දියුණුවේ plus, minus සහ equal ලක්ෂණ

 

"ඔබට දියුණු වීමට අවශ්‍යද? පුද්ගලයන් තිදෙනෙකු සොයා ගන්න. 1) PLUS - ඔබට ඉගෙන ගත හැකි, ඔබට වඩා දැනුම සහ අත්දැකීම් ඇති අයෙක්. 2)  MINUS - ඔබට ගුරුහරුකම්/මඟපෙන්වීම් දිය හැකි, අඩු අත්දැකීම් සහිත අයෙක්. 3)  EQUAL - ඔබට තරඟ කළ හැකි, ඔබේම මට්ටමේ සිටින අයෙක්. මෙයින් සෑම කෙනෙකුම එක්තරා අරමුණක් ඉටු කරන අතර, ඔබව ඉහළ මට්ටමකට ඔසවා තැබීම සඳහා සෑම කෝණයකින්ම ඔබව දිරිමත් කරයි."

මීට අවුරුදු පනහකට පමණ පෙර රාජකීය විද්‍යාලයේ ක්‍රිකට් කණ්ඩායමේ සිටි සරත් වීරකෝන් ඉදිරිපත් කළ අදහසකි මෙය. 

සෑම ක්‍රීඩාවකම පාහේ නීති රීති, ක්‍රීඩකයන්, ඉතිහාසය සහ එහි සියුම් තැන් පිළිබඳව සෑහෙන හොඳ දැනුමක් ඇති ලෝලියෙකු වුවද, මා හොඳින්ම දන්නේ චෙස් ක්‍රීඩාව ගැනය. එබැවින් උදාහරණ ලබා දීම සඳහා මා සාමාන්‍යයෙන් යොමු වන්නේ චෙස් ක්‍රීඩාව වෙතයි.

ඈත අතීතයේ, එනම් හැත්තෑව දශකයේ අග භාගයේ සහ අසූව දශකයේ මුල් භාගයේදී, ශ්‍රී ලංකා චෙස් සම්මේලනය සම්පත් හිඟකම හේතුවෙන් දක්ෂතා වර්ධනය කිරීම සඳහා නව්‍ය උපාය මාර්ගයක් ඉදිරිපත් කළේය. එකල ඉගෙන ගැනීමට තිබුණේ ඉතාමත් සීමිත පොත් ප්‍රමාණයකි. අපට අන්තර්ජාලය තිබුණේ නැත. රුසියානු සංස්කෘතික මධ්‍යස්ථානය විසින් දින කිහිපයකට මෙරටට කැඳවාගෙන ආ සෝවියට් දේශයේ ග්‍රෑන්ඩ්මාස්ටර්වරුන් (Grandmasters) විසින් පවත්වන ලද කලාතුරකින් ලැබුණු පුහුණු සැසි හැරුණු විට, අපට සුදුසුකම් ලත් පුහුණුකරුවන් ද සිටියේ නැත. එකල බොහෝ දුරට සිදු වූයේ පාසල් වල ආදී සිසුන් විසින් වත්මන් සිසුන්ට පුහුණුව ලබා දීමයි. එය සම්පූර්ණයෙන්ම නොමිලේ සිදු විය. එහි මූලිකම අරමුණ වූයේ 'පාසලට නැවත යමක් ලබා දීමයි.' සම්මේලනය විසින් "10-10" අදහසක් ඉදිරිපත් කරන ලදී — ඒ අනුව දක්ෂතම ක්‍රීඩකයන් දස දෙනා විසින් දක්ෂතම කනිෂ්ඨ ක්‍රීඩකයන් දස දෙනාට පුහුණුව ලබා දිය යුතු විය.
 
එම දක්ෂතම දස දෙනා ඉතා පරිත්‍යාගශීලී වූහ. ඔවුන් ද තරුණ වියේ පසු වූ අතර, හර්ෂ අතුරුපාන වැනි සමහර අය ඇත්ත වශයෙන්ම එකල තවමත් පාසල් යමින් සිටියහ. ඔවුන් කනිෂ්ඨයන්ට නොමිලේ උපකාර කිරීමට එකඟ වූහ. ඒ අනුව ඔවුන්ව යුගල වශයෙන් වෙන් කරන ලදී. එමඟින් කනිෂ්ඨයන්ට PLUS සාධකය ලැබුණි — එනම් දිවයිනේ හොඳම ක්‍රීඩකයන්ගේ දැනුම සහ අත්දැකීම්ය. කනිෂ්ඨයෝ මෙයින් අතිමහත් ප්‍රතිලාභ ලැබූහ. ඔවුහු දක්ෂ ක්‍රීඩකයෝ බවට පත් වූහ.  අර්ජුන පරාක්‍රම, චන්දන ගුණතිලක සහ රනිල් ගුණරත්න එම වැඩ පිළිවෙලට දායක වූහ. අනෙක් අයගේ නම් අමතකය.

