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First leg of my postgraduate engineering studies abroad

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My journey from London to Toronto was on an Air Canada 747 jumbo jet. I had chosen a window seat while the middle seat beside me remained empty and a friendly woman sat on the aisle seat. Her English accent was unfamiliar, but I soon learned she was from Montreal, in Quebec—the French-speaking heart of Canada.

She spoke warmly about her country explaining its bilingual identity, its long winters, and its vast stretches of land. At that time, Canada had a population of only about 20 million (now over 40 million)—despite being the second-largest country in the world. She pointed out glaciers glistening beneath the plane, describing their majesty. Canadians, she assured me, were a welcoming people. Education, healthcare, and quality of life, she declared proudly, were all superior to what she believed one might find in the United States.

When she asked whether I had a winter coat, I admitted that a Lankan friend had lent me one although I had not packed it due to baggage weight limits. She nodded approvingly. “That’s wise. Styles change every year, and since it’s summer now, you’ll easily find a discounted one in Toronto.”

She explained that while parts of Canada endured some snow—especially in the central provinces—the west coast city of Vancouver enjoyed a gentler climate. Many Canadians dreamed of retiring there.

When we landed in Toronto, the kind lady stayed by my side, guiding me through immigration and even helping me find the right bus to the city. Before leaving for her connecting flight, she handed me her address and invited me to visit her in Montreal someday.

New life

After a week at New Hall in the University of Toronto, I was finally assigned a room at St. George College, where Siva and Surjeet also lived. This made life easier as I was no longer alone. I found that many Chinese students rented rooms in modest private homes nearby and to save money they often crammed two or three to a room—sometimes 10 in a house—sharing a single bathroom and a kitchen. Their meals were simple: dinner cooked as a group in the kitchen, breakfast skipped altogether, and lunch reduced to bread spread with peanut butter.

Watching them reminded me of the hardships faced by students in Maradana back in Sri Lanka. Yet, I admired the Chinese students deeply. They were disciplined and relentlessly hardworking, devoting nearly every waking hour to classes, libraries, or computer labs. Leisure was a luxury that they rarely allowed themselves to enjoy.

By contrast, my time at St. George was more colorful. Through Siva and Surjeet, I met others—among them Jim Retson from the Department of Law, his younger sister Mavis, a Master’s student in Speech Therapy, and Roberta, a fellow graduate student who was engaged to Jim. Our weekends filled quickly with outings, movies, road trips in Surjeet’s Volkswagen, and long hours of city exploration.

Pancake parties and beyond

Siva had a gift for cooking, often preparing sambar, a South Indian vegetable curry with a parippu base, which he served with white bread to anyone who dropped by his room. He was generous, never expecting anything in return. Yet one regular visitor, a South Indian day scholar named Paikyalingam, happily ate Siva’s food without ever offering reciprocal hospitality.

Sundays at St. George were special—pancake gatherings in a dorm kitchenette. Students brought flour, eggs, milk, and butter, flipped pancakes on the griddle, serving them with maple syrup. It was here I had my first taste of sweet pancakes alongside cured meats—bacon, ham, and sausage— to me a strange but intriguing combination. At these gatherings, Mavis grew particularly friendly toward me. Though I appreciated her warmth, I found her constant attempts to “correct” my English accent a little irritating.

From executive engineer to student

Before leaving Sri Lanka for graduate studies, I had risen to a permanent position of executive engineer at Richard Pieris and Co. Ltd. Shifting from the authority of that role to the humility of a student’s life in Canada was a difficult but necessary adjustment.

At the University of Toronto, my task was clear: complete the required coursework, and prepare and defend a research dissertation. Here, as a student, I found myself answering to people at every level. Back in Sri Lanka, I needed to obey only the chief engineer and the factory director. The contrast was striking.

Yet, my years as an engineer had been useful. Among my early projects was the development of a buffing system for rubber parts—an effort that would unexpectedly become my first brush with the field of Mechatronics.

My accidental exposure to mechatronics

When I was an engineering student in Sri Lanka, in the second half of the 1960s, we did not have digital computers in the university. When I was about to graduate, a main frame computer was installed in the faculty of engineering, University of Ceylon, Peradeniya. It was enormous in size and a large air conditioned room to accommodate it. Today’s desk-top personal computers (PCs) have more functionality, capability, and speed, and are far smaller and cheaper!

At that time, first we had to learn a programming language, typically FORTRAN, before we could use the computer. Even after that, we had to “punch” a deck of cards according to our program, hand it over to the person at the counter, and wait for many hours if not a day, to get a printout of the results. Often, such computer “outputs” showed errors (called, bugs) in the program, and the correct output would be forthcoming only after several iterations of correction, punching, re-submission and waiting.

To learn a programming language, we had to use the relevant manuals or books and unlike today, they were not freely available on line or even in library. The set of manuals for the university computer were kept under lock and key at the computer room of the University of Ceylon, and were carefully guarded by its manager.

Undeterred, I purchased a booklet on FORTRAN Programming, and carefully mastered it. Once I was ready to program the computer in FORTRAN, I had already graduated and was working as an engineer in a large factory. The company too did not have computers, but the chief engineer offered me a project related to computers soon after I joined the factory. Unbeknownst to me, that was my first and fortuitous exposure to rudimentary Mechatronics.

