Features
The Setting Sun
Short story
by Ruki Attygalle
Wimal was 15 and only three years older than 1. Yet, he seemed older and was the richest young man in our village. Although most of the time he walked around barefoot like the rest of us, he did actually possess a pair of shoes — not just a pair of slip-ons or sandals, but proper lace-up shoes. ‘What’s more, he did not have to look at the sun, or the length of the shadows cast by the coconut trees to gauge the time. He was the proud possessor of a genuine watch prominently strapped around his left wrist. Yet, he did not swagger around or show off. He kept more and more to himself and somehow seemed to be adult, though still a boy.
Wimal’s family was no different from ours. His father was a fisherman, just like mine had been. In fact, most of the men in our village were fishermen. Ours was a small fishing village about two miles from Bentota. Until the time when his father (along with my father) failed to return from a fishing trip, Wimal’s family had been poor; even worse off than ours. My parents had only Nangi and me to worry about, while Wimal’s parents had five children. Yet, Wimal’s family seemed to have prospered since our fathers disappeared; while our situation worsened –desperately, after Nangi fell ill.
Amma was sweeping our back yard the day I mentioned Wimal’s wristwatch. She stopped sweeping and grabbed me by my hand.
“Don’t talk to me about that boy again. I know how he earns his riches!” she burst out angrily and spat on the sand. “I don’t want you hanging around with him anymore. Do you hear?”
I nodded as I struggled to understand what she meant. Was Wimal a thief? I just couldn’t believe it!
“Do you hear?” she repeated.
“Yes,” I said feebly, still puzzled.
“If I catch you loafing around with him, I’ll break every bone in your body!”
“Understand?” she threatened pointing the broom at me. “Yes,” I said, secretly amused. She had never raised her hand to either of us children.
She wouldn’t even swat a mosquito! But that day she seemed unduly annoyed or concerned. I made excuses for her; she had no time or peace of mind to be sweet, patient and motherly.
Anyway, there was little chance of me loafing around anymore. I hardly ever met the old gang on the beach since Thaththa’s death. I had more important things to do now. I’m glad I learned to mend fishing nets from Thaththa. After school, in the afternoons, I often helped other fishermen – especially old Nomis Mama —mend their nets. I earned a few rupees, for which Amma was grateful. When the catch was hauled in, they would give me a handful of sprats or small salayas. This didn’t happen always, but when it did, Amma, Nangi, and I were very happy because we certainly couldn’t afford to buy fish. Our rice and curry tasted so much better with fish, however small the creature was.
I was upset over Amma’s attitude to Wimal. Was she by any chance envious of him and his family; they were obviously so much better off than us; but that could not be it? Buddhism to Amma was a living religion and she so firmly tried to cultivate the four virtues of metta, karuna, muditha and uppekka.
Equally, it was difficult to believe that Wimal would take to thieving; it was not in his nature. He was honest and we all trusted him. He never even cheated at games. The day Ravi stole my conch shell, Wimal had a real go at him.
“Ballige putha
,” Wimal threw the derogatory insult at him. “That is definitely Suren’s shell. He showed it to me the day he found it. You give it back to him or you are out of our gang. We don’t want thieves with us.”I wondered whether Podihamy, the village gossip, had concocted a vicious story about Wimal, which when whispered to Amma had prejudiced her against my friend. Podihamy of course resented anyone who did better than her sons.
Amma worked in a small-scale factory, about half a mile from where we lived, making coir rope. It wasn’t a great job and she didn’t earn that much money, but we were able to eke out a living on her earnings.
Our hut was almost on the edge of the beach. Except for a few coconut palms and a clump of mangroves, there was nothing between our backyard and the sand – a narrow strip which separated our hut from the sea. The first thing Nangi and I used to do before getting dressed for school was to search around for fallen nuts under the coconut palms that grew along the shoreline.
She was very good at spotting them. When she picked one up, she would spit on it, believing that this would lead her to another nut. It didn’t always work that way of course, but she was full of superstition, often her own extensions or even inventions. Sometimes, if we were lucky, we would gather three or four nuts. At other times we would return empty handed.
But the sambal that Amma made with one coconut lasted for a few days and it was always very tasty. Rice and coconut sambal were more or less our staple diet, with the occasional vegetable or dhal curry, depending on the money situation. We couldn’t grow vegetables in our sandy yard. So, when I came home with a handful of fish, it was a treat.
Nangi was three years younger than I and slightly built. Just a year ago she could run almost as fast as I could; was full of energy and very agile. Amma used to tease her saying that she was like a monkey, and soon would be able to scale up coconut trees and pick fresh nuts for us. Now she lay quietly on her mat looking limp and lifeless.
I remember the day Nangi returned after her stay in hospital,., Amma had said that she had lost weight and was weak. Piyal, our neighbour, agreed to take his handcart (in which he took coconuts to the market) to the railway station that afternoon to bring Nangi home. I knew this would please her enormously as none of us boys had had the nerve to ask Piyal for a ride in his cart as he was not the friendliest of persons.
Nevertheless, he had been kind enough to offer the use of his cart, and for no charge. Nangi would now have something to boast about to the rest of the gang. She was very much a part of it, even though she was the youngest and the only girl among us boys.
Amma left very early that morning. She had to take a train to Colombo, and then two buses to Maharagama where the Cancer Hospital was. It was a long journey and I’d done it only once. Amma said that it was too expensive to take me along every time she went to see Nangi. One person’s fare was bad enough.
