Features
Chandra Arulpragasam – The enigma that was my father
by Shyamala Abeyratne
When my son was 11 years old and in middle school, he chose to write about his grandfather, starting his essay with the statement, “my grandfather is an enigma.” I am not sure whether to his young mind my father was so much a puzzle, being both a super -cool grandpa and an exacting teacher, or just simply unpredictable. My father was someone who could relate to his grandchildren only when they were old enough to debate the merits of the separation of state and church or play a championship game of chess. But he also had wonderful adventures which fired my son’s young imagination.
My father had an inquiring and brilliant mind which often led him to try new experiences. He was also not very practical. When we were living in Rome, he decided that he wanted to understand the underbelly of the Eternal City by canoeing down the Tiber, infested as it was with toxic chemicals, and a bilious green color to boot. He acquired an inflatable canoe and convinced his reluctant Japanese colleague and my mother to assist him in carrying out his mission.
The river embankment is such that it is planted with dense thorny bushes and the drop to the water is several feet. By the time my father and his accomplice scrambled down the thorny precipice, the canoe had sprung a leak. My father did not want to give up his mission so he persuaded my mother to drive to the store, buy an inflator pump and drive to the Marconi bridge where she had to make a calculated throw so that he could grab the pump while he sailed past far below. All this she did, and my father and his colleague merrily sailed down the Tiber to the sea in a rubber canoe, admiring the weeping willows on the shore and pretending they couldn’t smell the fetid water.
These exploits eclipsed my teen and college years, and I wavered between being impressed with my father’s exploits and mortified that he would be discovered by my friends. Let me tell you about the scene that was enacted just before this canoe ride. My father suffered from chronic back pain. To ensure that he could indeed sit in the canoe throughout the 15 km ride down the Tiber, he decided to “practice sitting” in our living room.
He placed the inflated canoe in the middle of our living room, sat down in position with paddles in hand, and then for a good measure, placed a straw hat on his head. Then, he pulled out the Economist and started reading. I had invited my Canadian friend to stay with us over the weekend. As I was taking my friend to the guest room, she spied the canoe scene in the living room. She didn’t say anything till we got to the guest room, when she said in a strained voice, “I don’t know if you know but there is a weird man in your living room who thinks he is canoeing in water.”
My father was an ardent sportsman. I was simply not. He tried his best to make me more agile, buying me my first pair of roller skates and bicycle, and insisting on tennis and swimming classes even before the crows were awake in Colombo. I tried to live up to his expectations but was never more than an unwilling participant. In the winters, we were taken skiing. Our trusty roulotte (camper) was taken up to Ovindoli in the beautiful Abruzzi hills near Rome, or to Monte Livata. My father insisted that we ski every single day that we were camped up there in the high Apennines. I hated the snow, the cold and the desolation, and mostly I hated being away from the city and my friends.
We did marvelous trips around Italy and around Europe in the summer months. My father was a keen tourist and insisted we read up in advance on places and their history so that we absorbed every element of the trip. My young brother was always the family GPS and would sit in the back with the maps directing while my each of my parents took turns driving at breakneck speed on the autostrada, usually with our trusty roulotte careening along behind. When we arrived at the campsite, my father took great care to park in a place with a scenic view. Many times, this entailed us sleeping on uneven terrain with our feet higher than our heads. When we woke from our uncomfortable sleep, Dad would be exclaiming over the wonderful sunrise he witnessed over the lake/sea/mountain.
I have always been a bit in awe of my father. He could argue on any international or domestic issue, being a well-travelled international civil servant; but he could also paint, play any instrument by ear and any sport that required a ball and a racket, or a bat. His interests knew no bounds, whether as a keen participant or an engaged onlooker. I was usually swept away by his enthusiasm. There were years when he recorded the best orchestras from Rome to Berlin and beyond, and played classical music at top volume throughout our home. There was a time when he decided that our Italian language skills would be put to good use by attending every opera and operetta that opened at La Scala. Looking back, I realize I had a privileged upbringing and that my father opened endless experiences for us, even if I did not appreciate them at the time.
