By Krishantha Prasad Cooray
Every year, for so many years, the first thing I would do as soon as I woke up on the 17th of August was to call my dear friend, the late Harry Stassen Jayawardena. Every single time, it started with, “Happy birthday, Lokka.” He would answer right back, “Thank you, Lokka.” It’s funny how we both called each other ‘Lokka.’ That strange nickname became our little tradition, and it always made us grin.
Today, i.e., the 17th of August, 2025, it’s different. I can make the call. I know what to say. But Lokka is no more.
At the end of the day, if you look at it, life is all about family and good friends. To most people, Harry was an enterprising and successful businessman. To me, he was the kind of friend you rarely meet, one whose loyalty had no limits. When such people go, they leave behind an enormous chasm. It was all the more difficult for me because I had lost my father five months before. They were both ‘Lokkas’ to me, one a father and the other a father figure, and both my closest and dearest friends. Their passing taught me the timeless lesson about impermanence and the folly of attachment; alas, an inevitable consequence of our humanity.
On average, Harry and I spoke at least three times a day, exchanging stories and sharing good laughs. Many people thought of Harry Jayawardena as an extremely tough and even intimidating man, but I was fortunate to see a side of him that not many did: his gentle, kind, endlessly supportive ways. When the world seemed against me, Harry stood by me like a rock. That’s something I will never forget.
Harry Stassen Jayawardena never backed down from a fight, and he never feared anyone. Once you earned his trust, that was it; he would stand by you, regardless of odds or consequences, as I have experienced many times. If someone wronged you and Harry knew them, he would cut them off totally without a second thought. His loyalty was unbreakable.
Harry was such a legend that I often told myself that if Sri Lanka had just 10 such men, the whole country would be in a different place today. His drive and commitment were unique. His affection for the people close to him was consistent, authentic, and deep.
Harry understood the value of relationships. In times of triumph or moments of sorrow, he was always the first to be there for me.
I miss you so much, Lokka. I miss your phone calls, your advice, your jokes, and the faith you had in me. Most of all, I miss all those easy, extra-special moments we spent together, in bars, restaurants, traveling, at my place, and even in hospitals.
I wish I could pick up the phone just one more time, to hear your unforgettable voice and say, “Happy birthday, Lokka.” I can’t. And I can’t say, “Thank you, Lokka, for your friendship, I miss you big time.”
Though you’re no longer here, your legacy and the memories we shared will always remain, guiding me through life’s ups and downs. Happy birthday, Lokka, and until we meet again.
