It is indeed strange when it takes almost half a century to realise what the initials of a dear friend’s name stands for. But then again, when someone has always been addressed and referred to by the initials of a name, it becomes in fact ‘The Name’ for all intents and purposes. No disrespect intended and none taken.

TDR. We will get to his ‘full name’ later. Peiris. I knew his surname because it appeared on pairing cards at chess tournaments which we both played in.

TDR was older and by the late 1970s was already one of the top players in the country. The first time we crossed swords over the chess board was at the Open Qualifying Tournament in 1979. The top finishers would make it to the ‘Open Finals’ where those who played in the Premier Division, the National Women’s Champion and the Outstation Champion also competed.  

I believe I met TDR in the penultimate round of the tournament which was held at Hotel Ranmuthu. It was a must-win game for me. I was 13 or 14 and was excited. And hopeful. TDR beat me. I held back my tears, shook hands, signed the score sheet and left. I intended to come back, so I left behind my chess board, set of pieces, score sheets etc.

Once out of the hotel and out of sight of chess players including close friends, I could grieve. I still remember walking along Galle Road in the direction of Bambalapitiya. All of a sudden, TDR was there. He had noticed and probably felt sorry for me. He came up to me, put his arm around my shoulder and tried to comfort me. He even promised never to beat me if we ever played again.

The next time was the Anatoly Karpov Championship. It was held at the Soviet Cultural House, at the time located on W A D Ramanayake Mawatha. We were paired in one of the rounds. I can’t remember who offered the draw, but it was accepted. I don’t know if I deserved a draw, i.e. the position didn’t show a clear win for him. He was probably keeping his promise.

There were other occasions over the next several years. TDR never defeated me. There were a few draws and a couple of times when I beat him. To this day whenever we meet, he reminds me of one particular tournament, probably an Open Final. He claims that my father beat him in one round as did my older brother in the following round. He had to play me in the next round and he says I beat him and this almost made him give up chess. He didn’t.

The last time we met in a tournament was about 7 or 8 years ago: the National Senior Championship. A draw. Neither of us were keen on ‘playing hard.’ TDR won. I came third. By this time, almost 40 years since that sad evening at Ranmuthu Hotel, we were beyond or above winning (and losing). TDR never really retired. Even today he competes in top tournaments, decades after I played my final serious chess game.

We are friends. He was already a seasoned player when I made it to the national team in 1986. We were team-mates. I played in the nationals just once. TDR probably played over 30 times. Maybe over 40. He is a four-time national champion and also won the senior national title (for players over 50 years of age) 10 years in a row.

TDR first played in the nationals in 1979. He scored just half a point. The following year he won his first time. He won again in 1983, 1995 and 2004. He won the National Open title in 1983, the first player to win the nationals and the ‘Open’ in the same year.

Today, as I look back, I realise that all I remember of him is that he was for the most part self-taught. Attacking. Fast. In another time, another century in fact, he would have easily earned a Grandmaster title. He didn’t and doesn’t complain. He just laughs it off.  

A few days ago, the Chess Federation of Sri Lanka celebrated International Chess Day by organising a special event at the Havelock City Mall. Women’s National Champion Dahamdi Sanudula agreed to a simultaneous exhibition, playing against several persons with disabilities. It was a fun event and attracted several active young chess players as well as people much older who came because they loved the game. TDR was one of them.

The event celebrated inclusivity. It also attracted a lot of kids whose parents somehow thought there was going to be a tournament. Then there were shoppers who stopped by and wanted to play. There were enough tables, chairs, boards and pieces for all of them.

I told TDR that he has to play simultaneously against 10-15 players.

‘Sure.’

That’s all.

He played. He won each and every game and even agreed to a second game with those who requested. Watching him move from table to table, almost 70 years now and having lost the sight of one eye, I couldn’t help but feel immensely privileged to be his friend and just to know that there was someone like him whose love for the game has not diminished one bit in the almost half a century that I’ve known him.


Telge Dantha Ravindra Peiris. I had to ask him this morning. He was chuckling as he said it and added that he used other names ‘for jobs and girls.’ Years ago, that is, But now, as it was back in 1979, it’s ‘TDR.’  

TDR will always make me think of brilliance, dedication, passion and humility. He has won so much. He has suffered his share of losses. He cannot be checkmated, in a sense.