Those were also the years we spent in Trevignano, by Lago di Bracciano. My parents had an apartment on the top of the hill overlooking the lake and a plot of land by the water where we camped most of the time in our parked roulette as my father needed “to hear lapping water.” One year, my father decided that he wanted to grow a variety of jasmine-scented white grapes and make his own wine. He usually had the theory down pat, and so it was with viticulture; actual implementation meant that the family and the neighbors had to be enlisted to do the work. Harvesting was hard but as kids we loved donning Wellington boots and stomping on the grapes. Mercifully, our Italian neighbors knew just how much stomping and fermenting had to go into making half-drinkable wine.
These weekly trips to Lago di Bracciano were his “escape from FAO1” as he called it. To prepare for the weekend trips, my mother would go into automatic gear: she had all meals planned for the family and car packed and ready for Friday evening departure for the lake. Sometimes, he would go alone. Once in the early days of acquiring his sailboat, he triumphantly sailed across the lake and reached the other side of this deep and huge volcanic lake when the sun was setting, only to realize that the wind had changed direction, and he had no idea how to return. Dressed only in his swimsuit he had to hitch a ride back to the roulotte and reached at 2 am. We were all in Rome and thankfully unaware of the excitement he had caused with our campsite neighbors.
Dinner-time conversations in our home were hardly conversations. My father would lecture us on the woes of the peasants in South America or on how he got a piece of agrarian legislation through the parliament in Namibia. Sometimes in his stories he emerged as the ideological bad boy; and at other times the superior economist, but always whose theories were vindicated. Simply by osmosis I was educated in the vagaries of development and agrarian reforms.
Truth be told, I would envy my friends who had family conversations around the table that revolved simply around their school day. Instead, at our table we were an audience to all my father’s grandstanding; he came out of each story in the end as the victor, having trounced his colleagues on a policy issue in Bangladesh or Bhutan, swum through the Batticoloa floods, or endured a week-long trek among aborigines in the dense jungles of Sri Lanka, all the while suffering from dysentery.
My father’s abrasive brilliance did not diminish even at the age of almost 97 years. He passed away three months ago in Manila where he lived with us after my mother’s death 17 years ago. Even in his last years he followed and commented on every hot and polemical development around the globe, his TV and computer working day and night. He was still able to analyze and dissect and hold forth eloquently on any subject, though I suspect his impaired hearing took away half his pleasure.
I must admit that, at times, I was a little irritated to be lectured to, especially as he seemed oblivious to my being elderly and having my own experiences, and advanced degrees. For my father, as an intellectual giant and an ideologue, I think not one of his three successful children was able to match his singular achievements. For me, that is okay.
Excerpts from her memoir, Dipinto di Blu (Painted in Blue)
Features
‘Lord Edgware Dies’
It has been some time since I read an Agatha Christie, the plot of which I cannot remember. So, I was delighted to find on the shelves of a friend Lord Edgware Dies, which I had a vague memory of, but no certainty about who had done it.
When I read it, I found that my memory of who was probably the killer was correct, but I could not be certain and the red herrings Christie threw in were so diverting that until almost the very end I wondered if I had been wrong.
The plot is very simple. Jane Wilkinson, who is married to Lord Edgware, tells him that she is desperate for a divorce since she is in love with a very proper Anglo-Catholic peer, Lord Melton, but Edgware refuses to divorce her. She asks Poirot to talk to him, which he does, and is surprised to find that Edgware has told Jane he is prepared to give her a divorce. This was, after he had categorically refused, through a letter, which Jane said she had not received.
That night Edgware is murdered, after Jane had been to see him, or so the butler said, and also Edgware’s secretary. But Jane had been that evening at a grand dinner many miles away, where a dozen fellow guests could swear to her presence.
There was a solution however to the mystery of two Jane Wilkinsons, namely a skilful impersonator called Carlotta Adams who, in the opening chapter had impersonated Jane Wilkinson, who had also been at the performance. But when Poirot goes to see her, he finds that she had been found dead on the morning after Edgware had been killed, of an overdose. And in her bag was a gold case, with a strange inscription, that contained the drug, along with a pair of pince-nez.