In my daily “walk through” in the factory, I noticed an alarming and hazardous situation. The factory had about ten “buffing stations” where the workers manually held rubber parts (the factory produced consumer items made of rubber, plastic, aluminum and steel among other things, in large scale) to spinning emery wheels, at buffing stations, and removed any minor artifacts in the parts, and also polished them in the process. The whole buffing area was full of rubber dust, and even though the buffing workers wore masks I was sure that they inhaled some of that dust daily. I asked the chief engineer whether we could improve the situation, and suggested two options: 1. Install a good ventilation system, 2. Redesign the buffing machines to be less hazardous. Fortunately, the chief engineer agreed, and told me “I will take care of the ventilation system, and you redesign the buffing machines.” He said that he would assign a foreman for the project, and I could acquire the needed parts and other material from the company’s Stores.

Little did I know, the particular foreman was typically a disaster, known to be lazy, did not want to do any work, and above all, did not like to take instruction or advice from others. The chief engineer just wanted me to somehow change the foreman’s habits and make him at least a bit productive, I suppose. Even though I was young and somewhat naïve, I resorted to some trickery with the foreman. I told him that I did not know much engineering, and I wanted to learn from him (even though I had a first class honors degree, with a practical final-year project, and topped the entire class of engineering at the university). He was quite flattered. I told him that I would recommend him for a bonus on completion of the project. During the project, I did not question his decisions, but tactfully corrected any of his errors that I noticed. So, gradually, he became a changed man and was quite friendly with me, while boasting to others that he could teach a thing or two to “these highly-paid engineers.” He was correct indeed.

The powers who designed the engineering curriculum at my university in Sri Lanka, had the foresight to plan for the future, proactively. The first two years of our engineering program were common to all engineering students (consisting of just Mechanical, Electrical, and Civil engineering students, at the time). Fortunately I learned electrical engineering and electronics as a result, even though my specialization in the final two years was mechanical engineering. So, in my main practical project after graduation, I embarked on Mechatronics.

I refreshed my knowledge in electrical engineering, and learned how to select an electric motor (particularly an induction motor), to properly match it to a load (which is the object that would be rotated by the motor). I learned the types of control that were available for induction motors. I brushed up my knowledge on the analysis of rotating bodies and particularly how to determine the torque versus speed curve of a load, using Mechanics of Machines that I learned in the university. Most of this study was done in the evenings, outside the normal working hours. Then I designed a hexagonal drum of appropriate capacity (doing some guesswork, based on the number of parts that were buffed in five existing stations in one hour and assuming that the new buffing machine would run for an hour to complete a batch of rubber parts) with the hope of gluing suitable emery paper in the interior. Then I estimated, with the help of the foremen, the weight of the drum with a full load of rubber parts. Finally, I calculated the moment of inertia of the loaded drum about its axis of rotation, and also determined a torque versus speed curve for it. That was the easy part.

A suitable shaft and bearings for the drum had to be selected from the company stores. The support structure for the drum had to be designed and fabricated, and a suitable induction motor had to be chosen. With eager help (and rigorous advice forthcoming) from the foremen, much of the design was completed except the selection of the motor. The motor selection was particularly difficult for several reasons. We had to depend on a few available induction motors (about four, as I recall) at the factory’s stores. No data sheet, manual, or even a standard torque versus speed curve were available (unlike today, when we can simply obtain all that information on line). Motor control involved simple start and stop, and at best, two-speed, “pole-changing” control. Unlike today, no sophisticated, variable speed, frequency control and field vector (magnetic flux vector) control were available then. Besides, an induction motor has to operate in its stable region, and the corresponding torque depends on the “slip,” which in turn depends on the motor speed. I had studied the analytical formula for the steady-state speed-torque characteristic of a 3-phase induction motor. I fitted all the available information of the available motors and estimated (crudely) the torque versus speed curve and the stable region of the motors. By painstakingly matching this curve with the load curve and allowing for a good factor of safety (to account for the numerous unknowns and uncertainties) I selected the best motor for the job, from what was available. The fabrication, assembly, and installation were the tasks of the foreman, technicians, and other workers. My job was primarily of supervisory nature during that activity. The enclosure and the ventilation system with a powerful exhaust fan were installed as well, but no “Mechatronics” knowledge was needed for that.

Fortunately, the project was a success, the workers and the management were very happy, and the foreman received a bonus (and a gratuity from me) and retired. A summary of the buffing process is as follows: Steam-cured sheets of latex is molded into rubber parts using a molding system. After cooling, the parts are placed in the drum. The motor is started and the exhaust system is operated. After an hour, the machine is stopped and a vacuum system is operated to clean the interior of the drum and its contents. A masked worker removes the parts into bins. The buffed (polished) parts are sent for inspection and packing. Many years later, I heard that the company had developed several such buffing machines and expanded the operation, but I was not involved in those activities as I was at the University of Toronto, carrying out graduate studies.

Paying Back to the Motherland

Computers, after all, are ubiquitous. Even at the Grade 8 level, rural students can be introduced to simple, computer-integrated projects in Mechatronics—at minimal cost. A computer education can be easily provided even to rural students. Figure below is just one example, where I had provided a computer room with several laptop computers to the rural school of Morahela, in the Badulla district. Beyond just the knowledge of using a computer, it is not difficult or costly to provide computer-integrated projects in Mechatronics even to Grade 8 students.

Exploring Mystic Toronto and Arrival of Winter

Toronto offered many attractions and activities. Public transportation—modern subways, trams, trolleys, and buses—made it easy to get around. For a small fare of twenty-five cents (at the time), one could explore the entire city, transferring between modes of transportation as needed. Weekend trips often took us to Ontario Place, a recreational park with open-air theaters, water parks, and a 3D IMAX theater. We also visited nearby islands, riding boats while enjoying “hot dogs” (sausages in buns). Jim, Mavis, Roberta, the French Canadian student Elizabeth (Liz) Campeau, and Anette Schiferl an American student who studied for a Master’s degree in Anthropology at the University of Toronto, often joined us in these explorations.

