Features
Traveling on Colombo Roads – Cycles, Trams, Trolleys, Rickshaws and Double Deckers
Remembered Yesterdays
by J. Godwin Perera
‘Babi Achchi’ immortalized the humble bicycle with that baila classic still heard and sung when drinks, ‘bites’ and men get mixed together on a late evening . As to how and why an “Achchi’ got a bicycle may need a special Commission of Inquiry. But leaving the said ‘Babi Achchi’ aside there was a time when cycles were the most popular mode of transport for teen-aged schoolboys. Roads were much less busy. No hustle, bustle, tussle and jostle. Hence loving parents who would have preferred their sons travelling to school in the family car did not fret nor fuss. What the parents did not know was that their obedient sons would daily cycle past girl’s schools even though it meant a longer trip. Opening time and closing time were the same. Most convenient. More fun. For both the school girls and school boys. Also attending net-ball matches was quite easy. A family car with driver attached made this simple enjoyment impossible. Worse, if a father drove the car. ‘Extra classes Ammi’ was the excuse for getting late. And Ammi would nod her head understandingly and think that the teachers were a very dedicated lot. Also attending inter –school cricket matches was so much more convenient. One rode to the venue and sat on the cycle with one leg planted on the ground. Hands were free to clap or wave a clenched fist and shout ‘Hora Umpire’
Now to tramcars. Operating on two main routes, Fort – Grandpass and Fort – Borella ( don’t worry about route details – just enjoy the ride) they were slow and noisy. This noise was because of a foot pedal. In a one footed tap dance the driver kept tap, tapping on the pedal and it would go ‘Clang, Clang.’ And the ‘Clang, Clang’ was loud. Very Loud. This was a warning for other road users – Look out ! there’s a tram coming. The slowness helped passengers ( most often ticketless ) to jump in and off when convenient. These trams moved along rails, embedded into the road, and were electrically operated through overhead cables. Connecting these cables to the tram was through a castor fixed at the end of a long conduit attached to the hood and set at 45 degrees in the direction in which the tram has to move. On reaching a terminal the conductor, using a long bamboo pole, would swing the conduit into the opposite direction. The tram was now ready for the return trip. Making things simple was a driver’s control panel at both ends. But often while on the move the conduit would swing out of alignment disconnecting the electricity supply and stalling the tram. Other road users waited. No hurry. No worry. The conductor, also in no hurry used the bamboo pole and put the offending tube in place. And then the ‘Clang, Clang’ would resume. Traffic moved on.
In 1953 the Colombo Municipality which had been running the tramcars substituted trolley buses. These did not run on rails but used the overhead power cables. There were single decker trolleys and double decker trolleys. The latter were the favorite for young couples. They would climb up the winding stairs and occupy the very front seats. Absolute privacy. The conductor too enjoyed this. Looking up at the female, invariably wearing a flared skirt, he had a ‘worm’s eye view.’ It was a privileged sight which compensated for the poor salary he received. The trolleys were much more silent and doors closed and opened automatically at the discretion of the driver. In 1964 due to a strike the Colombo Municipality took the opportunity to withdraw the unprofitable trolley buses. And thereby also withdrawing the travelling delight of young couples. Enter the motor buses. Actually while trams and trolleys operated only in certain sections of the city as mentioned earlier, motor buses operated elsewhere.
But let’s stall for a while and consider another popular mode of transport. The rickshaw. It consisted of a high, open, chair- like body with a hood and two wheels attached on either side. These were very much like but larger in diameter, than those on a bullock cart. The rickshaw was drawn by an energetic, turbaned man of Tamil descent – the rickshaw ‘wallah,’ by means of two shafts, again very much like those in a bullock cart. He trotted whenever he had a hire, because the fare was calculated on the time spent with the passenger. Not on the distance run. Rickshaws were used mainly by young school children and those who could not afford a car but disdained the use of public transport. However the big bonus for rickshaw ‘wallahs’ were the tourists who arriving by ship and landing at the Jetty were delighted to be taken by rickshaws on a city tour.