Her maid said she had written a letter to her sister in America and posted it the previous night. Poirot asks Inspector Japp to get the letter, and a transcript is received from America, and in it the name of Edgware’s nephew Ronald Marsh is mentioned; he had taken Carlotta to dinner after her performance, with which the book opens, and had then set her a challenge. Japp arrests Marsh, but Poirot is not happy and asks for the original of the letter, which the sister sends him. That shows that a page is missing, and the tear is obvious, though that raises the question as to why it had not simply been cut.
Matters are further complicated by the fact that Marsh had gone in a taxi to the Edgware house, along with Edgware’s daughter Geraldine, in the interval of an opera which had previously seemed to provide them with cast iron alibis. Geraldine had gone in to fetch her pearls so that Marsh could raise money he needed, and thus had an opportunity to kill Edgware, as did Marsh, for the driver said he had got out of the taxi while waiting and gone into the house.
Marsh explained why he had gone to the house on the night of the murder as having followed Bryan Martin, an American actor, who had been in love with Jane, whom he saw go into the house with a key. But there was no one visible when he entered, and Geraldine almost immediately came down and they left together. And Martin too has become an object of suspicion to Poirot, for he had been to see him before the murders were discovered with a story of being followed by a man with a gold tooth – a story Poirot immediately realized was false when he was asked how old the man was, and was told he was young, for young people did not have gold teeth.
A heap of French money Edgware had got for a trip to Paris was missing, but since Marsh had no need for it after his cousin’s offer of help, Poirot deduces that it must have been taken by the butler, who has disappeared. Christie has stressed that he is astonishingly handsome, unusual in a butler, and Poirot notes a resemblance to Martin, so he thinks the mysterious man going into the house must have been him.
Incidentally, later Poirot assumes that Edgware’s change of mind was because he was involved in some scandal, and I believe Christie intends us to see the cause of this in his handsome butler, though this is not specified.
Meanwhile, Poirot has asked Japp to find out the provenance of the case found in Carlotta’s handbag, and it turns out to have been made in Paris, specially commissioned, and collected by a woman with pince-nez.
But then another murder occurs—that of another guest at the grand dinner, which provided Jane with her alibi. The victim is an actor who had been bemused when Jane, at a lunch, thought the Judgment of Paris referred to the city. He told Hastings he wanted to see Poirot, but was killed before he could get to the appointment. Poirot had rushed there when told about his request, but it was too late.
Meanwhile, Poirot has tried out the pince-nez on Edgware’s secretary, but she could not see through these. It was only a chance remark heard outside the theatre that led him to try them out on Wilkinson’s maid Ellis, a spare pair that had been appropriated for the night of the murders.
Poirot then lays things out, having summoned Martin and told him that he probably suppressed Edgware’s letter, as he had been dropped by then and he did not want Jane to marry another. But after teasing Martin, Poirot says that Jane was in fact the murderer, and she got Carlotta to impersonate her at the dinner while she went to the house and killed her husband. After meeting Carlotta later and checking with her through a call that she had
not been rumbled, Jane had gone ahead with the murder – she put veronal into her drink and the case with veronal into the handbag. She forgot to take out the pince-nez she had used earlier to imitate an American. Carlotta had registered as the American in a hotel and Jane had gone to see her, and there they exchanged identities. After seen the letter, she made use of it by tearing off the page that referred to her, and the S of She, so that the person who had challenged Carlotta to impersonate her seemed to be a man.
There is a coda in which Jane, condemned to death, writes to Hastings, still full of pride at her ingenuity hoping she will be remembered.
Features
Desilt reservoirs, learn from our ancient irrigation systems
by Prof. O. A. Ileperuma
Silting of reservoirs is a major problem today affecting our hydropower production and irrigation systems. The main Mahaweli reservoirs are silted to a considerable extent reducing the water holding capacity of them. Due to poor soil management practices, floodwaters deposit large amounts of silt in these reservoirs. When the Polgolla reservoir was fully drained about two years back, one could see mountains of silt in the lower reaches of the reservoir. A rough estimate is that 50% of the total capacity of these reservoirs has been lost to siltation. This is a serious issue which affects not only power and agriculture but also flood control.