As winter approached, I bought a discounted coat, scarf, hat, and gloves from a store called Tip Top, just as the kind woman on the airplane had advised. The first snowfall thrilled me more than it chilled me—I ran outside, scooped up snow, and rubbed it against my face like a child discovering magic.

Groceries were affordable at the nearby open-air “Jewish Market.” One winter’s day, I walked there and back, with my gloves removed because my hands felt warm. When I returned to St George College, my fingers and ears had frozen stiff. Only after a hot bath and coffee did I feel normal again. Then I collapsed into bed. On that day I decided to buy earmuffs, a hat and scarf, as Mavis and Anette had wisely advised me to wear when venturing outdoors.

In Sri Lanka, I often suffered from sinus infections and allergies, but Canada brought me relief. What I did experience, however, was the common winter cold and nosebleeds. Alarmed one day at the sight of blood in a tissue, I hurried to the campus clinic (Canada had excellent healthcare. As a student, I could use any hospital or clinic at any time, free of charge). The kind doctor examined me in a fully equipped room, with the assistance of a nurse, carefully and thoroughly, and took me to his office after that.

“I know the problem” he explained gently. “Many Asian students face it in the winter. When you sneeze or clean the nose, your blood vessels can easily rupture. It’s nothing serious” he explained gently. “There is no medicine for a common cold, which you have. I will give you something to ease the pain.” The doctor handed me a bottle of Dimetapp syrup.

“As well, you can buy it over the counter, in a pharmacy” he said.

“How much is this?” I asked.

“Nothing. These are free samples that we get. In any case, the medicine is free for students” the attending nurse responded with a smile.

Friendship and Humor

Life in Canada became easier as friendships deepened. Over time, I adjusted to the Canadian life, including learning to cook basic Sri Lankan dishes for my friends, inventing recipes cautiously balancing spices, lime, and salt. In Sri Lanka, I went into the kitchen only when I felt hungry. I did not know how to cook. In Canada, often I treated the friends with “invented” dishes. Siva taught me how to make sambar. White Canadians rarely use spicy ingredients such as chili powder in their meals. My friend Bob, an Australian student, prided himself on his ability to eat spicy food. To test this, I prepared an exceptionally spicy meal. Although tears streamed down his face, he finished the meal, while cursing me in jest.

In the socials of St George, ballroom dancing and square dancing were common. We all participated enthusiastically in those activities. Notable here were Siva, Surjeet, Mavis, Liz, and Anette. Even though Bob used to be a chain smoker, he gave up smoking after peer pressure from our group. “If I don’t die from lung cancer, I am going to kill you” Bob joked.

Bob was a notorious beer drinker, who could easily beat all of us in it. One weekend I went to nearby pub with Bob. We ordered some beer, while Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” played on the jukebox. Young couples drifted onto the dance floor and engaged in ballroom dancing.

“Ask someone to dance,” I urged Bob.

“No, no, I can’t, you go,” he muttered. Despite his jovial spirit, Bob never associated women—dancing and romance seemed foreign to him. Mavis joked about this, and Siva scolded her for being unkind. Quietly, I agreed with Siva.

Rogues Like No Other

In Sri Lanka, I had not used computers. The coursework and research all were computer-based, in my new university in Toronto. This compelled me to learn at least two programming languages and become adept at using a computer. Consequently, I spent many evenings after dinner at the university’s computer center, familiarizing myself with this versatile tool. In interactive computing, which was a luxury then, typing commands into the computer felt akin to operating a typewriter, often straining my fingers after long sessions.

A course in modal control, taught by the respected Professor Edward Davison in the Department of Electrical and Computer Engineering needed a good knowledge in interactive APL programming. Since a homework assignment that needed APL was due the next day, I went to the computer room after dinner and used one of its interactive workstations to do the computations. Since the needed keying in of program commands was excessive, I decided to remove my Orient wristwatch and place it in my briefcase. After a while, I needed to use the nearby washroom. I went there after leaving the workstation on and keeping my briefcase near it. When I returned, I realized that someone had gone through the briefcase and stolen my wristwatch. I was quite disturbed, not because of the financial loss, but for the sentimental value of the watch. My parents had gifted it when I entered the university in Sri Lanka. I was looking for an Orient watch of similar model, and decades later found one at Hudson’s Bay shop at Richmond Mall in Vancouver.

Eyeing the South

“South,” for Canadians, means the United States (US). Siva made no secret of his wish to move there. My friend Anette Schiferl—warm, kind, mature, and from the US—told us a great deal about the US. I will never forget her kindness, for example, she volunteered to type my M.A.Sc. (Master of Applied Science) thesis, which was full of engineering analysis, on an IBM Selectric typewriter with changeable character balls.

Siva’s journey was unique. Unable to enter a university in Sri Lanka, he had joined the University of Birmingham in the United Kingdom, for the first degree and then had moved to Canada as a permanent resident. His desire was to join Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) and obtain an MBA. He described MIT as the world’s leading engineering university. It was very foolish for Sri Lankans to covet Cambridge and Oxford universities in England when MIT and Harvard universities in the US were much better, he quipped. I remember that as a kid I too had wanted to get my PhD degree from the University of Cambridge in UK, but when I grew up and entered the School of Engineering at the University of Ceylon, I preferred to get my PhD from MIT.

Even though I came first among all engineering departments at the University of Ceylon the leading university in Sri Lanka, obtained a first-class honors degree in engineering, and won the University Prize for Best Performance in Engineering, I did not get a scholarship to Cambridge. Siva’s response was blunt: “That’s your luck.” Indeed, fate has its quirks. It is an ironic twist of fate that Siva went to MIT years later and obtained an MBA, while I went to MIT and obtained a PhD, and years later went from US on a Senior Fulbright Fellowship to Cambridge, and obtained my second PhD and also ScD—the so-called higher doctorate from there. That is another story for another time.