I went with Piyal to the station. We were early, so we sat under an araliya tree and waited for the train. Piyal found a piece of ekel with which he started picking his teeth. We were at the Bentota station with many tourist hotels in the vicinity. I watched the white men and women in their shorts, brightly coloured tops and shirts, and sandals, walking around. Most of them seemed to be heading towards the beach or the beach hotels.
“These people come from rich countries,” I said. “They have loads of money.” I was trying to engage Piyal in conversation, but he ignored me and continued to attend to his teeth. He was a man of few words.
“We are lucky that our country is beautiful, and they want to come here for holidays and spend their money,” I continued, repeating what the school mistress had told us the previous day.
“Hmm!” grunted Piyal and spat on the ground. I couldn’t figure out whether this was a sign of agreement or disagreement. “Our country earns a lot of money from the tourist industry,” I persisted.
“Hmm!” he grunted, and after a long pause added “Not all tourists are good. Some are quite evil.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, but he ignored me.
I knew the conversation had terminated, but it didn’t really matter because I heard the train coming in.
As Amma got off the train half supporting, half carrying Nangi, I stared at her in horror. Nangi had shrunk. Her eyes were sunk in their sockets. Her cheeks hollow. Worst of all she had no hair on her head.
Piyal ran forward and carried Nangi. Amma turned towards the carriage and a woman in the train handed her two plastic carrier bags through the window. I relieved Amma of the bags and we walked out of the station to where the cart was parked. I saw Nangi’s eyes light up as Piyal lifted her on to it.
Amma walked alongside Piyal. I offered to help Piyal push the cart, but he said that he could manage. So, I walked alongside Nangi holding on to the side of the cart.
“Why did they cut your hair off?” I asked.
“My hair was not cut off, silly, it just fell off!” Nangi laughed. “It will grow back again when I get better.”
Although she looked dreadful, she seemed to be in good spirits, which was more than could be said of me. From the moment I saw her – changed almost beyond recognition — a cloud of sadness settled on me and its weight seemed to be pressing me down inexorably, suffocatingly.
From a sitting position, Nangi slowly slid on to her side, facing me. As she drew her knees towards her chest and rested her head on one of the plastic bags containing her clothes, I noticed how thin and stick-like her legs now were.
“So, what’s been happening since I went away?” She asked looking at me through sunken eyes.
I didn’t feel like talking; but I knew I had to, to keep her entertained. I racked my brain for a good story.
“Did Amma tell you about an iguana falling into our well?”. I asked.
“No, she didn’t!” She raised herself a little, supported by her elbow. “How did it get out?”
Glad of her excitement, I tried to muster as much enthusiasm as I could to make the story interesting.
“Early one morning when I went to the well to draw water, I heard a peculiar noise. At first, I didn’t know where it came from. Then, I peered down the well, and I could hear something thrashing about in the water; but I couldn’t see clearly because it was dark inside. I ran back home and told Amma that there was something struggling in the well.”
“But Amma usually goes to the well before us,” she interrupted.
“No,” I said, wanting to get on with the story “I woke up early that morning. Amma got worried in case a child had fallen in and she ran for help to Piyadasa Mama’s house. He came running, bringing with him a heavy rope, and started shouting down the well.
“What happened then?”
“He kept shouting so loudly that the whole village seemed to have heard him. `Hoi! Hoi, can you hear me? Can you hear me? I’m lowering a rope. Grab hold of it. I’ll pull you up.”‘
Nangi chuckled with amusement. Encouraged, I continued.
“One by one people started gathering round our well. Within half an hour, I think everyone in the village had turned up.” “So, when did they discover it was an iguana?”
“When the sun came up and light fell down the well shaft, Nomis Mama recognized that the creature inside was an iguana.” I stopped for a breather.
“So how did it get out?” Nangi demanded.
“People came up with all sorts of ideas but none of them worked …”
“Like what?”
I ignored the question and carried on. “In the end, old Gomez suggested that we lower a fishing net into the well. So, we did, and the iguana clung to it and climbed half-way up. After that it would not budge.”
“What happened then?”
“We pulled the net up. The creature must have been very tired swimming round and round inside the well, because once it was hauled out and pushed off the net, it didn’t move for hours. It just stayed motionless as if it was dead. When I came back from school it was still there. It was late afternoon when it finally crawled away.”
Nangi had suddenly gone quiet.
“You’d better sleep if you are tired,” I advised.
“I can’t sleep,” she said. “This ride is very bumpy.” But she did close her eyes and I walked beside her silently.
We walked for about fifteen minutes when Nangi suddenly sat up.
“I am feeling sick. Tell Piyal Mama to stop the cart. I want to vomit.”
We pushed the cart to the side of the road. Piyal lifted Nangi off the cart, and carried her into the shade of a margosa tree by the roadside. Amma held Nangi while she retched. We rested for a while. Amma sat close to the tree trunk leaning against it. Nangi sat by her and rested her head on Amma’s lap. She looked tired and ill. I wished I could do something to make her feel better. But there was nothing I could do.
I picked up some pebbles and started aiming them at the crows perched on the tree. I was sad and angry. Angry because after six weeks of treatment Nangi looked much worse than before she went to hospital. One was supposed to get better after treatment, not worse!
It was late afternoon when we resumed our journey. Although our village was only a few miles from Bentota, we seemed to be walking forever.
“Sunila, you’ll feel much better once we get home,” Amma kept reassuring Nangi.
Nangi crouched inside the cart with her head resting on one of the plastic bags. She didn’t respond.
“Shall I tell you something?” I said. “I am going to give you my big conch shell!”
She sat upright and gazed right into my eyes.
“Don’t tell lies! You’ll never part with it. Even if you do, you’ll grab it back once I get well!”