But not all tourists were pleased. One such was Albert Einstein, who was perhaps the greatest scientist in the world. On 28th October 1922, he and his wife Elsa while on a trip to Japan by ship, stopped over in Colombo. At the jetty they were immediately put into two rickshaws by the tour guide and taken on a city tour. Einstein referred to it as ‘abominable treatment of a fellow human being.’ Elsa being more practical responded ‘For these men to earn a living they need our patronage.’ So there you are – same coin, two sides.
Now to bus transport. This was operated as an owner operated service without any government restrictions. It virtually meant that the owner operated his bus or buses just as he pleased. Profit was the only objective. But it meant that this type of profit had many seekers. The number of owners operating on the same route increased. Inevitably this meant trouble. It came in the form of rivalry to get more passengers or the bigger load. Waiting in a queue to pick up passengers was dismissed as being impractical. Hence, more practical methods were adopted. Arguments, fights, stabbings. In plenty. The British Government decided that this just won’t do. They introduced a Regulated Private Monopoly System. And so came into being bus companies with regulated routes. The better known were Colombo Omnibus Company, Ebert Silva Bus Company and South Western Bus Company. The latter owned by Sir Cyril de Zoysa, operated on Galle Road and was the first to introduce double decker buses.
These red double deckers were reconditioned ones from London Transport and were extremely popular because they carried more passengers. The Colombo Omnibus Company with the cockerel symbol plying along Baseline Road soon followed with double deckers. The Ebert Siva Bus Company plied mainly between Maradana and Kollupitiya. Where the other bus companies operated is beyond the scope of this article. But operate they did and certainly at a profit.
However, all good things must come to an end. S.W.R.D. Bandaranaike leading an M.E.P coalition had been swept into power in 1956. On January 1, 1958 the private bus companies were nationalised and the Ceylon Transport Board set up. The innaugural trip of the newly formed CTB conveyed the Prime Minister, the Minister of Transport, Maithripala Senanayake and some other hangers-on, in a maroon, luxury, Mercedes Benz bus. Did someone say ‘Ape Aanduwa.’ One type of bus for the political elite another type of bus for the common people. ‘Jayawewa,’ ‘Jayawewa.’
Features
High Stakes in Pursuing corruption cases
The death of the most important suspect in the Sri Lankan Airlines Airbus deal has drawn intense public speculation. Kapila Chandrasena the former CEO of the heavily loss-making national airline was found dead under circumstances that the police are still investigating.
He had recently been arrested by the Commission to Investigate Allegations of Bribery or Corruption in connection with the controversial Airbus aircraft purchase agreement signed in 2013. Police investigations are continuing into the cause of death and whether or not he committed suicide. The unresolved death brings to light the high stakes involved in accountability efforts of this nature.
The uncertainty surrounding Chandrasena’s death has revived public memories of other mysterious deaths linked to corruption investigations and public scandals. Among them is the death of Rajeewa Jayaweera, a former SriLankan Airlines executive and outspoken critic of the Airbus transaction. He was following in the tradition of his father, the late foreign service officer and public servant Stanley Jayaweera who mentored the younger generation in good governance practices and formed the group “Avadhi Lanka” along with icons such as Prof Siri Hettige. Rajeewa had written a series of articles exposing irregularities in the deal before he was found dead near Independence Square in Colombo in 2020. The CCTV cameras in that high security area were turned off. Questions raised at that time whether or not he had committed suicide were not satisfactorily resolved.
The controversy about the cause of Chandrasena’s death is diverting attention away from the massive damage done to the country by the SriLankan Airlines deal itself. The value of the aircraft agreement was close to the size of the International Monetary Fund bailout package that Sri Lanka desperately needed by 2023 in order to stabilise the economy after bankruptcy. Sri Lanka’s IMF Extended Fund Facility amounted to about USD 3 billion spread over four years. The comparison shows the scale of the losses and liabilities that irresponsible and corrupt decisions have imposed on the country and which must never happen again.