Journey to New York

Siva loved the newspaper New York Times, buying it daily and reading it religiously. One day, he proposed a road trip to New York City in Surjeet’s Volkswagen Beetle. He corrected my pronunciation along the way: “peetza” not “pissa,” “Nu York” and “Folkswagen,” not “New York” and “Volkswagen.” Since I hadn’t driven in Canada and Siva lacked a driver’s license, Surjeet would drive the whole journey. Siva slept in the back seat while I rode up in the passenger seat, navigating by paper maps—this was long before cell phones and GPS. We left Toronto early in the morning.

Since we had to stop twice on the way for food and fuel (“fule” not “fooel” as Siva explained), and also because we had to repair an engine problem too, it was the early morning of the next day when we reached the city of New York. Even though it was a tiring trip, it was relieving that we reached New York without accidents. Our fate could have been disastrous, however. While driving to New York, Surjeet grew tired and momentarily fell asleep at the wheel. The car swerved to the median of the road, but I quickly grabbed the steering wheel, preventing a disaster. This close call shook us, and we made sure to stay awake for the rest of the journey, stopping for coffee and chewing gum, playing loud music, and talking continuously.

In New York, we stayed in the house of one of Surjeet’s Indian friends, who was very tidy and methodical. He scolded us for our carelessness during driving. We went to sleep without any food. In the late morning when we woke up, there were bread, butter, jam, and chicken curry for breakfast. Reheating and eating food that had been cooked before is a common practice among Canadians and Americans.

“The first slice of the loaf has to be eaten at the very end, or the bread will become dry” Surjeet’s friend advised us. “Hey man, would there be anything left to spoil after the four of us eat a loaf of bread?” Surjeet scolded the friend.

In the evening, we went to see an Indian cultural festival. That was held in a nearby field. There were chairs for the spectators. The stage was made of tables covered with carpets. Dressed in traditional attire, Punjabis performed martial art and dances. Surjeet explained that historically, Punjabis were heavily involved in military and defense of India and Britain. Religiously the soldiers were predominantly Sikh, not Hindu. The festival featured stalls selling Indian fare like poori, paratha, samosa, gulab jamun, halwa, barfi, kulfi (Indian ice cream), and drinks like sweet lassi, which we indulged in heartily.

The next day, we visited Times Square, Central Park, and walked along Broadway, renowned for its theater. Although tickets to Broadway shows were expensive, we managed to watch a play at an off-Broadway venue and also enjoy street food before returning to Surjeet’s friend’s home. There, we discovered a cabinet stocked with various liquor. When Surjeet inquired if we could try some, his friend offered him a glass of “Drambuie,” a honey-flavored liqueur. Surjeet, however, grabbed the entire bottle and quickly finished it, prompting his friend to lock the cabinet.

To show our gratitude for the friend’s hospitality, we prepared lunch the next day with ingredients that we purchased from a nearby grocery shop. For dinner, we explored Chinatown, where the food was exceptionally delicious. Enclaves like Chinatown are a common feature in major Western cities.

Return to Toronto

Early the following morning, we began our journey back to Toronto. Along the way, we encountered yet another mishap. A piercing siren echoed, and glancing through the rearview mirror, we spotted a police car approaching us swiftly, its red and blue lights flashing in an unrelenting rhythm. Surjeet veered off the highway and brought the car to a halt. A police officer, stepping out with measured precision, inspected us closely. Holding a phone near his mouth and muttering something unintelligible, he first noted down our vehicle’s number. He wore aviator sunglasses, and a pistol hung visibly on his left side. Unlike most Americans, there wasn’t even a hint of a smile on his face.

He demanded Surjeet’s driver’s license and the vehicle registration papers, and then asked, “Do you know the speed limit on this road?” Surjeet offered a sheepish smile without responding. The officer continued, “It’s 55 miles per hour, but you were driving at 80. The fine is $50. Pay it now.” Surjeet explained that we were Canadian students and had no cash. The officer mentioned that payment could be made using check or credit card, but when we admitted that we had neither, he stated, “In that case, mail $60 within a week, or face legal action.” He handed Surjeet a citation slip and left.

As we resumed our journey, Surjeet reassured us with confidence that American authorities had no jurisdiction to enforce fines on Canadian vehicles and would not proceed with any legal action. However, a month later, Surjeet received a letter from the New York State Court, informing him that he had been charged for non-payment of the fine and was required to appear in court. The letter also mentioned that he could settle the case by mailing $100 immediately. Sharing the cost among ourselves, we pooled the amount and mailed it to the New York court.

Reflections on New York

New York City lacked the cleanliness and charm of Toronto (at the time). Yet, upon our return, we realized it had an inexplicable allure. To a youthful and restless mind, the city represented a sense of joy despite its chaos. Knowing the challenges, the three of us resolved that living in the United States was worth pursuing.

After returning to Toronto, we discussed the allure of living in the United States. Highly motivated, we visited the US Consulate in Toronto and submitted applications for permanent residency (green card) in the United States. Three months later, Siva and Surjeet received letters of regret, stating that their applications had been declined. I received no response. Assuming that the response to my application had been lost in mail, I wasn’t particularly bothered. Then, about a month subsequent, a letter arrived from the US Department of Immigration, informing me that the first stage of my application had been approved. They requested additional documents for the second stage. I couldn’t understand why the applications of Siva and Surjeet had been rejected. Nevertheless, they genuinely wished me well.