දෙවැන්න පෞද්ගලික කතාවකි. 10-10 වැඩසටහනෙන් වසර කිහිපයකට පසු, මා තවමත් ශිෂ්‍යයෙකුව සිටියදීම, උද්ගත වූ තත්ත්වයන් හේතුවෙන් මට මගේ පාසලේ කනිෂ්ඨ කණ්ඩායමට පුහුණුවීම් කිරීමට සිදු විය. එය මගේ MINUS සාධකය විය — මට ඔවුන්ට ඉගැන්වීම සඳහා ඉගෙන ගැනීමට සිදු වූ අතර, ඔවුන්ගේ නිමක් නැති ප්‍රශ්නවලට පිළිතුරු දීමට මට සිතන්නට සිදු විය. මගේ ක්‍රීඩා ශක්තියේ එක්වරම ඇති වූ විශාල වර්ධනයට හේතු වූයේ එයයි. අදටත් මට යහපත් මට්ටමක ක්‍රීඩා ශක්තියක් පවත්වා ගැනීමට හැකි වී ඇති එකම හේතුව මෙම පුහුණුකරණය සහ මඟපෙන්වීමයි.

තුන්වැන්න, EQUAL සාධකය: ඉගෙන ගන්නා දේ පරීක්ෂා කළ යුතුය. ඔබ තරඟකාරීත්වයට මුහුණ දෙයි, ඔබේ උපරිමය කරයි, වැරදි සිදු කරයි, ඒවායින් ඉගෙන ගනී, වඩා හොඳ ක්‍රීඩකයෙකු බවට පත් වී වඩාත් ප්‍රබල තරඟකාරීත්වයක් ලබා දෙයි.

චෙස් ක්‍රීඩකයන් සම්භාව්‍ය තරඟ, එනම් ශ්‍රේෂ්ඨතම චෙස් ශූරයන්ගේ තරඟ, අධ්‍යයනය කළ යුතු යැයි පවසනු ලැබේ. එම තරඟ සහ අදාළ විශ්ලේෂණයන් අපට ගණන් කළ නොහැකි පාඩම් ප්‍රමාණයක් කියා දෙයි. අපට එහි ඇති සියලුම රහස් උකහා ගත නොහැකි වුවද, ක්‍රීඩාව පිළිබඳ අපගේ අවබෝධය අතිශයින්ම දියුණු වේ. එබැවින්, එම තරඟ හරියට උපදේශකයන් මෙනි. ඔබට සැබෑ ජීවිතයේ, සෘජුවම සම්බන්ධ විය හැකි, ක්ෂණිකව උපකාර වන පුහුණුකරුවෙකු/උපදේශකයෙකු නොමැති නම්, වෙනත් ක්‍රීඩාවල ශ්‍රේෂ්ඨ චරිතවල චරිතාපදාන මඟින් ද එම අරමුණම ඉටු කරගත හැකිය.

අපට අපට වඩා බාල ක්‍රීඩකයන් වෙත ද ළඟා විය හැකිය. දැනුම නොමිලේ ලබා දීම, ඔවුන්ට මඟ පෙන්වීම සහ උපදෙස් දීම මඟින් තනි ක්‍රීඩකයෙකු ලෙස මෙන්ම කණ්ඩායමක සාමාජිකයෙකු ලෙසද සෑම අතින්ම අපගේම ශිල්පීය ක්‍රම පරිපූර්ණ කර ගැනීමට එය උපකාරී වේ. යම් තත්ත්වයක් තේරුම් ගන්නේ කෙසේ දැයි අප අන් අයට කියා දෙන විට, අප නොදැනුවත්වම එම තත්ත්වයන් වඩාත් හොඳින් වටහා ගැනීමට ඉගෙන ගනිමු. සමහර විට අප මඟ පෙන්වන කෙනෙකු යමක් වැරදියට වටහා ගන්නා අයුරු දකින විට පමණක්, අපට කිසියම් මවිත කරවන සත්‍යයක් අවබෝධ වේ.