“No!” I protested. “You can have it for good.” But I did think that ‘lending’ the shell to her for the duration of her illness was a better idea; a much better plan. Maybe we could work something out at a later date.
It was nearly sunset when we arrived home and got Nangi settled on her mat. She was exhausted and looked it. Every bit of her seemed tired, even her eyes which were usually so bright with interest.
“Has the sun set as yet?” Nangi asked.
“No. But it soon will.” I looked out of the window at the sea and the horizon.
The sky was red but the sun was redder and was about to touch the sea. Streaks of gold shimmered on the water.
“Will you do something for me?” Nangi enquired suddenly.
“What?”
“Run to the beach and make a wish for me.”
There was a belief among the village children that if one made a wish at the exact moment the sun disappeared into the horizon, the wish would come true.
“I can make the wish from here,” I said.
“No, no. You must go to the beach. It’s even better if you can run and sit on the old boat and make the wish sitting on it.” Nangi as usual attached new additions to the old superstition. I was rather doubtful about this superstition. The last time Thaththa sailed was at sunset, and I had watched his boat sail away. As the sun sank into the sea, I had wished that Thaththa and Somapala Mama would return with a large haul of thora and paraw fish. But they never came back at all! Perhaps I didn’t make the wish at the correct moment.
“All right,” I said, not wanting to disappoint Nangi. “What is your wish?”
I was certain that her wish would be to get well quickly.
“Make a wish for me to find a huge conch shell, even bigger than yours when I get well. Then you can have yours back. You’d better hurry or the sun will set before you get to the boat,” she urged.
I ran as if my life depended on getting to the boat before sunset. The old abandoned boat had sat there between two mangrove clumps, half buried in the sand, ever since I could remember. I sat on it and glued my eyes on the fast disappearing red ball. As it went down, I wished with all my heart that Nangi would get well.
Things changed after Nangi came back from hospital. I stopped going to school because she couldn’t be left alone. Amma had to go to work or we would have had no money at all. Food-wise we were not badly off for fish. The fisher folk would take turns to drop by with a few fish for the “little patient”. But Nangi wouldn’t eat it. In fact, she hardly ate anything. If she managed to swallow some food, she would bring it all up. The only thing she could retain was a bit of bread and milk. Even that, if she took too much, it would all come out.
Some days she would feel better. Then we would walk to the beach and sit on the rocks and watch the waves. We had all loved playing in the sea.We used to jump into the rising waves and be carried up and up, till they could rise no more and when they broke, we would come swooping down to the sand.
“I bet I could jump into the highest wave,” or “I am sure that I could swim further out to sea than you,” she bragged; her enthusiasm suddenly ignited.
“Oh yes? In your dreams!” I would retort.
“Not right now silly! When I get well.”
“Not in a hundred years!” I meant it too. I was a strong swimmer and even Wimal couldn’t beat me.
Most of the time however, Nangi would lie down on her mat and sleep or listen to stories that I made up as I went along. Sometimes when I brought her, her medicine, she would start a row. She hated taking her tablets because she said they made her sick. Once she even spat them at me, I would normally have given her a slap, and we would have ended up in a real fight. So, when I did not react, she looked surprised and started to cry. She said she was sorry and swallowed her tablets.
Her ‘good days’ became fewer and far between. It was obvious she was getting weaker by the day. Sometimes Amma stayed at home with Nangi, but of course on those days she had to forego her day’s wages.
We had got into debt since Nangi’s illness. Amma had not only borrowed money from Piyadasa Mama but had been buying milk powder and other groceries on credit and run up a large bill she could not settle. When Amma sent me to buy half a loaf of bread and a quarter pound of sugar, I got shouted at by the mudalali. He said he was not prepared to give us even a crust of bread or a grain of sugar until my mother settled her debt.
He must have felt sorry afterwards, because as I was leaving, he called me back and gave me what I asked for. He also growled that it would be the last time we got anything more on credit. I knew he meant it.
It was to settle our debts and also because she needed money to hire a trishaw to take Nangi back to hospital, that Amma sold her one and only item of jewellery — the gold chain that Thaththa had given her the day they married. She was a practical person And she didn’t seem to mind parting with it. But the money she got for it was not as much as we had hoped for. She settled only part of her debts because she wanted to make sure she would have enough money for the trip to hospital. Amma said that Nangi was too weak to travel by train and bus. They would have to hire a trishaw.
Apart from the kitchen and the front veranda, there was only one room in our hut. All three of us slept in it. Amma left a small lit bottle lamp on the window ledge, in case Nangi got sick during the night. One night I woke from sleep and found the room in darkness. Amma was not on her mat. I saw the light coming from the veranda and thought she had gone outside to the toilet and was on her way back. As she didn’t return, I went to look for her. She was sitting on the front bench, with the lamp beside her, staring out into the darkness. Sufficient light fell on to her face for me to see that she was crying.
Crying from inside, I mean. She never cried like other women, with tears streaming down her face. I often wondered whether her tears had all dried up or something. Anyway, I knew when she cried. Her face took on a strange expression and the veins in her neck and forehead bulged.
“Amma,” I said softly, “is Nangi going to die?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but, changed her mind and just shrugged her shoulders.
“Once she is back in hospital she will get better, won’t she?” I pleaded.
“Maybe,” she said. “But she is so weak!” There were tears in her voice though her eyes were dry.
We were silent for a few minutes. The silhouettes of the coconut palms stood black against the faintly lit sky. Dawn was about to light up the east. My ears filled with the sound of the waves breaking on the shore. I wondered whether one could make a wish at sunrise too.