After completing the second stage, including an in-person interview, I was granted permanent residency in the United States. However, I needed to relocate there to legalize my status. I hastily submitted the thesis for my Master’s degree (MASc) and successfully completed all the exams, including the PhD Qualifying exam, which was a requirement, at the University of Toronto. Then, skipping the graduation ceremony, I boarded a Greyhound bus to Cincinnati, Ohio, with dreams of a new beginning. Siva, Surjeet, Annette, and a few other friends accompanied me to the bus terminal to bid me farewell. Leaving Anette Schiferl behind left a heartache in me. I recalled that Anette, painstakingly, had typed my MASc thesis at the University of Toronto on an IBM Selectric typewriter. The typewriter came with character balls for special mathematical characters and Greek letters, which were needed for typing analytical research documents. Those days, there were no PCs, laptops or tablets. Also, Anette advised me to go to Cincinnati, not Boston first, because the University of Cincinnati was rich and I could easily secure a research assistantship from them. I too was eager to go to Cincinnati before Boston because Neil Armstrong, the first man who set foot on the moon, was a Professor of Aerospace Engineering at the University of Cincinnati.

Vancouver and Other Canadian Cities

British Columbia is a vast province in Canada, and Vancouver is its most prominent city, an incredibly picturesque place. That region enjoys Canada’s warmest winters, thanks to the “El Niño” phenomenon, which brings mild weather through the tranquil Pacific Ocean. Summers, too, are not excessively hot. Vancouver is surrounded by natural beauty, with the serene Pacific Ocean to the west, the Fraser River to the south, and mountains to the north and the east. The enormous Stanley Park is located in the city, similar to Central Park in New York.

Within minutes, one could be kayaking along the coast, rowing on a river, skiing on Whistler Mountain, or hiking up Grouse Mountain. Vancouver International Airport is a major hub of air travel, offering direct flights to key destinations in Asia and Europe. A short 15-minute drive takes one to the US border in the State of Washington. These factors make Vancouver a popular destination for vacationers. With Hong Kong’s return to the People’s Republic of China, wealthy Hong Kong entrepreneurs have relocated to Vancouver (mostly its suburb called Richmond) with money, causing a surge in real estate prices.

Victoria is the capital city of the province of British Columbia (BC), and is located at the end of an island called Victoria Island, off Vancouver. One needs to take a ferry or an airplane to go there from Vancouver. The provincial parliament of BC is located there. The architecture in Victoria is Victorian, and is similar to that of England. Victoria boasts the picturesque view of its harbor, China Town, Royal BC Museum, and a variety of fine restaurants.

Interactive Computer Facility at a Rural School in Morahela

Canada’s top universities are known to be Toronto, British Columbia, and McGill. McGill University is located in the city of Montréal, within the French-speaking province, Québec. I had the opportunity to visit Montréal for conferences. Québec is the only province where French is given priority. Road signs, advertisements, restaurant menus, everything is in French. Locals address you in French first and switch to English only if you cannot respond in French.

Despite this, most residents in Québec speak English fluently but prefer not to display it. The food, drink, and customs all follow French traditions. Montréal itself is a delightful city, home to over 2,000 restaurants offering cuisines from 30 different countries. Its notable landmarks include the St. Lawrence River, Mount Royal and Laurentian Mountains, and Notre-Dame Basilica. Winters bring heavy snow to Québec, while summers are warm and vibrant.

Ottawa, pronounced “Otawa” but sometimes referred to by foreigners as “Otāwa,” is the capital city of Canada, and is located in the province of Ontario. It is relatively close to Toronto and Montreal and is known for its cold climate. Country’s Parliament buildings are located in Ottawa, and are particularly striking and a key attraction.

Edmonton is the capital city of the province of Alberta and is also situated in a cold region. Known for its wealth of oil and mineral resources, Alberta is a prosperous province with a lower cost of living and taxation. Traveling by car from Vancouver to Edmonton takes approximately 14 hours via the Trans-Canada Highway. Along the way, it is common to spot wildlife such as bear and moose, which often approach the roadside, gazing at the people who stop their vehicles to admire them. It’s as if they are observing us, imagining our world to be part of their vast sanctuary. Interestingly, it is not uncommon for humans to act more uncivilized than these creatures. Feeding the wildlife is strictly prohibited. Edmonton is also home to a massive shopping complex that features a hotel and a water park. I had the privilege of visiting the University of Alberta in Edmonton as an invited guest speaker and also as an external examiner for PhD.

Saskatoon, the principal city of Saskatchewan, a central province in Canada, is notable for its large population of First Nations people (occasionally and incorrectly referred to as Red Indians). The city is surrounded by vast, flat plains and is known for its extremely cold climate. I was fortunate to visit the University of Saskatchewan in Saskatoon as an external examiner for doctoral programs.

The other cities that I have visited in Canada include Halifax and Truro in the province of Nova Scotia, St John’s in Newfoundland, and Winnipeg in Manitoba, mainly for conferences and visits to universities.

This ends my story about Toronto and Canada.

by Clarence de Silva



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Features

Forest cover loss threatens rare freshwater fish in Sinharaja streams

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Washbasin

When discussions turn to Sri Lanka’s freshwater fish diversity and the urgent need to conserve it, attention is often focused on rivers, streams, reservoirs and water quality.

Yet scientists are increasingly finding that what happens on the land surrounding these waterways can be just as important as what happens in the water itself.

A recent study led by researcher Janamina Bandara of the Wildlife Conservation Society, Galle, together with researchers Sudath Nanayakkara and Sahan Randeniya, highlights how changes in forest cover caused by human activities can significantly influence freshwater fish populations in the hill streams surrounding the Sinharaja rainforest.