ඇත්ත වශයෙන්ම, තරඟකාරීත්වය සඳහා ආදේශකයක් නැත. Plus සහ මයිනස් Minus සාධක යෙදිය යුත්තේ එතැනදීය. අපගේ ශක්තීන් සහ දුර්වලතා අප සොයා ගන්නේ එතැනදීය.

Plus. Minus. Equal. වචන තුනකි. තේරුම් ගැනීමට පහසුය. අමතක කිරීමට පහසුය. නමුත් ඔබ ඒ ගැන සිතා, එම සිතුවිලි ප්‍රායෝගිකව ක්‍රියාවට නැංවුවහොත් පමණක් එය එසේ නොවනු ඇත.

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Today is (also) "Teachers' Day"

 

Professor Arjuna Parakrama would have been 26 or 27 of age when he completed his Masters at Pittsburgh University, Pennsylvania. I believe he submitted a collection of poems in lieu of a thesis or as part fulfilment of the thesis requirement. He dedicated it to his teachers. I have mentioned elsewhere his explanation which could be summarised as follows:

‘People don’t remember their teachers, but what they’ve given is so much of who we are.’

There are no self-made people in this world, although many make that claim or act as though their life journeys were bereft of people, (formal) teachers included.  

What made me remember Arjuna’s comment, which by the way I think of often and have inspired me to keep in touch with my teachers from kindergarten to university, is a note written by a 15 year old girl to his speech and drama teacher who, almost at the age of 88, finally decided to stop her classes.

Lakshmi Jeganathan, Aunty Lakshmi to all her students and their parents, called me recently to tell me about this letter. She sounded really happy. She called me, in particular, to tell me that not all students are terrified of her (as I was and have claimed publicly!). The reference was to an article I wrote for the Sunday Island 22 years ago titled ‘Of lessons learnt on dreaded Saturdays and unlearning the mis-learnt.’

I was scared of her as a child. I was always in awe of her, back then and now. It was when I was an undergraduate and became fascinated with theatre that I first came to realise how much I owe her. And later, I realised that I couldn’t pay the debt I owed, for she more than anyone else provided the foundation for my abiding love of literature. She knows I was terrified of her, but Aunty Lakshmi also knows I am grateful and that I love her very much.  

But this letter made me realise how stupid I was back then and how thoughtful, caring, appreciative and knowledgeable Salma is.

Dearest Aunty Lakshmi,

To be honest, Aunty, when I heard the news about you stopping classes I was devastated. I was so upset that I started replaying moments that I have had in this class because, Aunty, I started this class when I was 5 years old. Aunty, I’m 15 now. It went so fast and I wish I could replay all those memories over and over again. This class holds such a special place in my heart. Like all the times you told us stories about your life. Aunty, you built this confidence in me and it’s because of you that I have no fear of speaking in front of an audience. It’s because of you that I was confident to join my school’s debating club which is such a big deal in my life. Aunty, you taught me how to read with emotion and express myself. I could not be more grateful for how much you’ve helped me. Aunty, in my time in this class I hope I’ve made you proud. I hope I am [one of] those students you remember. Mondays are going to be so empty now. And Aunty, I’m really sorry for all those classes I missed because I regret it so much now. Aunty, I’m going to miss you more than words could express. You truly mean the world to me because there aren’t teachers like you; you inspire me so much. Thank you for being there for me because, Aunty, you’re practically family and it’s so tough not to see your family. This is really tough for me, Aunty, cause I’m gonna miss saying “I’m sorry I am late,’ or hearing you read poems so memorisingly or how you mime so well. Aunty’ let’s be real; there’s no one as dedicated and committed as you. Aunty, I really appreciate what you have done for me and I hope I achieve big things and tell you about it in the future. I hope I am [one of the] students you talk about because, Aunty, I am going to think about you quite often, because everything I am is because you trust me. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you. And of my god, Aunty, I’m gonna miss you like really miss you because no matter what you can’t forget daily and you can’t stop loving family and Aunty, like I said, you are family. And I will truly love and miss you. And I’ll do my best and keep the legacy going.  

If any of her students (those terrified of her like me and those who saw the love, dedication and nurturing like Salma) were to remember her today and think about their lives, they would no doubt acknowledge what Salma has above. She didn’t teach us the ‘A B C.’ She prepared us for lifelong and useful engagement with family, friends, colleagues and strangers. With confidence and humility.

