Last December, Sujata and I were in Myanmar. Haymar was our guide. Everywhere we went—Yangon, Mandalay, Sagaing Hills, Amarapura, Bagan – she would introduce me as her teacher. I learned the Burmese word she used, but cannot recall it now. The picture I have of her is sitting on the floor in a cave complex used by meditating monks and speaking with great respect to an elderly abbot who was not feeling too well that day. That photograph does not exist (was it out of respect that Sujata did not take out the camera?), but that is my picture of Haymar.
Students should mourn their teachers; but this is the other way around. Many times I have used her work on indicators. If not for her persistence, my article on Myanmar’s telecom problems would never have been published. And she had offered to connect us to the Lee Kuan Yew School Alumni Chapter in Myanmar so that we could make some contribution to the much needed telecom reforms in her country. She loved her people; she loved knowledge. At least we played a small part in her seeing the beauty and grandeur of Upper Burma, last December.
It’s not how long you live your life that matters. It’s how. She lived hers well. It is we who are the losers.
May she attain Nibbhana.