Wider Pattern
The corruption linked to the Airbus transaction came fully into the open only because of investigations conducted outside Sri Lanka. In 2020 Airbus agreed to pay record penalties of more than EUR 3.6 billion to authorities in Britain, France and the United States to settle global corruption investigations. Sri Lanka was identified as one of the countries where bribes had allegedly been paid in order to secure contracts. The Airbus deal involved the purchase of six A330 aircraft and four A350 aircraft valued at approximately USD 2.3 billion. Investigations showed that Airbus paid bribes amounting to nearly USD 16 million in order to secure the contract. According to court submissions, at least part of this money amounting to USD 2 million was transferred through a shell company registered in Brunei and routed through Singapore bank accounts linked to the late airline CEO and his wife.
The commissions involved in this deal may seem comparatively small compared to the overall value of the contracts but devastating in their consequences. But they also show that a few million dollars paid secretly to decision makers could lead to the country assuming liabilities worth hundreds of millions or even billions of dollars over decades. This is why corruption is not simply a moral issue. It is a direct economic assault on the living standards of ordinary people. Money lost through corruption is money unavailable for schools, hospitals, rural development and job creation. In the end the burden falls on ordinary citizens who are left to repay debts incurred in their name without receiving commensurate benefits in return.
The SriLankan Airlines transaction gives an indication of the wider pattern of corruption and misuse of national resources that has taken place over many years. This was not an isolated incident. There were numerous large scale infrastructure and procurement projects that imposed heavy debts on the country while enriching politically connected individuals and their associates. Other projects such as the Colombo Port City, Hambantota Harbour and highway construction reveal a similar pattern.
Less publicised but equally damaging scandals have involved fertiliser medicine and energy contracts. Investigations into medicine procurement in recent years uncovered allegations that substandard pharmaceuticals had been imported at inflated prices causing both financial losses and risks to public health.
Moral Renewal
The present government appears determined to investigate major corruption cases in a manner that no previous government has attempted. Those who ransacked and bankrupted the treasury need to be dealt with according to the law. There is considerable public support for efforts to recover stolen assets and ensure accountability.
In his May Day speech President Anura Kumara Dissanayake stated that around 14 corruption cases were nearing completion in the courts this very month and called upon the public to applaud when verdicts are delivered. Political opponents of the government claim that such comments could place pressure on the judiciary and blur the separation between political leadership and the courts. But the deeper public frustration that underlies the president’s remarks also needs to be understood.
The challenge facing Sri Lanka is twofold. The country must ensure that justice is done through due process and independent institutions. If anti corruption campaigns become politicised they can lose legitimacy. But if corruption and abuse of power continue without consequences the country will remain trapped in a cycle of economic decline and moral decay. Sri Lanka also needs to confront past abuses linked to the war period. There are allegations of kidnapping, extortion, disappearances and criminal activity in which members of the security forces have been implicated. Vulnerable sections of the population suffered greatly during those years. If political leaders turned a blind eye or actively connived in such crimes they too need to be held accountable under the law. Selective justice will not heal the country. Accountability must apply across the board regardless of political position, ethnicity or institutional power.
Sri Lanka has paid a very heavy price for corruption and impunity. The economic collapse of 2022 did not occur overnight. It was the result of years of bad governance, reckless decision making, abuse of power and the misuse of public wealth. If the country is to move forward the focus cannot be diverted by sensational speculation alone. Suspicious deaths and political intrigue may dominate headlines for a few days. But the larger issue is the system that enabled corruption to flourish without accountability for so long. The real national task is to end that system. Sri Lanka cannot build a prosperous future on a foundation of corruption and impunity. Unless those who looted public wealth are held accountable and the systems that enabled them are dismantled, the country risks repeating the same cycle again.
Jehan Perera
Features
When University systems fail:Supreme Court’s landmark intervention in sexual harassment case
Over seven years after making an initial complaint of sexual harassment against her research supervisor, Dr. Udari Abeyasinghe, then a temporary lecturer and now a senior lecturer at the University of Peradeniya, has been finally served justice. On May 8, 2026, the Supreme Court made the following directions regarding Udari’s fundamental rights case: “1) The 1st Respondent [her research supervisor] is prohibited from accepting any post, whether paid or not or honorary, in any university, educational institute or other academic institution; 2) The UGC to issue a direction to all universities and other institutions, coming under its purview, to abstain from giving any appointment, whether paid or not, or honorary, to the 1st Respondent; and 3) The University of Peradeniya, including the Council and respective Respondent [sic], are directed to take appropriate measures to enforce and raise awareness of the University of Peradeniya’s policy on Sexual or Gender-Based Harassment and Sexual Violence for staff and students, including conducting mandatory annual seminars for all academics, staff and students.” I recently spoke with Udari to learn about her experience battling the University’s sexual and gender-based violence (SGBV) procedures.