Amma broke the silence. “The thing is,” she said, “I should have given her more nourishing food. They did tell me at the hospital that Sustagen was a very effective food supplement. But it was so costly, I just couldn’t afford to buy it.” She looked strained and tired. She was still crying inside.
I was shocked to think that Nangi would probably die because we could not afford to give the proper food she needed. I was angry; angry that we were poor. Angry that Nangi was dying. Enraged that we were so helpless.
The morning Amma left with Nangi, I went to see Wimal. I would do anything to earn some money to see us through this crisis. Thieving did not seem so bad after all.
Wimal was outside in their front yard when I arrived. I explained to him our desperate situation and the need to earn some money fast. He listened to me but did not say anything. We walked in silence to the beach.
“Please, Wimal tell me how you make your money? I’m willing to do anything. Please, for my nangi’s sake, she is dying!” I pleaded.
I knew that if I got caught thieving, I would get beaten up real rough, or possibly even sent to Maggona — the home for juvenile delinquents. But that was a risk I was willing to take.
Wimal was reluctant to talk.
“I swear I’ll not tell anyone. It’ll be a secret between us,” I continued to plead.
Wimal didn’t look at me and remained silent for some time. “Did you say that you are willing to do anything?” he asked eventually, still not looking at me.
“Yes,” I replied enthusiastically.
After a long pause, Wimal said: “There is this guy who finds me work.” Wimal was definitely uneasy. “You see, I work in the tourist hotels.” He was still avoiding my eyes. “I’ll introduce you today, if you like,” he said. “I’ll meet you by the old boat round two.”
And, as an afterthought he added, “Make sure you wear a shirt your school shirt would do — and a clean pair of shorts. Mr. Jinasena is very particular.”
I was a little puzzled by this requirement but was too excited o ponder long over it.
Wimal and I met Mr. Jinasena on the beach about a hundred yards from Sea Sands Hotel. He greeted us cordially and lowered his voice as he spoke to Wimal. He handed him an envelope with something written on it. I couldn’t see what it was.
“Blue Waters Hotel. He will be on the beach. Yellow swim-suit, yellow hat.”
Wimal took off without a word, but, did glance at me for a moment. I saw fear in his eyes, maybe a mite of shame too.
“Now Suren,” Mr. Jinadasa said turning to me “That is your name, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Sir,” I said respectfully.
“The first time is always difficult, but you will be okay. There is good money in it if you do as you are told. And, of course, you mustn’t talk about this to anyone. All right?”
I nodded. We walked in silence till we reached the sandbank by Sea Sands Hotel. There were tourists sun-bathing on the beach; and splashing about in the sea. Mr. Jinasena walked ahead, and I followed. He stopped beside a large man, in a deck chair, wearing a pair of red shorts and a brightly coloured shirt. His hair was, the colour of straw and his skin was red with sunburn.
Mr. Jinasena spoke to him in a foreign language. The tourist looked at me and smiled, got up from his chair, and walked towards one of the cabanas. Mr. Jinasena and I followed him. When we reached the cabana, the man went in and shut the door’ behind him, but returned shortly with some money, which he handed over to Mr. Jinasena.
“You will work for this gentleman today. Do as you are told, and he will give you a good tip.” Mr. Jinasena nodded at the man, smiled at me, and walked away.
The man beckoned me, and I went in. He shut the door behind me. The cabana was beautiful. I had never seen anything like this before. There was a large bed with a blue and white cover spread
on it. I was enthralled by the massive mirror on the wall; its thick wooden frame encrusted with sea shells. There must have been thousands of shells on that frame. A polished table by the window had a large bowl of flowers on it.
Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned round and saw the man standing, stark naked. Before I could get over the shock, he started tugging my shorts down.
I don’t know how long I stayed in that room, but to me it seemed a lifetime. When I finally stepped out, my whole body was shivering in spasms and shaking, and I could hardly make out where I was going. I managed to get to the beach before I got violently sick. My head reeled and I started to cry. It was when I tried to wipe my tears that I noticed I was clutching a bundle of currency notes.
Suddenly I wanted to run – to get away from that place as fast its I could. So, I ran all the way home – my lungs burning and heart pounding.
When I got back, Amma had returned and was in the kitchen. There were no signs of Nangi, so I knew she would have been re-admitted to hospital. As I went into the kitchen, Amma turned on me.
“Where were you, Suren?” she demanded angrily. “I have been looking for you all over the village for hours.”
I hung my head and did not answer.
“Suren, what’s happened?” She now seemed more concerned than angry. “Look at me, son,” she said. But I couldn’t.
I simply walked up to the kitchen table, my head still down, and laid the bundle of crumpled notes on it.
I heard her gasp. She picked up the notes. “Where did you get. these from? Two thousand rupees!” There was fear in her voice. It was more than she earned in an entire month of tedious coir rope making.
“I went to a tourist hotel,” I blurted, soft and low, still not looking at her. I knew she would know what that meant.
There was dead silence. She stood quite still. I slowly looked up at her. She had a stunned look on her face. I knew she was trying to take in the full implication of what I had said. I waited for her to get angry, to start shouting at me. I desperately wanted her to. In fact, I wanted her to beat me. Hit me with that broom till she broke every bone in my body. But she stood there as if turned to stone.
I wanted her to say something or do something. I couldn’t bear the silence.
“We can buy Nangi the Sustagen and pay off our debts, can’t we?” I pleaded.
She looked down at the floor but said nothing. I waited for her to speak; when she didn’t, I slowly walked past her, down the kitchen steps and into the back yard. I felt incredibly tired; a fatigue I had never experienced before. Perhaps it was the kind of fatigue felt by old people.