Their research sheds light on a relatively understudied aspect of tropical freshwater ecosystems—how alterations to vegetation cover, particularly through commercial cultivation such as tea and cardamom plantations, affect fish communities inhabiting headwater streams.

Hidden Riches of Tropical Streams

Forest plant saplings

Sri Lanka’s freshwater ecosystems are globally recognised for their remarkable biodiversity and high levels of endemism. However, despite their ecological significance, many ecological processes operating within these habitats remain poorly understood.

“Freshwater ecosystems in the tropics harbour extraordinary biodiversity, but many of the ecological relationships within these systems are still not fully documented,” researcher Janamina Bandara told The Island.

The study focused on sub-montane streams in the Sinharaja landscape, examining how varying levels of forest cover influence freshwater fish assemblages.

Researchers investigated whether fish communities differed between streams flowing through relatively undisturbed forests and those surrounded by modified vegetation resulting from agricultural activities.

Spotlight on a Critically Endangered Species

Leaf litter bay / Restoration activities

Particular attention was given to the critically endangered Rakwana loach (Schistura madhavai), a highly restricted endemic fish species first described from the Suriyakanda-Rakwana region.

Commonly referred to as a hill-stream loach, the species inhabits clear, fast-flowing streams and is considered highly sensitive to environmental disturbances.

According to Bandara, while broad community-level analyses did not reveal dramatic differences across all fish populations, species-specific responses painted a very different picture.

“Our findings show that Schistura madhavai exhibits a clear preference for streams flowing through intact forest habitats,” he explained. “The species becomes less common in areas where surrounding vegetation has been altered by human activities.”

Why Forests Matter to Fish

Forests bordering streams play multiple ecological roles. They regulate water temperature by providing shade, contribute organic matter that supports aquatic food webs, stabilise stream banks and help maintain water quality.

When these forests are removed or replaced with plantation crops, the resulting environmental changes can cascade through freshwater ecosystems.

Bandara noted that altered forest cover can influence water chemistry, microclimatic conditions, stream-bed composition and the availability of food resources.

“As riparian vegetation changes, a series of environmental conditions within the stream also change. Sensitive species such as Schistura madhavai appear particularly vulnerable to these shifts and may gradually disappear from modified habitats,” he said.

The research suggests that even subtle changes in habitat structure can have disproportionate impacts on species with narrow ecological requirements.

The Importance of Looking Beyond Numbers

Schistura madhavai

One of the most intriguing findings of the study is that ecosystem degradation may not always be apparent when scientists assess entire fish communities collectively.

In some instances, environmental variables appeared to have little effect on overall fish abundance or diversity. However, when individual species were examined separately, clear patterns emerged.

For example, variations in the amount of detritus—organic matter that accumulates on stream beds and serves as a vital food resource—did not significantly affect the overall fish assemblage. Yet for certain species, including habitat specialists, such changes proved critically important.

“This highlights a key conservation challenge,” Bandara said. “If we only look at total fish numbers or community-wide patterns, we may overlook serious declines occurring among environmentally sensitive species.”

Indicator Species as Ecological Sentinels

The findings underscore the importance of using so-called “indicator species” in environmental monitoring programmes.

Indicator species are organisms whose presence, absence or abundance reflects the health of an ecosystem. Because they respond rapidly to environmental change, they can provide early warnings of ecological degradation.

The Rakwana loach appears to fit this role exceptionally well.

“Species with narrow habitat requirements often act as ecological sentinels,” Bandara observed. “Monitoring them can provide a much clearer picture of ecosystem health than relying solely on broad biodiversity assessments.”

For conservation practitioners, this means that protecting sensitive endemic species may also help safeguard entire freshwater ecosystems.

Restoring Streamside Forests

Perhaps the study’s most important conservation message concerns the restoration of degraded riparian forests—the vegetation growing alongside streams and rivers.

Researchers argue that restoring these streamside habitats should be a priority in freshwater biodiversity conservation efforts.

Healthy riparian vegetation provides shade, reduces erosion, filters pollutants, enhances habitat complexity and supports the intricate ecological interactions upon which aquatic life depends.

“The restoration of degraded riparian forests is likely to be one of the most effective conservation measures for protecting freshwater biodiversity,” Bandara emphasised.

Such efforts could prove particularly valuable in landscapes where agricultural expansion has fragmented natural habitats.

Awareness sessions

A Broader Lesson for Conservation

The study offers a timely reminder that freshwater conservation cannot be achieved by focusing exclusively on water bodies themselves. The surrounding landscape matters immensely.

From the mist-laden streams flowing down the Sinharaja foothills to the countless rivulets nourishing Sri Lanka’s river systems, the fate of freshwater biodiversity is intimately linked to the health of adjacent forests.

As conservationists grapple with accelerating habitat loss and climate-related pressures, the research demonstrates that protecting and restoring forest cover may be just as important as safeguarding the streams themselves.

In the case of the elusive Rakwana loach, the message is clear: save the forest, and you may save the fish.

For Sri Lanka’s unique freshwater biodiversity, that lesson could not be more important.

By Ifham Nizam

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Turning Promises into Justice

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File photo of lawyers protesting against the Prevention of Terrorism Act in Colombo

Sri Lankans have reason to take satisfaction in their country’s latest international achievement. Sri Lanka has climbed 14 places in the 2026 Global Peace Index to rank 67 in the world out of 163 countries that were assessed. At a time when global peacefulness is reported to be at its lowest level since the inception of the Index, and when more countries are experiencing deterioration than improvement, Sri Lanka’s progress stands out. The ranking reflects the country’s recovery from nearly three decades of war, its efforts to strengthen political stability and public security, and its resilience in overcoming the economic and political crises of recent years. The Global Peace Index assesses the strength of institutions, societal safety and security, and the capacity of societies to manage conflict peacefully.