Arjuna was right. He was young then. Salma is even younger than he was then. It took me a lot more time to understand and appreciate. Yes, today (is also) “Teachers’ Day” and, with no disrespect to the many who have taught and keep teaching me, I would dedicate this day to Lakshmi Jeganathan, our Aunty Lakshmi.

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

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Remember the coach(es)

[a tribute to Arjuna Parakrama]

I want to write a few words about Arjuna Parakrama. He was the chess coach of my school and at the time the strongest player in the country. I want to write about him just to say ‘remember your coach.’

So when I was thinking about it, I remembered Jagath Chamila, memorable for many reasons but most for a simple but telling demonstration of gratitude.

In the year 2013, a man called Jagath Chamila was adjudged ‘Best Actor’ at the New York City International Film Festival for his performance as Sam in ‘Sam-ge kathava’ (based on Elmo Jayawardena’s award-winning novel ‘Sam’s Story’).

Jagath Chamila spoke in Sinhala, mostly, as he accepted the award. He said, with pride in eyes and voice, ‘this belongs to my country, Sri Lanka.’ And Jagath Chamila said, ‘I thank my high school drama teacher, Tissa Gunawardena.’ When he returned to the island, award in hand, he was received by his teacher among others. The embrace made for an iconic photograph.

I pulled the above from an article I wrote for the now defunct ‘The Nation.’ Skimming through it, I came across something I had forgotten. Rather, something I had written down but had forgotten.

This is what I had written:

‘It reminded me of something Arjuna Parakrama told me in 1987.  He was at the time a doctoral student at the University of Pittsburgh.  He had just submitted his Masters thesis.  “I dedicated it to my teachers.  We convince ourselves that our achievements are obtained through our own hard work and nothing else.  We forget how much our teachers contribute.”’

Arjuna was only a few years older than us. I remember him being a very strict, no-nonsense coach. He had a sadistic streak, I thought back then, for he could and would often make one feel very small. Maybe that’s how he taught humility.

What did he teach us? Well, I learned the openings that he was fond of: the Pelikan, the Benoni and the English. Maybe he realized that these suited me best. Others learned different systems from him. He seemed hung up on chess endings. He introduced us to Capablanca’s ‘Chess Fundamentals’ and ‘Capablanca’s Best Chess Endings.’

He was an undergraduate then and didn’t turn up very often, but I remember him being more present than usual just before an inter-school tournament. Some chess. Some values. The chess faded and I like to think the values remained. We fought hard, won some, lost some, wept when we messed things up, rejoiced when we got things right, kept the celebrations low and hid the disappointments. We made friends with our opponents. And these things we taught those who came after us.


He made us love the game. He insisted we play fair. He made sure we took both victory and defeat in our stride. The team matters, we learned from him. We never won anything significant except the inter-school chess championship in 1983 and 1984. Nothing like Jagath Chamila’s award. No speeches required and none prepared for. We didn’t get to say thank you. Back then we didn’t have to. Gratitude wasn’t shouted out or even whispered.  

We did, however, express thanks.

In the year 1984, Arjuna left for the USA to pursue higher studies. In our innocence and stupidity we got a white t-shirt, signed all our names and wrote in bold letters, ‘Mister Royal College Chess Club.’ He obviously could not wear it. He giggled in the way that is part ridicule and part courtesy. He was pompous. He still is. If he reads this, he would brush it off with one of his trademark catty comments. No matter.  

Coaches matter. And so this is a tribute of sorts to the Arjuna Parakramas and Tissa Gunawardenas of this world. Thanks.

Other articles in the series titled 'The Interception' [published in 'The Morning']

'Possible' is a single word lesson

Nadal-Federer, 20-20 and beyond

Serena! Serena! Serena! (Way beyond the number 24)

The Dwight Howard rethink 

Naomi Osaka made it hard to be silent

The perils of disrespecting the opponent

From better to way better

Namal and Mahela: how about starting the innings with an audit?

Conflict of Interest

The debate over sports

You can leave the butterflies for later

Get the point for the team!

Michael Holding always comes to the party

The madnesses that must stop

Error cuts down heroes, humility resurrects

Paul Robeson didn't scream 'BLM' but he knew what mattered

The plus, minus and equal of improvement

The 'never give up' of sports

Those who kneel are actually standing

Do you have a plan? Strengths and weaknesses

Wait, it's a strategy

The virtues of risk-free generosity

Thinking and out-thinking in sports

Read, locked-down people, read!