Violence and injustice
Udari was a temporary lecturer when she began working on her MPhil degree. Her research supervisor was a Senior Professor and Dean of her faculty. The harassment began in 2017.
When Udari reached out for support to the SGBV Committee of the University of Peradeniya, the Chair explained the complaint procedure, including how a third party could make a complaint on her behalf. In July 2018, Udari’s mother made a written complaint to the Vice Chancellor (VC). “The very next day [my supervisor] called me … and asked me to withdraw the complaint because it would look bad for me … the university should have taken measures to separate the complainant from the perpetrator … but nothing like that happened.”
Before making the formal complaint, Udari reached out to other academic staff at her Faculty. She shared her experience with a few close colleagues. Many advised her to leave the Faculty. “No one in the Faculty supported me publicly, although some sympathised privately … I was a temporary lecturer … no one really cared.” Some of her colleagues and non-academic staff who knew about the harassments, asked her to avoid involving them because they feared retaliation from higher powers.
Udari faced a preliminary inquiry and then a formal inquiry. The preliminary inquiry took place about four months after her complaint, and the inquiry committee recommended proceeding to a formal inquiry. The latter was held about a year after the initial complaint. “I got to know unofficially that [my supervisor] had got hold of all the statements made at the preliminary inquiry and pressured some colleagues to change their statements before the formal inquiry.” During the time of the formal inquiry, an anonymous letter (“kala paththaraya”) was circulated among staff: “It was a character assassination … the same kala paththaraya would get circulated from time to time.” After the formal inquiry committee submitted its report and recommendations, Udari was informed, in writing, that the University Council had dismissed the report.
“Neither the preliminary inquiry report nor the formal inquiry report were shared with me … I had to make a formal request to the VC and only then did I get a copy of the preliminary inquiry report… I had to get the formal inquiry report through an RTI (a request under the Right to Information Act). What I understand is that [my supervisor] had influenced the Council … that’s why they rejected the report…saying there had been a delay of six months to make a complaint ….” (N. B. there are no time limitations for submitting a complaint in the SGBV by-laws of the University of Peradeniya, although such time bars exist at other universities).
Udari then submitted formal complaints to the University Grants Commission (August 2020) and the Human Rights Commission of Sri Lanka (December 2020), and finally filed a fundamental rights case at the Supreme Court in March 2021. Five years later, on May 8th 2026, Udari’s complaint was vindicated.
University procedures and inquiries
When her mother submitted the complaint against her supervisor, Udari was a temporary lecturer. She had given up her dream of pursuing an academic career because she did not think she would be recruited to a permanent position after making a complaint against a faculty member. It is encouraging that Udari was recruited, but in most instances, students and junior staff endure and stay silent to avoid jeopardising their academic careers. We currently have no procedures in place at universities to protect victims and witnesses from backlash.
According to Udari, the former Chair of the SGBV Committee and the members of her preliminary inquiry panel played a crucial role in her case, and, in her words, “could not be influenced.” But SGBV by-laws at state universities place inordinate power in the hands of the Council and VC. According to the SGBV by-laws of the University of Peradeniya, the Council appoints the 15-member SGBV Committee comprising “[t]wo (02) persons from among the members of the Council; [t]en (10) persons drawn from the permanent and senior members of the academic community; and [t]hree (03) persons external to the University, from among the retired academic or administrative staff of the University” (Section 2.1). While the by-laws recommend appointing persons who have demonstrated “gender-sensitivity, proven interest in working on issues of gender equality and equity, and trained to investigate and inquire into cases of sexual or gender-based harassment and sexual violence” (Section 2.1), we know this is often not the case. In many universities, VCs control which cases are taken up and end up in an inquiry. Most students and staff at state universities have little faith in the existing SGBV complaint procedures.