The challenge is to consolidate the gains that have been made and address those unresolved issues that continue to cast a shadow over the country’s future. It is in this context that two recent announcements by the government assume particular significance. Foreign Minister Vijitha Herath has announced that the Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA), one of the most controversial laws in the country, will be repealed and replaced within two months. A report prepared by a committee appointed to make recommendations has already been handed over to him. According to the minister, the new legislation, to be known as the State Prevention of Terrorism Act, incorporates recommendations from civil society and is intended to comply with international standards on counter terrorism.

At the same time, Justice and National Integration Minister Harshana Nanayakkara has reaffirmed the government’s commitment to uncovering the truth about missing persons. During a visit to the Chemmani mass grave excavation site in Jaffna, he stated that the excavations should be completed expeditiously so that justice can be done and assured that the necessary resources have been allocated for the task. The excavations are taking place under judicial supervision with the participation of forensic experts, archaeologists, lawyers and representatives of the Office on Missing Persons. These commitments made by the government address two of the most contentious issues that have troubled Sri Lanka for decades. They also suggest that the government believes the country is now in a position to deal with difficult questions from its past rather than postpone them indefinitely.

After Breakthroughs

The timing of the pledge to repeal the PTA is particularly noteworthy. For many years successive governments promised to replace the law but failed to do so. Sri Lanka undertook to repeal it in 2017 as part of its commitments linked to retaining GSP Plus trade concessions by the European Union. Yet despite repeated assurances the law remained in force. The question therefore arises as to why the government now appears determined to act. One possible explanation is that the Easter Sunday investigations have reached a decisive stage. The investigation into the bombings that killed more than 260 people in 2019 appears to have made significant breakthroughs. If these investigations continue along their present course, it is possible that accountability will extend beyond those who directly carried out the attacks to those who may have facilitated, enabled or been part of a wider criminal conspiracy.

There is broad agreement within society that those who masterminded the dastardly Easter bombing must be held accountable and that the victims deserve the truth and justice. However, it is important that the process by which responsibility is determined is seen by the public to be fair, lawful and impartial. If those accused are convicted following a transparent judicial process that respects due process and the rule of law, the outcome is far more likely to gain acceptance across society. This is where the repeal of the PTA becomes important. A transition from a law associated with prolonged detention and exceptional powers to one that is more consistent with human rights standards would strengthen rather than weaken the legitimacy of the investigations. Accountability obtained through a process that is visibly fair will be more durable and less vulnerable to allegations of political motivation or selective justice.

The Chemmani excavations may also provide an example of how such credibility can be built. The process is taking place under judicial supervision and in full public view with the participation of independent experts. Whatever conclusions emerge, and follow up action is decided on, the process itself should command respect because it is transparent and accountable. The same principles can be applied to the Easter Sunday investigations. Public confidence is strengthened when investigations are conducted openly, when legal safeguards are respected and when the rights of both victims and accused persons are protected. The significance of these investigations may extend beyond the tragedy itself. There is likely to be an overlap between those who are eventually found responsible for the Easter Sunday conspiracy and elements of the state apparatus that exercised power during the final stages of the war.

Setting Precedent

For many years Sri Lanka has struggled to address allegations of wartime abuses. The issue has remained politically sensitive because it touches upon the conduct of those who were regarded by many as wartime heroes. Yet if the Easter Sunday investigations establish that senior officials can be investigated and held accountable when evidence warrants it, an important precedent will have been set. Once the deck is cleared through the Easter Sunday investigations and the judicial process that follows, it may become less difficult to address allegations relating to wartime abuses, including those connected to sites such as Chemmani where evidence is now being painstakingly uncovered. This would also strengthen Sri Lanka’s position internationally.

Since the end of the war in 2009, the country has remained under varying degrees of scrutiny by the United Nations Human Rights Council. In October 2025, the Council renewed the mandate of the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights to continue collecting and preserving evidence relating to past violations. The next review of Sri Lanka is due in September this year. The government now has an opportunity to demonstrate that Sri Lanka is capable of addressing difficult issues through its own institutions and according to its own democratic values. The commitments to repeal the PTA and to pursue investigations into missing persons can be seen in that light. Those who were victimized query as to what happened to their loved ones and to the information they know full well they entrusted to the government authorities and to the commissions of inquiry that were appointed. These are opportunities to show that accountability and national ownership can go hand in hand.

Reconciliation requires the difficult task of remembering truthfully. Too often Sri Lanka has sought stability by postponing difficult questions. Yet unresolved grievances do not disappear. They persist across generations and continue to shape political attitudes and communal relationships. Sri Lanka’s rise in the Global Peace Index is an achievement worth celebrating. But the true measure of peace is not only the absence of conflict. It is the presence of justice, trust and confidence in public institutions. The government’s commitments on PTA repeal, the Easter Sunday investigations and the search for truth regarding the disappeared suggest an awareness that old approaches have run their course. The government has an opportunity to break with the patterns of the past. The test now lies in implementation.

by Jehan Perera

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The burden, and also strength, of the critical scholar in the Humanities

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The biggest part of the challenge of a critical scholar in the humanities is having to engage critically with the very realities that define her existence as a social being. She cannot even begin to comment on the focus of her study without creating shock waves that would hit her own self in some form. One could argue that the scholars in the field of the humanities are part of what is being studied in one way or another. Critical scholarship in those fields entails destabilising the ground beneath their own feet.