The team, the team!

Who should take the last shot?

It's all about partnerships

There are no Tommie Smith or John Carlos t-shirts brother

'The done thing' is rarely done

'Practice, lots of practice'

Special, always and forever

The shortcut to greatness

It's healthy to retire the braggadocio 

Money talks, gold rules: are we ok with that?

Sometimes if you don't stand up, you fall

Selections and the political economy of disappointment

So who is the GOAT?

Predecessors are great teachers

When things go wrong check the fundamentals

There's always only one more game left

Mind games are part of the sporting story

Those nervous ninetiesOut-think the opposition
School sports and parents

The importing mania in school cricket

Sportsmen and sportswomen beware: your accounts will be hacked soon!

Not all victories are recorded

 

 

malindasenevi@gmail.com

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A story of three characters: Arjuna, Muditha and Pulasthi

No one ever got paid to coach chess in my school. It was always old boys who coached the team. The seniors coached the juniors, the juniors helped with the newcomers. The coach handled the seniors. No payment. There was something about repaying debts owed to the alma mater. There was also the joy of teaching, seeing players improve and securing trophies. 

 

Arjuna Parakrama

Each coach left a mark and speaking strictly for myself, Arjuna Parakrama, one of the strongest players in the country in the seventies, was the greatest influence when it came to chess, both in playing and coaching. It was not just about chess with him. It was how to approach a particular game and most importantly about what was important, over the board and outside it, particularly the latter. Chess was a small part of a larger universe and what he taught about chess and in those long hours of having to suffer his sarcasm and caustic remarks was eminently applicable to life in general.

We teach the way our favourite teachers taught or like to think we do. I know I tried. So did my successors, but no one I can think of matched the standards set up Arjuna as Muditha Hettigama, the most successful coach of this school and himself a National Champion.

Muditha Hettigama

I recently heard that there are chess ‘coaches’ who earn around Rs.300, 000 a month. I know for a fact that most of them are unqualified to coach. Forget values and attitudes, their knowledge of the game is at best basic and are not equipped to push talent even half way towards potential. When I heard this, I thought of both Arjuna and Muditha, especially the latter because Arjuna coached in different times where values were different, economic and social pressures different and therefore the idea of ‘remuneration’ was marginal.

Muditha has coached his old school for more than a decade now. Given his success rate (his teams have won more national championships than any other boys’ school in the country), if he were to translate coaching time into opportunity cost, he would earn at least as much as a full time coach. I did a small calculation, assuming he’s been coaching since 1998. That’s 13x12x300, 000, making Rs. 46.8 million. I am trying to think of a single coach who has said ‘no’ to that kind of money. The only person I can think of is Sarath Eriyagama, a man who has an equally or even more celebratory record as coach (Girls High School, Kandy) and who was instrumental in popularizing the game both in Kandy and in other districts of the country.

There are people like that. Pulasthi Ediriweera (I just heard that this colleague of mine actually is titled, ‘Kalapathi’; he is modest and it shows) is one of them. Pulasthi has designed more than 150 stamps and that’s a fact that few would know; stamps don’t carry name and signature of artist. Only philatelists would know. More importantly, Pulasthi is the present President of the Society of Arts and has been so since 2008. He’s also been the Principal of the School of Art run by the Society of Arts for more than five years. 

Pulasthi Ediweera

The School of Art, founded way back in 1887, has been running this programme for many years now. Pulasthi, along with seven other teachers, give all their Saturdays to this school, voluntarily. It is a programme for those left behind and those who for whatever reason don’t have access to the mainstream art schools. There are toddlers and there are retired persons who have the time and the inclination to pick up and explore something they loved but never had the opportunity to indulge in. Among the students are those taking ‘Art’ as an O/L or A/L subject, those who are in different streams but are interested in entering higher educational institutions offering visual arts degrees, and undergraduates, teachers and even principals who want to further develop their skills.

The Society organizes exhibitions every month to showcase the best works of the students. They organize workshops as well as educational trips. They spend the occasional Sunday visiting schools where there are no art teachers or where the art teachers are interested in exposing their charges to informed and more competent instruction. 

