By Krishantha Prasad Cooray
A little over two years ago, I received an email from D. B. S. Jeyaraj. He admonished me for failing to wish him on his birthday, which had fallen a few days earlier. It was his 70th birthday, a landmark moment of sorts, and therefore a legitimate grievance. It was not that he dwelt on such niceties, rather, ours was a friendship that allowed for banter even as we spoke about more serious matters that concerned us both. This year, when May 21 came around, I could not have wished him even if I had remembered. He passed away on the 17th.
I was devastated. The loss is immeasurable and outweighs the regret of not having been in touch for several months. That was not unusual. We would communicate feverishly. We had long conversations; indeed, I cannot think of any calls that were brief. They were always long, thoughtful discussions about Sri Lanka, politics, missed opportunities and life itself. There were also long silences. That is how it has been ever since we got to know each other.
I have read his columns ever since I became interested in politics. Over time, my admiration grew. His attention to detail was extraordinary. ‘DBS’, as he was commonly referred to, possessed a rare gift – the ability to write in such a way that the reader felt part of the story itself. He made people visualise events through his words. Very few writers could do that with the consistency and brilliance that he did. It was therefore natural that I wanted him on my team when Rivira Media Corporation was established and Rivira and The Nation were launched. At the time, he was writing exclusively for The Sunday Leader, and his column was widely read and respected. I felt he would be an invaluable addition, given his experience, skill and extensive network of sources.
I somehow found his email address and wrote to him requesting that he contribute to The Nation. Initially, there was no response. I kept writing to him persistently and finally he replied, very politely, expressing regret that he was unable to do so because of his commitment to The Sunday Leader. I did not give up. I repeated my request many times and suggested that he at least write one column a month for The Nation while continuing with The Sunday Leader. Eventually, he agreed.
My friend Lasantha Wickrematunga, who was then Editor of The Sunday Leader, was understandably unhappy and asked DBS to decide between the two publications. DBS eventually chose to join us. It was a coup. He proved to be one of the finest additions to our editorial team; he wrote for The Nation and also contributed to our business newspaper, The Bottom Line.
DBS was all about facts in his columns. He was sober and precise. Outside his work, he was generous, friendly and even funny. He got on exceptionally well with our editorial team. He shared a wonderful relationship with Chief Editor Lalith Alahakoon, Deputy Editor Keith Noyahr, Dharisha Bastians, Bottom Line Editor Nisthar Cassim and Chief Sub-Editor Marianne David. I remember that even the Editor of Rivira, Upali Tennakoon, and Deputy Editor Sisira Paranathanthri were extremely keen to translate DBS’s articles into Sinhala because his writing had such extraordinary appeal and depth.
Although he wrote from abroad, DBS eventually became an integral part of the Nation/Rivira family. He was overflowing with ideas and constantly advised me on improving readership and circulation. He always checked circulation figures with genuine interest and enthusiasm. He also had a very sharp sense of humour. He jokingly called me ‘Capt’ or ‘Payagala Cooray’, referring affectionately to my family roots in Payagala.
DBS showed the true depth of his friendship and his exceptional humanity in the darkest hours we faced at Rivira when Keith Noyahr was abducted and when Upali was attacked. On both occasions, he constantly checked on his colleagues, whom he mostly knew only by name and correspondence, and was deeply proud of how The Nation and Rivira teams stood firmly beside Keith during one of the darkest moments in our industry. One might say that this was not atypical when it comes to a colleague in distress, but it is well known that DBS always stood by the underdog. That quality defined him as much as his journalism did.
He was a walking library. His knowledge of Sri Lankan politics, particularly Tamil politics, was second to none. The depth of his information, his memory and his meticulous attention to detail were almost unbelievable.
Circumstances may have compelled him to live in Canada, but DBS remained a deeply committed Sri Lankan until his very last day. There were times when he felt profound sadness about the direction Sri Lanka had taken. We sometimes argued passionately about politics and the country’s future, but those disagreements never diminished our friendship.
There were times when I genuinely felt DBS overestimated me. Yet he remained fiercely loyal and stood by me during difficult periods of my life. Loyalty was one of his strongest qualities.
For many in Sri Lanka, ‘DBS’, or rather D. B. S. Jeyaraj, is a byline and nothing more. Those of us fortunate to have interacted with him over a long period know that he was kind, talented, emotional, humorous and utterly unique.
For all these reasons, I can say with certainty: ‘There will never be another D. B. S. Jeyaraj.’ There will never again be those long conversations about Sri Lankan politics, missed opportunities and future possibilities for the country we both loved deeply. There will never again be the opportunity to hear that very distinctive voice discussing a developing political story with unmatched passion and detail. I will not forget any of it. I will always remember DBS Jeyaraj as one of the finest columnists Sri Lanka ever produced and one of the most loyal friends I ever had.
I am sure DBS had similar relationships with others he worked with, but he and I did share a special bond which I like to think was unique. We were not just ‘media men’, we were both proud Thomians. We loved our school deeply and, like true Thomians, quite frequently bragged about it with enormous pride and affection. Many of our conversations eventually found their way back to S. Thomas’ College, its traditions, its characters and the values it instilled in us. Beneath the hardened journalist and political analyst, there was always a proud Thomian in DBS.
Perhaps what he ought to be best known for is his integrity. He never compromised his journalistic ethics or his human values. He stood his ground. He stuck to his guns. He valued the courage of his convictions. He suffered for what he wrote and believed in. Sri Lanka lost much when circumstances forced him to leave, along with memories both beautiful and deeply painful. Perhaps it was for the best, for his industry seemed to have become even more intense after he left our shores. Of course, the violence he may have thought he had left behind followed him to Toronto. It did not break him. His courage did not desert him. It did not diminish. His commitment to the highest ethics and standards of journalism remained until the end.
Our Rivira adventure ended unceremoniously, but DBS and I remained firm friends. I was fortunate to be among the first people he met whenever he visited Sri Lanka. Those were fine memories that I will always treasure.
So yes, I forgot his 70th birthday. He emailed me: ‘How come you forgot to wish me on my 70th birthday?’ That was DBS. Yes, I did not wish him this year and cannot ever do so again. I will not forget again, not his birthday, nor the sensitive, affectionate and deeply human man beneath the legendary journalist.
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect the official position of this publication.
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