Features

30 Eggs, Bawa’s Breudher Pan and a Culinary Who Did It?

Published

1 week ago

2026/10/11

Nineteenth-century Dutch tulband mould Photo Captions for Photos 1-8 30 Eggs, Two Breudher Pans and a Culinary Who Did It Earthenware tulband baking mould, 1850–1900, probably made in Gouda, Netherlands, and excavated at Torenstraat–Baansteeg, Enkhuizen. Glazed internally and sooted underneath, the mould was designed for baking over glowing coals, with provision for a fire lid carrying coals above. Courtesy of Manon Schooneman, Oudheidkamer Texel, the Netherlands.

From The Pathfinder Collection

By Jennifer Moragoda
jennifermoragoda@sltnet.lk

Let There Be Light

At Lunuganga, Geoffrey Bawa’s country home, a stone bishop stands along the passage from the entrance vestibule, crozier in hand and apparently illuminated from nowhere. Look up and the source reveals itself: a small angled shade, painted white and cut precisely to throw its beam down onto the figure. Channa Daswatte, Bawa’s protégé, told me that it was, in fact, fashioned from a sardine tin—a juxtaposition with the saintly figure that makes the joke all the more irreverent.

Bawa was also an avid collector of beautiful and unusual objects, and among those at Number 11 sits a well-weathered old breudher pan. Its dark, pitted lid contrasts with the worn coppery tones of its spiral-fluted body. The heavy, broad lid, the elegant fluted body perched on long, slender legs, and the small protuberance at the centre of the lid give it an unusual and distinctive appearance, whose logic becomes clearer when the lid is lifted to reveal the tall central column beneath.

Dutch earthenware broeder mould with lid An earthenware broeder mould with its lid, from the collection of Oudheidkamer Texel, the Netherlands, object OK-0726. The swirled flutes and central cone gave the cake its shape. Its closed cone sits below the rim, allowing the lid to seal the mould for cooking in boiling water. Photograph: Oudheidkamer Texel.

In Pettah, the old quarter of the city, the Dutch Period Museum holds another breudher pan, dating to about 1750–1800. Labelled simply as a “cake mould”, it is identified by Lodewijk Wagenaar in Cinnamon & Elephants as a broeder pot made of copper and tin. It follows the same essential logic as the Bawa vessel: a deep, fluted pan with a tall central column projecting above the rim and three sturdy legs. Unlike the Bawa pan, two prominent curved handles rise from either side and its rectangular legs are much heavier. Seen from above, its broad scalloped rim forms a distinctive petalled outline.

Though the museum vessel survives without a lid, its broad upper flange could have accommodated one. If so, the arrangement would have differed from the Bawa pan: the upturned handles would have prevented a cover from fitting down over the outer lip in the same way. They may have helped steady one from either side. The details differ, but the essential features remain the same.

The provenance of these two vessels remains uncertain. Wagenaar does not mention where the Dutch Period Museum pan was made, although he notes that broederpannen occur repeatedly in eighteenth-century Ceylonese inventories and auction records. His research also shows how easily objects travelled through the Dutch maritime world: goods moved between Holland, Batavia, Ceylon and the VOC settlements of coastal India, while European and Eurasian households acquired characteristically Dutch utensils locally at auction. Their presence in Sri Lanka tells us where they were used and valued, but not necessarily where they were made.

: Bawa’s breudher pan, closed With the heavy lid in place, the central chimney is concealed. Photograph by Jennifer Moragoda

: Bawa’s breudher pan, open Geoffrey Bawa’s breudher pan at No. 11, 33rd Lane, Colombo, with its heavy lid lifted to reveal the fluted brass mould and hollow central chimney. Photograph by Jennifer Moragoda

: Bawa’s breudher pan, closed With the heavy lid in place, the central chimney is concealed. Photograph by Jennifer Moragoda

Built for the Hearth

The two pans reveal how breudher was once baked in Sri Lanka: they were designed for the hearth rather than the oven. The Bawa pan makes the engineering especially clear. Its thick metal walls enclosed the dough, while the long legs held the vessel above the embers and the heavy, close-fitting lid could carry hot coals, providing heat from above. Most ingenious was the hollow central column. It reduced the mass of dough through which heat had to travel while acting as a chimney, allowing rising heat to pass through the centre of the bread and out through the lid. The fluting increased the surface exposed to the heated metal while giving the finished bread its tall architecture. Together, these features distributed heat around, above and through the dough—in effect creating a miniature, self-contained oven within the hearth.

A traditional broeder mould from North Holland, made in Germany around 1880, offers a striking comparison. Shallower and made of earthenware, it shares with the Bawa pan a lid, central column and slanted fluting. German earthenware circulated widely in the Netherlands, so its place of manufacture need not imply a specifically German origin for the form.

Jacco Spil, General Director of the bakery museum in Medemblik, North Holland, explains that a domestic broeder could be cooked either in a special cloth bag or in a lidded mould. Other Dutch museum examples show that such broeders were traditionally boiled or steamed rather than baked directly over the hearth. The same general shape could also be used for tulband, a different, cake-like preparation baked in the oven.

A twentieth-century Broeder A finished Broeder, illustrated in the plate “Dutch and Portuguese Sweets” from the Ceylon Daily News Cookery Book, second edition, 1934.

The surviving Dutch moulds provide an illuminating contrast with the Bawa pan. They have the familiar central tube and fluted ring shape, but the examples examined here have no integral legs. The Bawa pan incorporates the requirements of hearth baking into the vessel itself: long legs hold it above the embers, the heavy lid can carry hot coals while enclosing the dough, and the central tube projects through the lid to channel heat through the centre. It is this integration of functions, above all the projecting chimney, that sets the Bawa pan apart.