Pulasthi has been doing this for six years. That’s over 300 days and close to 3,000 hours. I don’t know how much that would be in terms of rupees. He doesn’t count, of this I am certain. I know that there are times when he helps out a colleague who is crunched for time, copying the style and completing the relevant illustration, sacrificing his own work and time. All for free. Few return the favour. He would say, I am sure, ‘me mage vidiha, e eyaalage vidiha’ (this is my way, that’s theirs). I don’t know anything about art, but I do know this: we are not thankful enough to the Arjunas, Mudithas and Pulasthis of this country. 

msenevira@gmail.com

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A story of three characters: Arjuna, Muditha and Pulasthi

No one ever got paid to coach chess in my school.  It was always old boys who coached the team.  The seniors coached the juniors, the juniors helped with the newcomers.  The coach handled the seniors.  No payment.  There was something about repaying debts owed to the alma mater.  There was also the joy of teaching, seeing players improve and securing trophies. 

Arjuna Parakrama

Each coach left a mark and speaking strictly for myself, Arjuna Parakrama, one of the strongest players in the country in the seventies, was the greatest influence when it came to chess, both in playing and coaching.  It was not just about chess with him.  It was how to approach a particular game and most importantly about what was important, over the board and outside it, particularly the latter.  Chess was a small part of a larger universe and what he taught about chess and in those long hours of having to suffer his sarcasm and caustic remarks was eminently applicable to life in general. 

We teach the way our favourite teachers taught or like to think we do.  I know I tried.  So did my successors, but no one I can think of matched the standards set up Arjuna as Muditha Hettigama, the most successful coach of this school and himself a National Champion. 

Muditha Hettigama

I recently heard that there are chess ‘coaches’  who earn around Rs.300,000 a month.  I know for a fact that most of them are unqualified to coach. Forget values and attitudes, their knowledge of the game is at best basic and are not equipped to push talent even half way towards potential.  When I heard this, I thought of both Arjuna and Muditha, especially the latter because Arjuna coached in different times where values were different, economic and social pressures different and therefore the idea of ‘remuneration’ was marginal.

Muditha has coached his old school for more than a decade now.  Given his success rate (his teams have won more national championships than any other boys’ school in the country), if he were to translate coaching time into opportunity cost, he would earn at least as much as a full time coach.  I did a small calculation, assuming he’s been coaching since 1998.  That’s 13x12x300,000, making Rs. 46.8 million.  I am trying to think of a single coach who has said ‘no’ to that kind of money.  The only person I can think of is Sarath Eriyagama, a man who has an equally or even more celebratory record as coach (Girls High School, Kandy) and who was instrumental in popularizing the game both in Kandy and in other districts of the country. 

There are people like that.   Pulasthi Ediriweera (I just heard that this colleague of mine actually is titled, ‘Kalapathi’; he is modest and it shows) is one of them.  Pulasthi has designed more than 150 stamps and that’s a fact that few would know; stamps don’t carry name and signature of artist.  Only philatelists would know.  More importantly, Pulasthi is the present President of the Society of Arts and has been so since 2008.  He’s also been the Principal of the School of Art run by the Society of Arts for more than 5 years. 

Pulasthi Ediriweera

The School of Art, founded way back in 1887, has been running this programme for many years now. Pulasthi, along with 7 other teachers, give all their Saturdays to this school, voluntarily.  It is a programme for those left behind and those who for whatever reason don’t have access to the mainstream art schools.  There are toddlers and there are retired persons who have the time and the inclination to pick up and explore something they loved but never had the opportunity to indulge in. 

Among the students are those taking ‘Art’ as an O/L or A/L subject, those who are in different streams but are interested in entering higher educational institutions offering visual arts degrees, and undergraduates, teachers and even principals who want to further develop their skills.  The Society organizes exhibitions every month to showcase the best works of the students.  They organize workships as well as educational trips.  They spend the occasional Sunday visiting schools where there are no art teachers or where the  art teachers are interested in exposing their charges to informed and more competent instruction. 

Pulasthi has been doing this for 6 years.  That’s over 300 days and close to 3000 hours.  I don’t know how much that would be in terms of rupees.  He doesn’t count, of this I am certain.  I know that there are times when he helps out a colleague who is crunched for time, copying the style and completing the relevant illustration, sacrificing his own work and time. All for free.  Few return the favour.  He would say, I am sure, ‘me mage vidiha, e eyaalage vidiha’ (this is my way, that’s theirs). 

I don’t know anything about art, but I do know this: we are not thankful enough to the Arjunas, Mudithas and Pulasthis of this country.    

[Courtesy, Daily News, October 8, 2011]

 













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