The sun was beginning to sink into the ocean. As I walked slowly towards the beach, something made me look back. I saw Amma on the kitchen steps, her arms entwining her legs, her face buried in her knees, her body jerking in convulsive movements. I carried on walking, staring intently at the setting sun; but I had gone well beyond the point of wanting to make a wish.
Features
An innocent bystander or a passive onlooker?
After nearly two decades of on-and-off negotiations that began in 2007, India and the European Union formally finally concluded a comprehensive free trade agreement on 27 January 2026. This agreement, the India–European Union Free Trade Agreement (IEUFTA), was hailed by political leaders from both sides as the “mother of all deals,” because it would create a massive economic partnership and greatly increase the current bilateral trade, which was over US$ 136 billion in 2024. The agreement still requires ratification by the European Parliament, approval by EU member states, and completion of domestic approval processes in India. Therefore, it is only likely to come into force by early 2027.
An Innocent Bystander
When negotiations for a Free Trade Agreement between India and the European Union were formally launched in June 2007, anticipating far-reaching consequences of such an agreement on other developing countries, the Commonwealth Secretariat, in London, requested the Centre for Analysis of Regional Integration at the University of Sussex to undertake a study on a possible implication of such an agreement on other low-income developing countries. Thus, a group of academics, led by Professor Alan Winters, undertook a study, and it was published by the Commonwealth Secretariat in 2009 (“Innocent Bystanders—Implications of the EU-India Free Trade Agreement for Excluded Countries”). The authors of the study had considered the impact of an EU–India Free Trade Agreement for the trade of excluded countries and had underlined, “The SAARC countries are, by a long way, the most vulnerable to negative impacts from the FTA. Their exports are more similar to India’s…. Bangladesh is most exposed in the EU market, followed by Pakistan and Sri Lanka.”
Trade Preferences and Export Growth
Normally, reduction of price through preferential market access leads to export growth and trade diversification. During the last 19-year period (2015–2024), SAARC countries enjoyed varying degrees of preferences, under the EU’s Generalised Scheme of Preferences (GSP). But, the level of preferential access extended to India, through the GSP (general) arrangement, only provided a limited amount of duty reduction as against other SAARC countries, which were eligible for duty-free access into the EU market for most of their exports, via their LDC status or GSP+ route.
However, having preferential market access to the EU is worthless if those preferences cannot be utilised. Sri Lanka’s preference utilisation rate, which specifies the ratio of eligible to preferential imports, is significantly below the average for the EU GSP receiving countries. It was only 59% in 2023 and 69% in 2024. Comparative percentages in 2024 were, for Bangladesh, 96%; Pakistan, 95%; and India, 88%.
As illustrated in the table above, between 2015 and 2024, the EU’s imports from SAARC countries had increased twofold, from US$ 63 billion in 2015 to US$ 129 billion by 2024. Most of this growth had come from India. The imports from Pakistan and Bangladesh also increased significantly. The increase of imports from Sri Lanka, when compared to other South Asian countries, was limited. Exports from other SAARC countries—Afghanistan, Bhutan, Nepal, and the Maldives—are very small and, therefore, not included in this analysis.
Why the EU – India FTA?
With the best export performance in the region, why does India need an FTA with the EU?
Because even with very impressive overall export growth, in certain areas, India has performed very poorly in the EU market due to tariff disadvantages. In addition to that, from January 2026, the EU has withdrawn GSP benefits from most of India’s industrial exports. The FTA clearly addresses these challenges, and India will improve her competitiveness significantly once the FTA becomes operational.
Then the question is, what will be its impact on those “innocent bystanders” in South Asia and, more particularly, on Sri Lanka?
To provide a reasonable answer to this question, one has to undertake an in-depth product-by-product analysis of all major exports. Due to time and resource constraints, for the purpose of this article, I took a brief look at Sri Lanka’s two largest exports to the EU, viz., the apparels and rubber-based products.
Fortunately, Sri Lanka’s exports of rubber products will be only nominally impacted by the FTA due to the low MFN duty rate. For example, solid tyres and rubber gloves are charged very low (around 3%) MFN duty and the exports of these products from Sri Lanka and India are eligible for 0% GSP duty at present. With an equal market access, Sri Lanka has done much better than India in the EU market. Sri Lanka is the largest exporter of solid tyres to the EU and during 2024 our exports were valued at US$180 million.
On the other hand, Tariffs MFN tariffs on Apparel at 12% are relatively high and play a big role in apparel sourcing. Even a small difference in landed cost can shift entire sourcing to another supplier country. Indian apparel exports to the EU faced relatively high duties (8.5% – 12%), while competitors, such as Bangladesh, Pakistan, and Sri Lanka, are eligible for preferential access. In addition to that, Bangladesh enjoys highly favourable Rules of Origin in the EU market. The impact of these different trade rules, on the EU’s imports, is clearly visible in the trade data.
During the last 10 years (2015-2024), the EU’s apparel imports from Bangladesh nearly doubled, from US$15.1 billion, in 2015, to US$29.1 billion by 2024, and apparel imports from Pakistan more than doubled, from US$2.3 billion to US$5.5 billion. However, apparel imports from Sri Lanka increased only from US$1.3 billion in 2015 to US$2.2 billion by 2024. The impressive export growth from Pakistan and Bangladesh is mostly related to GSP preferences, while the lackluster growth of Sri Lankan exports was largely due to low preference utilisation. Nearly half of Sri Lanka’s apparel exports faced a 12% tariff due to strict Rules of Origin requirements to qualify for GSP.