Our ancient irrigation systems ensured that desilting of reservoirs took place under royal decree where all users of the reservoirs were ordered to carry out desilting of reservoirs during the dry season. The clay thus collected was used in making bricks for the construction of great stupas which dot the landscape of our ancient kingdoms. This ensured that the reservoirs had their full capacity filled with water for the next cultivating season. Our ancient kings were clever enough not to construct reservoirs by blocking main rivers such as the Mahaweli. A classic example is the Minipe left canal where they tapped only the surface water of Mahaweli. Even the bigger tanks such as Nuwara Wewa and Parakrama Samudraya were fed with minor rivulets. There were also other ingenious features in the cascade irrigation systems built by the ancient kings, such as mud sluice canals and forest reservations between the reservoirs in the cascade system. These reservations helped trap silt and remove excess nutrients, which could otherwise contribute to increasing salinity as water flowed from one reservoir to another.
- Parakrama Samudraya
- Kalawewa
- Kotmale
A classic engineering marvel is the former Yoda Ela, which carries water from Kalawewa to Nuwara Wewa and Tissa Wewa. It is 87 km long although the straight distance between these points is only about 40 km. The gradient of this canal is about 10 cm per km or 6 inches per mile. Yodha Ela functions as a moving reservoir and feeds about 4,600 hectares of paddy lands. It is a winding canal with about 120 smaller reservoirs on its way. It was constructed during the reign of King Dhatusena around 459 AD and later expanded by King Parakramabahu by connecting more reservoirs to the network. Unfortunately, during the Mahaweli project our modern-day engineers constructed a concrete canal replacing the winding path of this Yoda Ela also called Jaya Ganga. This effectively removed the ability of the old Yoda Ela to remove silt and nutrients. The bank of this Ela has wet zone trees such as jak and areca nut growing well. They take up the nutrients from the flowing stream making the water suitable for irrigation later.
Ancient Mesopotamian civilisations depended on dams constructed along the two main rivers, Euphrates and Tigris. After continuous irrigation of their fields over several thousand years, salinity of the irrigated lands increased making them unsuitable for agriculture. People died due to famine and this clearly illustrates the danger of blocking main rivers for agriculture. There is scientific evidence that the salinity of paddy soils in the Mahaweli C area is increasing.
We saw the devastation caused by Cyclone Ditwah. The sluice gates of the Kotmale Reservoir were opened, and Kandy and Peradeniya were flooded. If the reservoir had had greater storage capacity, couldn’t the opening of the gates have been delayed? This may not be an argument that modern-day engineers would readily accept, and I am not an irrigation expert. These ideas may well be naïve. But most of us tend to think of reservoirs mainly in terms of hydropower generation and irrigation, while their role in flood control receives much less attention. The question therefore deserves serious consideration. Could restoring lost reservoir capacity through desilting help improve our ability to manage extreme rainfall and reduce flood risks?
Desilting our reservoirs should be considered a national priority.
Features
Losing out to Ethiopia
Export diversification – Missing the wood for the trees – Part III
by Gomi Senadhira
In Sri Lanka, the word “Ethiopia” is often used as disparaging slang to describe individuals or areas experiencing extreme poverty, starvation, or severe economic hardship. This linguistic habit originated in the 1980s with the Western media coverage of the devastating Ethiopian famine of 1983-85. That media coverage shocked the world but also left an outdated and offensive global stereotype that the country is permanently starving. Much has changed since then. By now, with an annual growth rate of around 9%, it is the fastest-growing economy in sub-Saharan Africa. Ethiopia has also emerged as a highly competitive exporter and is challenging not only its competitors in the region but also countries like Sri Lanka. This article is on how Sri Lanka has lost ground to Ethiopia (and a few other countries) in the GCC markets for agricultural and floricultural products.