An essential part of scholarly inquiry is being able to objectify what is being studied and examine it closely but at a distance, that, too, in a manner that scholar’s personal biases do not affect the judgement. Any failure to comply with this requirement immediately brands the study as unscientific. To try to understand this using an example situation, I would assume that a scientist who experiments with sodium and chlorine as chemical elements have the privilege of entering the experiment without any personal and emotional ties to either of the elements, placing one element in contact with the other without having to raise questions about her own existence, and observing and recording the outcome of the experiment without having to simultaneously examine what sort of implications the outcome has had for her as a person. The findings of the experiment may certainly advance her/him in the domain of science, but it is unlikely that the outcome of the study would result in any transformation within her as a social being.

The same privilege is not available for the (critical) scholars in the humanities. What chemical elements are for the scientist, the different social, political, cultural, gender, ethnic, racial, and religious identities are for those in the humanities. What the controlled, and also largely predictable, laboratory environment is for the scientist, the uncontrolled, even erratic, society is for those in the humanities. What the scientific experiments where the composition and behaviour of the individual chemical elements are explored is for the scientist, a close examination of phenomena and topics that cut across the categories of the social, the political, the cultural, and the religious is for those in the humanities.

The relatively clear differentiation or separation that is there between the scientist’s personal space and the laboratory setting where she conducts her research is not there in the case of her counterpart in the humanities. The latter does not have a separate laboratory setting that she can step into from her personal space, as the social space, which is her site of research, has her personal space already embedded in it. The freedom that the scientist has to cut herself off from what shapes her existence as a social and political being, as she enters her laboratory, is not available for her counterpart in the humanities, for the simple reason that the social and the political, which define her life outside her research, is also at the core of what they engage with in their research. Even in a setting where the latter locks herself up in a room and cuts herself off from the rest of society, the social and the political continue to define both her perspective and the object of study. Even the most effective scientist (but may not be the ideal scientist) has the option of taking her life, defined by the social, the political, the cultural and the religious, for granted, as her success is measured purely on the basis of her scholarly output; however, even the most ineffective scholar in the humanities would have to acknowledge the nexus between her personal life and her scholarly life, explicitly or implicitly, and her engagement with the chosen object of study will entail some sort of an engagement with her existence.

To use an example from the field of language studies which my work is primarily in, New Varieties of English, like what is called Sri Lankan English, is a topic that I try to engage with in both my teaching and research. Approached from a critical point of view, Sri Lankan English as a New Variety of English is more a political category than a linguistic one. The claims that you make may be based on linguistic evidence, but the conceptualisation of a separate form of English as Sri Lankan English even on the basis of objective linguistic evidence is primarily a political claim. The creation of such a category invariably results in a reconfiguration of the linguistic terrain of the country. Every claim that is made in favour of Sri Lankan English as a category results in a certain destablilisation of Sinhala and English, which are my first language and second language respectively, and the tense relations between which two languages have shaped my identity in a fundamental way. It is not only the two languages that get shaken; the broader ethnic identities that are associated with the two languages also undergo transformation, and this transformation certainly has an impact on who/what I am.

Even when I find the case for Sri Lankan English to be convincing, I feel compelled to word the arguments carefully. This feeling of compulsion to word the arguments carefully is certainly in recognition of the need to make academically-sound arguments; however, in addition to that, it has also to do with my position outside the social class which has traditionally been seen as having proprietary rights over the language. In that setting, I am less of an academic with an objective mindset than of a strategist who is enmeshed in the ethnic and class relations that define the topic of Sri Lankan English. At the same time, in a context where one’s knowledge of English is a primary determiner of her success in society and what is predominantly valued is the so-called proper forms of English, I have had to ask myself if any claims, including the most convincing, academically-sound ones, in the direction of legitimising Sri Lankan English should not be with caution.

I have also had to reconcile between two seemingly contradictory positions involved in making a case for Sri Lankan English, especially in the context of an English Honours programme, that, too, at a leading university in the country. On the one hand, making a case for Sri Lankan English entails encouraging deviation from the established norm/s of the language; on the other hand, considering the nature of the programme, the need to require the students to make that case using a normative form of English that would be recognised internationally could not be overlooked. At one level, this seeming contradiction could easily be dismissed as hypocrisy, but a closer and more serious reading of the situation would see in it a certain “maneuvering” and “negotiating” that the scholars in the discipline of English Studies stationed in peripheral contexts like ours are constrained to undertake in their engagement with the topic at hand. Although the arguments that get made have the appearance of truth, a close analysis of those arguments would indicate a certain identity politics that is being played. This identity politics has a direct bearing on the identity of the scholar who engages with the topic.

Accordingly, to make a claim in the humanities from a critical point of view is also to question in some form what defines one’s own identity, and this may not be the most comfortable undertaking for many of us in the field. This explains, at least to a certain extent, why some scholarly engagements with history results in mere glorifications of the mainstream historical narratives; why some scholarly engagements with literature and language results in a mere celebration of the mainstream literary traditions and hegemonic languages; how some scholarly engagements with the idea of culture directly subscribe to the position that culture should always be preserved and celebrated. Such approaches leave the status-quo largely untouched, and therefore the amount of unsettling that the scholars have to deal with is minimal. How much value that they are in a position to add to the existing scholarship, of course, is a question.

Any act of critical scholarship in the field of the humanities entails the scholar having to challenge in some form what defines her personal existence. This may not be the most comfortable move to make, but that is the only way the scholar could try to make a contribution of value to the field. It is important that this dilemma that the critical scholars in the humanities have to go through is recognised for what it is.

(Nandaka Maduranga Kalugampitiya is attached to the Department of English, 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 Nandaka Maduranga
Kalugampitiya

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