A heart that never failed

A double rainbow snapped amidst chaos on 05.12.2025

We lost a relative two years ago. His name was Malaka, and we called him Malaka aiya even though, technically, he was supposed to be our uncle. His father was my father’s uncle, but since I called his father “uncle,” his son naturally became “aiya” to my brother and me.

He was only about ten years older than me. Around forty, maybe forty-two, when he died. Even now, two years later, I don’t think any of us have really recovered. He left behind two wonderful little boys.

Malaka Aiya was the kind of person people describe as “a good person,” but in his case, it was entirely true, almost understated. At his funeral, when people spoke about the good he had done, it only confirmed what I already knew. I had not exaggerated him in my mind. He really was that good.

There is one memory of him that has stayed with me all these years.

It must have been before 2002, because we didn’t have a computer at home yet. We finally bought one in 2002 and regretted not doing so earlier, because my grandfather, who was always curious about new technology, never got to see a computer in our house. He passed away in 2001. At that time, computers weren’t common household items, at least not in my socioeconomic circle.

One of our other uncles had a computer at home because he was an engineer and far better off financially. We were allowed to use his computer too, not for too long, to play Minesweeper or scribble on MS Paint, but only for a few minutes. It was strictly not a toy.

With Malaka Aiya’s computer, it was a completely different story.

His family lived simply. Only his father worked; a government servant, and his mother was a homemaker who gave tuition lessons for a very small fee. As I remember it, my family, with two wage earners and a pension, was relatively comfortable compared to them. Buying a computer must have been a significant sacrifice for their household, because even we had to wait years before we could afford one.

But he was so generous with it.

I must have been around eleven or twelve, and my brother around eight. We were not the most responsible children, but Malaka Aiya didn’t seem bothered by that at all. He let us use his computer freely, without restrictions, and even taught us how to use different applications. This was during the era of floppy disks, those funny little things that could store only 1.44 MB. I still remember carrying mine from TEC Sri Lanka computer classes as if it were a treasure. And he let me use it on his computer.

Sometimes I wonder if my memory is playing tricks on me. Could I really have saved a game on a floppy disk? It seems impossible now. But I clearly remember him letting us use the computer for entertainment, and I remember the floppy disk being part of that experience. What matters is the feeling itself – being trusted with something precious. That part is real.

He must have been around twenty then, a university student. Later, he became an engineer. I am not even sure what field, something involving machinery. But what amazes me still is this: how could a young man living in a household where money was not abundant allow two clueless children to handle his expensive, hard-earned computer with such ease?

How could someone be that selfless?

Recently, my father has been giving driving lessons to one of my first cousins, who is not yet sixteen. He lets him use the car, and for some reason, this unsettles me. I worry about the car’s safety, even though it is not mine, and if I am honest, I feel a sting of jealousy when my father becomes close to other children. So I have been commenting negatively and discouraging my father.

And then I think of Malaka Aiya.

How effortlessly generous he was. How natural it seemed to him to trust us. How big his heart must have been. It humbles me every time I remember it. This is something I cannot do naturally. Right now, I have to make a conscious effort to hold my negative comments back regarding the driving lessons.

His heart eventually failed him. That is what they said when he died: heart failure. But I don’t think his heart ever failed at what mattered. Not once.