As Udari experienced, the decisions of inquiry committees can be overruled and dismissed by University Councils, indicating the importance of appointing appropriate members to the Councils. The Deans of faculties, who are Ex-officio members, usually collude to protect their own interests and fiefdoms, while the appointment of external members to Councils is deeply politicised. At present, there is no application process or vetting of candidates before they are appointed. They are usually persons who are seen to be sympathetic to the incumbent political dispensation. Furthermore, external members are dependent on the university hierarchy for information on the issues being discussed, the details of which are often hidden from them. It is not surprising then that University Councils would adjudicate on the side of power.
Final recommendation
Beyond barring Udari’s former research supervisor from holding positions in the university system, the Supreme Court has directed the University of Peradeniya to raise awareness on SGBV among staff and students. While SGBV is addressed in the induction courses and orientation programmes at universities, staff and students must be made aware of the nitty-gritties of complaint procedures, including time bars, which were crucial to the outcome of Udari’s case. But is raising awareness sufficient? Do we have ways to hold university authorities accountable for arbitrary and/or prejudicial decision-making and other abuses of power?
For Udari, life continues to be difficult, with constant surveillance of her activities.
“In November 2024 , I shared a post about my case.. it was a newspaper article stating that the Supreme Court had granted leave to proceed… I just took a photograph of it and posted it on my Facebook without any captions… a few weeks later I was summoned by higher authorities…I was informed that several academics had verbally complained about me using my social media to tarnish the name of the faculty and the university and, if that’s the case, that I should know that the University Council has the authority to take action against me … we also spoke briefly about the case and at one point I was told that this incident (harassment) happened to me because I showed some positivity towards (the perpetrator) …”
Let’s hope that university administrations pause before victimising and revictimising SGBV survivors in future. As a community, we have to rethink the hierarchical ways in which universities function and create a meaningful mechanism that supports students and staff to complain without fear of repercussion.
Thank you, Udari, for taking this step forward. University administrations will have to stop, listen and change their ways.
(Ramya Kumar is attached to the Department of Community and Family Medicine, Faculty of Medicine, University of Jaffna, and is an alumna of the University of Peradeniya).
Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.
By Ramya Kumar
Features
‘Nidahase’ in the spotlight
Senani Wijesena, the Sri Lankan-Australian singer-songwriter, known for fusion pop/R&B with ethnic elements, like the tabla and sitar, is in the news again.
She was featured in The Island, in early April (2026), regarding her career in the music scene, and the release of her first ever Sinhala song ‘Nidahase.’
The song was released in Sri Lanka, on 17th April, with Senani in town to do the needful.
The music video was filmed at the Polgampola Waterfall, in Sri Lanka, and also features co-star Senura Ambegoda … playing the romantic interest.
Describing the setup, Senani had this to say:
“To achieve the high falls scenes, I had to climb large rocks and slippery edges to get to the top of the falls, and I had to do it in the yellow saree I was wearing. Of course the film crew assisted me.”
The initial scenes were filmed in bustling Pettah where Senani meets co-star Senura Ambegoda, working in a street stall, and when their eyes meet it triggers a memory of soul connection and transports her into another world entering the forest scene.
The forest, says Senani, symbolically represented a retreat to nature and peace.
The couple later rejoin at Colombo City Centre where they danced together and enjoyed each other’s company.
Says Senani: “The short dance routine was created on the spot, on set. Senura is a dance teacher, as well as a model and actor, and we learnt the routine, in 10 minutes, before it was filmed.”
‘Nidahase’ means Freedom in English – about being free in life, love, expression and movement.
It’s, in fact, a reworked version of her highly successful English song ‘Free’ which was nominated for a Hollywood Music In Media award in the RNB/Soul category, and also reached the Top 20 of the Music Week Dance charts in the UK.
‘Nidahase’ can be heard on all streaming platforms, including Spotify, Apple Music and Amazon.
Senani’s YouTube channel is www.youtube.com/senanimusic
Her social media pages are: www.instagram.com/senanimusic and www.facebook.com/senanimusic. Her website is www.senani.com
For the record, Senani is the daughter of film actress Jeevarani Kurukulasuriya and Dr Lanka Wijesena.
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