During the same period, the EU’s apparel imports from India only showed very modest growth, from US$ 5.3 billion, in 2015, to US$ 6.3 billion in 2024. The main reason for this was the very significant tariff disadvantage India faced in the EU market. However, once the FTA eliminates this gap, apparel imports from India are expected to grow rapidly.
According to available information, Indian industry bodies expect US$ 5-7 billion growth of textiles and apparel exports during the first three years of the FTA. This will create a significant trade diversion, resulting in a decline in exports from China and other countries that do not enjoy preferential market access. As almost half of Sri Lanka’s apparel exports are not eligible for GSP, the impact on our exports will also be fierce. Even in the areas where Sri Lanka receives preferential duty-free access, the arrival of another large player will change the market dynamics greatly.
A Passive Onlooker?
Since the commencement of the negotiations on the EU–India FTA, Bangladesh and Pakistan have significantly enhanced the level of market access through proactive diplomatic interventions. As a result, they have substantially increased competitiveness and the market share within the EU. This would help them to minimize the adverse implications of the India–EU FTA on their exports. Sri Lanka’s exports to the EU market have not performed that well. The challenges in that market will intensify after 2027.
As we can clearly anticipate a significant adverse impact from the EU-India FTA, we should start to engage immediately with the European Commission on these issues without being passive onlookers. For example, the impact of the EU-India FTA should have been a main agenda item in the recently concluded joint commission meeting between the European Commission and Sri Lanka in Colombo.
Need of the Hour – Proactive Commercial Diplomacy
In the area of international trade, it is a time of turbulence. After the US Supreme Court judgement on President Trump’s “reciprocal tariffs,” the only prediction we can make about the market in the United States market is its continued unpredictability. India concluded an FTA with the UK last May and now the EU-India FTA. These are Sri Lanka’s largest markets. Now to navigate through these volatile, complex, and rapidly changing markets, we need to move away from reactive crisis management mode to anticipatory action. Hence, proactive commercial diplomacy is the need of the hour.
(The writer can be reached at senadhiragomi@gmail.com)
By Gomi Senadhira
Features
Educational reforms: A perspective
Dr. B.J.C. Perera (Dr. BJCP) in his article ‘The Education cross roads: Liberating Sri Lankan classroom and moving ahead’ asks the critical question that should be the bedrock of any attempt at education reform – ‘Do we truly and clearly understand how a human being learns? (The Island, 16.02.2026)
Dr. BJCP describes the foundation of a cognitive architecture taking place with over a million neural connections occurring in a second. This in fact is the result of language learning and not the process. How do we ‘actually’ learn and communicate with one another? Is a question that was originally asked by Galileo Galilei (1564 -1642) to which scientists have still not found a definitive answer. Naom Chomsky (1928-) one of the foremost intellectuals of our time, known as the father of modern linguistics; when once asked in an interview, if there was any ‘burning question’ in his life that he would have liked to find an answer for; commented that this was one of the questions to which he would have liked to find the answer. Apart from knowing that this communication takes place through language, little else is known about the subject. In this process of learning we learn in our mother tongue and it is estimated that almost 80% of our learning is completed by the time we are 5 years old. It is critical to grasp that this is the actual process of learning and not ‘knowledge’ which tends to get confused as ‘learning’. i.e. what have you learnt?
The term mother tongue is used here as many of us later on in life do learn other languages. However, there is a fundamental difference between these languages and one’s mother tongue; in that one learns the mother tongue- and how that happens is the ‘burning question’ as opposed to a second language which is taught. The fact that the mother tongue is also formally taught later on, does not distract from this thesis.
Almost all of us take the learning of a mother tongue for granted, as much as one would take standing and walking for granted. However, learning the mother tongue is a much more complex process. Every infant learns to stand and walk the same way, but every infant depending on where they are born (and brought up) will learn a different mother tongue. The words that are learnt are concepts that would be influenced by the prevalent culture, religion, beliefs, etc. in that environment of the child. Take for example the term father. In our culture (Sinhala/Buddhist) the father is an entity that belongs to himself as well as to us -the rest of the family. We refer to him as ape thaththa. In the English speaking (Judaeo-Christian) culture he is ‘my father’. ‘Our father’ is a very different concept. ‘Our father who art in heaven….
All over the world education is done in one’s mother tongue. The only exception to this, as far as I know, are the countries that have been colonised by the British. There is a vast amount of research that re-validates education /learning in the mother tongue. And more to the point, when it comes to the comparability of learning in one’s own mother tongue as opposed to learning in English, English fails miserably.
Education /learning is best done in one’s mother tongue.
This is a fact. not an opinion. Elegantly stated in the words of Prof. Tove Skutnabb-Kangas-“Mother tongue medium education is controversial, but ‘only’ politically. Research evidence about it is not controversial.”
The tragedy is that we are discussing this fundamental principle that is taken for granted in the rest of the world. It would not be not even considered worthy of a school debate in any other country. The irony of course is, that it is being done in English!
At school we learnt all of our subjects in Sinhala (or Tamil) right up to University entrance. Across the three streams of Maths, Bio and Commerce, be it applied or pure mathematics, physics, chemistry, zoology, botany economics, business, etc. Everything from the simplest to the most complicated concept was learnt in our mother tongue. An uninterrupted process of learning that started from infancy.
All of this changed at university. We had to learn something new that had a greater depth and width than anything we had encountered before in a language -except for a very select minority – we were not at all familiar with. There were students in my university intake that had put aside reading and writing, not even spoken English outside a classroom context. This I have been reliably informed is the prevalent situation in most of the SAARC countries.