Sri Lanka – A Pioneer in the Agriculture and Floricultural Market in the GCC
As discussed in Part II of this article, by the mid-1980s Sri Lanka had established a strong foothold in the GCC’s fruit, vegetable, and floricultural market. Geographical proximity and well-established shipping and air links gave Sri Lanka a strong comparative advantage over Southeast Asian and African nations. Thailand, Vietnam, and Kenya were not even in the market. At that time, Ethiopia was experiencing (as BBC news reports described) “a biblical famine”.
The market was not very large, but it was lucrative and growing. Trade Minister Lalith Athulathmudali as well as the Chairman of the Export Development Board, Victor Santiapillai, who visited Kuwait (and the GCC countries), recognised the market potential for these products and encouraged us to continue with our work. The minister was particularly keen to further develop links between the market for these products, exporters, and his Export Production Villages (EPVs). So, it was becoming a successful case not only for export diversification but also for transferring gains from exports directly to rural households.
From Trailblazer to Tailender
As a result, even by the beginning of this century Sri Lanka had a larger market share than most of its competitors from Asia or Africa. But since then, our competitiveness has weakened significantly. The tables below provide a comparative snapshot of Sri Lanka’s performance vis-à-vis Thailand, Vietnam, Kenya and Ethiopia in the GCC market for vegetables, fruits and floricultural products. As illustrated therein, in 2001 Sri Lanka was ahead of Thailand, Kenya and Ethiopia in this small but rapidly growing market. Since then, we have fallen behind Thailand, Kenya and many other countries in that lucrative market. If this trend continues, Sri Lanka will fall behind Ethiopia within the next few years. (See Table 1)
In the GCC market for vegetables (covered in HS chapter 07), Sri Lanka was ahead of most other competitors in 2001. As illustrated in Table 1 , Sri Lanka had failed to develop this market, while Thailand, Kenya, and even Ethiopia had very efficiently increased their market shares. The GCC is a market to which Sri Lanka can supply some vegetables, like cabbages, by sea. It appears Sri Lanka had also failed to exploit this mode of supply.
We can see a similar trend in the market for fruits. Vietnam, Kenya, and Thailand have emerged as major players, while exports from Sri Lanka have staggered on slowly. In this segment, Vietnam has emerged as a leading player during the last twenty years and the GCC imports from Viet Nam have shot up from US$44 thousand in 2001 to US$346 million by 2024. In part one of these articles, I discussed the remarkable increase of jackfruit exports from Vietnam “…just $3 million in 2015 to an impressive $236.8 million in 2023” while most of our jackfruit production rots under the trees. This explains how countries develop their markets, geographically and product-wise. (See Table 2)
Sri Lanka’s performance has been weakest in the market for floricultural products (HS Chapter 06), which groups live trees, cut flowers, and ornamental foliage. When we first entered the market in the 1980s, the market was dominated by the Netherlands, and Kenya and Ethiopia were not even in the market. At that time, we identified the Gulf states as a market where Sri Lanka could have a dominant presence due to geographical proximity. Even in 2001, Sri Lanka was ahead of Kenya, Ethiopia, and Thailand. But by now, Kenya has emerged as the dominant supplier. Ethiopia is also expanding its market share and is the third-largest exporter. (See Table 3)
Missing the Wood for the Trees
In the mid-1980s, Sri Lanka first established its foothold in the GCC market. Since then, Thailand, Vietnam, Kenya, and even Ethiopia have moved well ahead of us and have become leading players. Why did we lag behind in our export diversification efforts in general and, more particularly, in the GCC market?
The reasons are very clear. After the initial attempts in the 1980s and early 1990s, Sri Lanka has not been proactively involved in identifying, developing, and promoting new products and markets, or protecting and further developing new markets already established. The focus has simply been on traditional exports: tea, coconut, cinnamon, and garments, while other products were almost ignored. In essence, we have been and continue to focus intensely on a narrow group of products and markets, and we have lost sight of the bigger picture.
(The writer can be reached at senadhiragomi@gmail.com)
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