Cyril Ayya: The Shield of My Youth
Cyril Ayya: The Shield of My Youth In the mid-seventies, Dalugama was a world of Afros, bell-bottoms, and reckless youth. Navigating that fragile threshold of manhood, I was green and vulnerable. But I had Cyril ayya . More than a mate, he became my shield — a protective, honourable force who stood between me and the world’s hidden dangers. Denzil Jayasinghe 5 min read · Just now M emory has a way of anchoring itself to specific faces, and for me, the seventies in the sleepy village of Dalugama will always look like Cyril Stanley. Dalugama was my ancestral hometown, a quiet enclave some ten kilometres from the bustling heart of Colombo. Back then, if you wanted to be noticed, you grew your hair into an Afro, flared your denim bell-bottoms, and walked with a certain rhythmic assurance. Cyril and his younger brother Edward had that down to an art. Cyril looked like a younger version of Smokey Robinson; Edward was a junior, darker Lionel Richie. They worked in the city’s only five-star e...