The SAARC nations that comprise eight countries (Sri Lanka, Maldives, India, Pakistan Afghanistan, Bangladesh, Nepal and Bhutan) have 21% of the world population confined to just 3% of the earth’s land mass making it probably one of the most densely populated areas in the world. One would assume that this degree of ‘clinical density’ would lead to a plethora of research publications. However, the reality is that for 25 years from 1996 to 2021 the contribution by the SAARC nations to peer reviewed research in the field of Orthopaedics and Sports medicine- my profession – was only 1.45%! Regardless of each country having different mother tongues and vastly differing socio-economic structures, the common denominator to all these countries is that medical education in each country is done in a foreign language (English).
The impact of not learning in one’s mother tongue can be illustrated at a global level. This can be easily seen when observing the research output of different countries. For example, if one looks at orthopaedics and sports medicine (once again my given profession for simplicity); Table 1. shows the cumulative research that has been published in peer review journals. Despite now having the highest population in the world, India comes in at number 16! It has been outranked by countries that have a population less than one of their states. Pundits might argue giving various reasons for this phenomenon. But the inconvertible fact remains that all other countries, other than India, learn medicine in their mother tongue.
(See Table 1) Mother tongue, medium of education in country rank order according to the volume of publications of orthopaedics and sports medicine in peer reviewed journals 1996 to 2024. Source: Scimago SCImago journal (https://www.scimagojr.com/) has collated peer review journal publications of the world. The publications are categorized into 27 categories. According to the available data from 1996 to 2024, China is ranked the second across all categories with India at the 6th position. China is first in chemical engineering, chemistry, computer science, decision sciences, energy, engineering, environmental science, material sciences, mathematics, physics and astronomy. There is no subject category that India is the first in the world. China ranks higher than India in all categories except dentistry.
The reason for this difference is obvious when one looks at how learning is done in China and India.
The Chinese learn in their mother tongue. From primary to undergraduate and postgraduate levels, it is all done in Chinese. Therefore, they have an enormous capacity to understand their subject matter just not itself, but also as to how it relates to all other subjects/ themes that surround it. It is a continuous process of learning that evolves from infancy onwards, that seamlessly passes through, primary, secondary, undergraduate and post graduate education, research, innovation, application etc. Their social language is their official language. The language they use at home is the language they use at their workplaces, clubs, research facilities and so on.
In India higher education/learning is done in a foreign language. Each state of India has its own mother tongue. Be it Hindi, Tamil, Urdu, Telagu, etc. Infancy, childhood and school education to varying degrees is carried out in each state according to their mother tongue. Then, when it comes to university education and especially the ‘science subjects’ it takes place in a foreign tongue- (English). English remains only as their ‘research’ language. All other social interactions are done in their mother tongue.
India and China have been used as examples to illustrate the point between learning in the mother tongue and a foreign tongue, as they are in population terms comparable countries. The unpalatable truth is that – though individuals might have a different grasp of English- as countries, the ability of SAARC countries to learn and understand a subject in a foreign language is inferior to the rest of the world that is learning the same subject in its mother tongue. Imagine the disadvantage we face at a global level, when our entire learning process across almost all disciplines has been in a foreign tongue with comparison to the rest of the world that has learnt all these disciplines in their mother tongue. And one by-product of this is the subsequent research, innovation that flows from this learning will also be inferior to the rest of the world.
All this only confirms what we already know. Learning is best done in one’s mother tongue! .
What needs to be realised is that there is a critical difference between ‘learning English’ and ‘learning in English’. The primary-or some may argue secondary- purpose of a university education is to learn a particular discipline, be it medicine, engineering, etc. The students- have been learning everything up to that point in Sinhala or Tamil. Learning their discipline in their mother tongue will be the easiest thing for them. The solution to this is to teach in Sinhala or Tamil, so it can be learnt in the most efficient manner. Not to lament that the university entrant’s English is poor and therefore we need to start teaching English earlier on.
We are surviving because at least up to the university level we are learning in the best possible way i.e. in our mother tongue. Can our methods be changed to be more efficient? definitely. If, however, one thinks that the answer to this efficient change in the learning process is to substitute English for the mother tongue, it will defeat the very purpose it is trying to overcome. According to Dr. BJCP as he states in his article; the current reforms of 2026 for the learning process for the primary years, centre on the ‘ABCDE’ framework: Attendance, Belongingness, Cleanliness, Discipline and English. Very briefly, as can be seen from the above discussion, if this is the framework that is to be instituted, we should modify it to ABCDEF by adding a F for Failure, for completeness!
(See Figure 1) The components and evolution of learning: Data, information, knowledge, insight, wisdom, foresight As can be seen from figure 1. data and information remain as discrete points. They do not have interconnections between them. It is these subsequent interconnections that constitute learning. And these happen best through the mother tongue. Once again, this is a fact. Not an opinion. We -all countries- need to learn a second language (foreign tongue) in order to gather information and data from the rest of the world. However, once this data/ information is gathered, the learning needs to happen in our own mother tongue.
Without a doubt English is the most universally spoken language. It is estimated that almost a quarter of the world speaks English as its mother tongue or as a second language. I am not advocating to stop teaching English. Please, teach English as a second language to give a window to the rest of the world. Just do not use it as the mode of learning. Learn English but do not learn in English. All that we will be achieving by learning in English, is to create a nation of professionals that neither know English well nor their subject matter well.
