In Loving Memory of Rishard Hameed: A Brother Beyond Blood ties

In memory of Rishard Hameed

Out of respect for Rishard and the pain he carried, I spoke to our friend—not disclosing the details, but gently letting him know that Rishard had been hurt. Almost instantly, the posts were deleted. He was deeply remorseful, and the offensive speech stopped altogether

I am reminded of the line from Don McLean’s “Vincent”: “This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.” That was Rishard—an old soul, a gentle force, someone who heard the silent cries of others and responded, even when no one else noticed.

“He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother.” These words echo in my heart each time I think of my dear friend Rishard Hameed. Though six years have passed since his untimely departure, not a single day goes by without my thinking of him. Today, I pen these words for his loved ones and for all who knew and admired him—to offer a glimpse into the life of a man who meant so much to so many.

Rishard was more than a friend; he was like a brother to me. Our bond was forged during our school days at Trinity College, Kandy, and it endured until the day he left us. He had an extraordinary capacity to carry the burdens of others—quietly, compassionately, and without seeking recognition. Despite his affluence, Rishard was the embodiment of humility, a trait that made him beloved among all who knew him.

I became close to him during our early teens, joining a small circle of trusted friends. One of my earliest memories of his kindness was when I asked him for Rs. 20, not wanting to say why. He gently pressed me until I admitted I was simply hungry, living at a boarding house where meals were sparse. He didn’t just lend me the money—he fed me, without making me feel small. That was Rishard. Always generous, always discreet.

Rishard often helped others in ways that remained unknown until much later. I remember him once quietly paying a batch mate’s school fees—never telling a soul. Years later, he confided in me, wounded by the discovery that the same individual had made racist remarks on a social media platform—perhaps forgetting who had once stood by him in so generously and discreetly.

Out of respect for Rishard and the pain he carried, I spoke to our friend— not disclosing the details, but gently letting him know that Rishard had been hurt. Almost instantly, the posts were deleted. He was deeply remorseful, and the offensive speech stopped altogether. Such was the quiet power of Rishard’s grace and dignity—it had a way of awakening empathy, even in those who had momentarily lost their way.

There was a softness to Rishard—a sensitivity that was often misunderstood in this rough world. A mutual friend from our close gang of friends who practices the Buddhist Dhamma once said: “He had the highest soul from all of us that felt too deeply for this world.”

I am reminded of the line from Don McLean’s “Vincent”: “This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.” That was Rishard—an old soul, a gentle force, someone who heard the silent cries of others and responded, even when no one else noticed.

I carry countless memories of his kindness. On one occasion, while holidaying with his family in Nuwara Eliya, he noticed I wore a torn vest. To me, it was trivial. But for Rishard, who always carried himself with care, it mattered. Quietly, without making a fuss, he bought me new vests. He had an eye for detail and a straightforward way of expressing himself. If you had bad breath or body odour, he’d tell you to your face—but always with the intention of helping, never to shame.

Stories that speak volumes

There are many more stories I still carry in my heart—moments that speak volumes of who Rishard truly was. One that remains vivid is from the time I returned from an overseas training programme. Funds were tight, as is often the case after such trips, but I’d still managed to bring back a modest gift—some chocolates— for my relatives. Prior to visiting my relatives and the rest of the family, I visited Rishard as I had a gift for him as well. Being ever thoughtful, he asked me what I had brought as gifts for my friends. When I told him, he didn’t hesitate. He took me to the supermarket and insisted on buying more imported chocolates for them—he wanted me to give them much more than what I had. That gesture deeply touched me. It was one of those moments when I realised he wasn’t just a friend—he was closer than a brother.

Rishard never let anyone around him feel small. He had a quiet way of preserving people’s dignity, of uplifting others without drawing attention to himself.

Even when I got my driving license, I was nervous about getting behind the wheel. Without me even asking, Rishard arranged for a car and a driver so I could practice and build my confidence safely. He always thought ahead—he always thought of others. That was Rishard. Thoughtful. Generous. Protective.

More than once, he quite literally saved me. I recall a moment from my youth when I was nearly led astray by someone who attempted to introduce me to drugs. Just then, Rishard walked in. He confronted the situation head-on and pulled me away—firmly, lovingly. That was the first and last time I ever came close to such a mistake. He was, without a doubt, the wind beneath my wings

It was with Rishard that two of our closest friends—now living in Australia— and I shared the best years of our youth. From five-star dinners to dancing in nightclubs, we lived freely, fully, and without regrets. We didn’t realise it then, but we were making memories that would last a lifetime.

We often spoke of the future—of retirement days filled with laughter, travel, and quiet companionship. We looked forward to growing old together, to reminiscing over the lives we had lived side by side.

But those dreams were cruelly cut short by the tragedy that claimed our beloved friend. And now, in the silence he left behind, we hold on to the memories… and to each other.

Rishard didn’t just want to succeed— he wanted everyone around him to succeed. He would lift the others up, even if it meant stepping back himself. One of his passions was cars, which he cleverly turned into a business venture. But for Rishard, customers became lifelong friends. He was a people person in the truest sense—generous, reliable, and deeply loyal. When I was hospitalised with dengue, he mobilised his network of contacts to ensure I received the best care. He did that for everyone. So much so, that on the day news of his passing broke, the morgue overflowed—not with curiosityseekers, but with people whose lives he had touched.

Rishard was also deeply devoted to his family. Together with his beloved wife and their four children, he built a quiet empire—brick by brick—with love, trust, and unwavering partnership. His absence is a grief his wife still carries every single day, a weight that time has not lightened. And yet, even now, his presence lingers— steady, silent, guiding them in unseen ways.

As his friend, I stand beside them— not out of duty, but out of love. Because I know, without a shadow of doubt, that had the roles been reversed, Rishard would have done the same for my family. That’s who he was.

To this day, I carry the sorrow of not urging him to take his usual overseas trip during the Easter holidays. That week, we kept missing each other’s calls. I often wonder what might have been if he had invited me to Shangri-La that fateful day—I would have gone with my daughter. But that call never came. Fate, perhaps, had already made its decision.

It was only after his passing that we began to truly understand the scope of his generosity. Rishard never spoke of the help he gave; he simply gave. In silence, in humility.

As Elton John sang: “Let me put down in words... how wonderful life is while you’re in the world.” Indeed, life was more beautiful because Rishard was in it.

He came from a respected and renowned family, but it was his character—not his lineage—that made him larger than life. Rishard Hameed was the most selfless, compassionate, and honourable soul I have known.

Rishard’s love transcended caste, creed, and all the boundaries that so often divide us. That’s why people from all walks of life were drawn to him—because his heart recognised only humanity.

I am a Sinhalese Catholic, and yet, my heart still mourns the loss of my Muslim brother—a bond that was deeper than blood ties. He was a soul who carried me through life in ways words can scarcely describe. In a world that often forgets how to love beyond labels, Rishard reminded us what true brotherhood looked like.

May his memory continue to light the path for us all. As told to Rochelle Palipane Gunaratne by Rishard’s best friend Sanjeewa