If we are to have any worthwhile educational reforms this should be the starting pivotal point. An education that takes place in one’s mother tongue. Not instituting this and discussing theories of education and learning and proposing reforms, is akin to ‘rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic’. Sadly, this is not some stupendous, revolutionary insight into education /learning. It is what the rest of the world has been doing and what we did till we came under British rule.
Those who were with me in the medical faculty may remember that I asked this question then: Why can’t we be taught in Sinhala? Today, with AI, this should be much easier than what it was 40 years ago.
The editorial of this newspaper has many a time criticised the present government for its lackadaisical attitude towards bringing in the promised ‘system change’. Do this––make mother tongue the medium of education /learning––and the entire system will change.
by Dr. Sumedha S. Amarasekara
Features
Ukraine crisis continuing to highlight worsening ‘Global Disorder’
The world has unhappily arrived at the 4th anniversary of the Russian invasion of Ukraine and as could be seen a resolution to the long-bleeding war is nowhere in sight. In fact the crisis has taken a turn for the worse with the Russian political leadership refusing to see the uselessness of its suicidal invasion and the principal power groupings of the West even more tenaciously standing opposed to the invasion.
One fatal consequence of the foregoing trends is relentlessly increasing ‘Global Disorder’ and the heightening possibility of a regional war of the kind that broke out in Europe in the late thirties at the height of Nazi dictator Adolph Hitler’s reckless territorial expansions. Needless to say, that regional war led to the Second World War. As a result, sections of world opinion could not be faulted for believing that another World War is very much at hand unless peace making comes to the fore.
Interestingly, the outbreak of the Second World War coincided with the collapsing of the League of Nations, which was seen as ineffective in the task of fostering and maintaining world law and order and peace. Needless to say, the ‘League’ was supplanted by the UN and the question on the lips of the informed is whether the fate of the ‘League’ would also befall the UN in view of its perceived inability to command any authority worldwide, particularly in the wake of the Ukraine blood-letting.
The latter poser ought to remind the world that its future is gravely at risk, provided there is a consensus among the powers that matter to end the Ukraine crisis by peaceful means. The question also ought to remind the world of the urgency of restoring to the UN system its authority and effectiveness. The spectre of another World War could not be completely warded off unless this challenge is faced and resolved by the world community consensually and peacefully.
It defies comprehension as to why the Russian political leadership insists on prolonging the invasion, particularly considering the prohibitive human costs it is incurring for Russia. There is no sign of Ukraine caving-in to Russian pressure on the battle field and allowing Russia to have its own way and one wonders whether Ukraine is going the way of Afghanistan for Russia. If so the invasion is an abject failure.
The Russian political leadership would do well to go for a negotiated settlement and thereby ensure peace for the Russian people, Ukraine and the rest of Europe. By drawing on the services of the UN for this purpose, Russian political leaders would be restoring to the UN its dignity and rightful position in the affairs of the world.
Russia, meanwhile, would also do well not to depend too much on the Trump administration to find a negotiated end to the crisis. This is in view of the proved unreliability of the Trump government and the noted tendency of President Trump to change his mind on questions of the first importance far too frequently. Against this backdrop the UN would prove the more reliable partner to work with.
While there is no sign of Russia backing down, there are clearly no indications that going forward Russia’s invasion would render its final aims easily attainable either. Both NATO and the EU, for example, are making it amply clear that they would be staunchly standing by Ukraine. That is, Ukraine would be consistently armed and provided for in every relevant respect by these Western formations. Given these organizations’ continuing power it is difficult to see Ukraine being abandoned in the foreseeable future.
Accordingly, the Ukraine war would continue to painfully grind on piling misery on the Ukraine and Russian people. There is clearly nothing in this war worth speaking of for the two peoples concerned and it will be an action of the profoundest humanity for the Russian political leadership to engage in peace talks with its adversaries.
It will be in order for all countries to back a peaceful solution to the Ukraine nightmare considering that a continued commitment to the UN Charter would be in their best interests. On the question of sovereignty alone Ukraine’s rights have been grossly violated by Russia and it is obligatory on the part of every state that cherishes its sovereignty to back Ukraine to the hilt.
Barring a few, most states of the West could be expected to be supportive of Ukraine but the global South presents some complexities which get in the way of it standing by the side of Ukraine without reservations. One factor is economic dependence on Russia and in these instances countries’ national interests could outweigh other considerations on the issue of deciding between Ukraine and Russia. Needless to say, there is no easy way out of such dilemmas.
However, democracies of the South would have no choice but to place principle above self interest and throw in their lot with Ukraine if they are not to escape the charge of duplicity, double talk and double think. The rest of the South, and we have numerous political identities among them, would do well to come together, consult closely and consider as to how they could collectively work towards a peaceful and fair solution in Ukraine.
More broadly, crises such as that in Ukraine, need to be seen by the international community as a challenge to its humanity, since the essential identity of the human being as a peacemaker is being put to the test in these prolonged and dehumanizing wars. Accordingly, what is at stake basically is humankind’s fundamental identity or the continuation of civilization. Put simply, the choice is between humanity and barbarity.
The ‘Swing States’ of the South, such as India, Indonesia, South Africa and to a lesser extent Brazil, are obliged to put their ‘ best foot forward’ in these undertakings of a potentially historic nature. While the humanistic character of their mission needs to be highlighted most, the economic and material costs of these wasting wars, which are felt far and wide, need to be constantly focused on as well.
It is a time to protect humanity and the essential principles of democracy. It is when confronted by the magnitude and scale of these tasks that the vital importance of the UN could come to be appreciated by human kind. This is primarily on account of the multi-dimensional operations of the UN. The latter would prove an ideal companion of the South if and when it plays the role of a true peace maker.
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