The stone cardinal at Lunuganga The stone cardinal at Lunuganga, Geoffrey Bawa’s country estate near Bentota, Sri Lanka. The figure stands within an interior overlooking the garden and lake. Photograph by Jennifer Moragoda

As the hearth gradually gave way to the oven in Sri Lanka, the breudher pan dispensed with its legs and heavy lid, while the projecting chimney became unnecessary. The central tube was shortened to just below the rim, retaining its role in reducing the thick central mass of dough but no longer functioning as a chimney. The oven had taken over much of the work the old pan once had to perform for itself.

From Broeder to Breudher

English speakers might assume that the Dutch broeder means “bread”, especially since brood is the Dutch word for bread. But broeder means “brother” and can also refer to a member of a religious order. A nineteenth-century Dutch dictionary suggests that the food acquired its name because its rotund, plump shape recalled a stout monastery brother.

Rather than a single fixed preparation, broeder belonged to a broad, regionally variable family. Pagrach-Chandra records versions fried in a heavy pan, steamed in a covered mould as ketelkoek, or boiled in a cloth as Jan in de zak. The names broeder, boffert and Jan in de zak could also overlap in local usage. Such preparations are well represented in eighteenth-century cookery books.

In Ceylon, the Dutch spelling broeder persisted through Dutch rule and well into the British period. Breudher is the modern conventional Sri Lankan English spelling, while in Sinhala the bread has been known as burudala.

Deloraine Brohier places breudher’s origins in “Holland and the Hanseatic Towns of the low-country, and elsewhere in Flanders”. Wagenaar traces the name more specifically to West Friesland in North Holland, home of the VOC chambers at Hoorn and Enkhuizen.

Spil distinguishes between broeders made at home and those produced by professional bakers in West Friesland. The domestic version used a yeast dough, sometimes with currants. The bakery broeder, by contrast, was a baked round loaf containing currants or raisins, with a cinnamon-and-sugar filling at the centre. The Hoornse Broeder belongs to this baked tradition.

In parts of Friesland, boffert could also refer to a yeasted celebration cake baked in a tulband pan. Here the relationship to Sri Lankan breudher becomes closer still: an enriched, yeasted festive bread or cake shaped in a tall ring.

A twentieth-century Broeder Pan A fluted Broeder Pan, illustrated in the plate “Cooking tensils” from the Ceylon Daily News Cookery Book, second edition, 1934.

Beyond the Netherlands, comparable traditions existed in German-speaking Europe. The Dutch tulband and German Gugelhupf belonged to the same broad family of ring-shaped breads and cakes. Maria Riesin’s 1755 cookbook from Franconia, in southern Germany, contains sixteen Gugelhupf recipes, thirteen of them yeast-leavened. The Fränkisches Freilandmuseum, a museum in Franconia that has studied the manuscript, notes that one recipe calls for twenty eggs to a pound of flour—a ratio it describes as high but not unusual—while a “simple” Nuremberg version of 1733 used six yolks.

Thirty Eggs

Deloraine Brohier, in A Taste of Sugar and Spice, records a broeder recipe from what she calls the “Brohier Manuscript”, a slim, yellowed typescript titled Rare Recipes of a Huisvrouw of 1770, found in her father R. L. Brohier’s collection. It calls for only five components:

3 lbs wheaten dough
1 lb butter
1 lb sugar
¼ lb raisins
30 eggs

Dutch Period Museum breudher pan A breudher pan in the Dutch Period Museum, Pettah, Colombo, with a deep fluted body, hollow central chimney, two loop handles and three supporting legs. Photograph by Jennifer Moragoda

The recipe is scaled for a large batch, but its proportions are what stand out. One pound of sugar to three pounds of prepared dough is generous for a bread; thirty eggs are startling. Brohier makes clear that only the yolks were used, but even so, the quantity is remarkable.
The curious phrase wheaten dough specifies the flour type, a distinction that may have mattered in a local kitchen where rice and other familiar flours were more common than imported wheat. Yet the recipe says nothing about how the initial dough was made or what leavened it. A 1925 contribution to the Journal of the Dutch Burgher Union, appearing under the heading “Household Hints” as “How to make Broeder”, came from an unnamed female member described as “a much valued lady correspondent”. She notes that dough “can be purchased at any bakery” and would arrive “highly leavened”. The leavening agent used by eighteenth-century bakers may remain unknown, but plain bread dough clearly formed the starting point for breudher.

Breudher-making therefore begins where ordinary bread-making ends: with an already fermented wheat dough transformed through the laborious incorporation of butter, sugar and an exceptional quantity of egg yolks.

From there, Brohier’s instructions are quite clear. The dough is kneaded firm, then butter in pats is gradually worked in. The yolks follow one by one, each thoroughly incorporated before the next is added, and finally the sugar. Kneading continues throughout, alternating with beating or “clapping”; Brohier stresses that this gradual incorporation is necessary to keep the batter firm. The mixture is then placed in the pan and, if possible, left in the sun for half an hour to help it “bake lighter” before going into a “hot oven”. In modern baking terms, gradual enrichment helps such a rich dough retain its structure.

Elsewhere in the book, recalling Christmas in her grandmother’s household, Brohier remembers breudher-making as a whole morning’s work, with her grandmother and aunts “slapping and turning, spooning and twisting” the mixture by hand. Her recollection supplies the time and physical effort compressed by the recipe.

The same correspondent offers a series of practical hints for judging the mixture. If it began to “run”, she advised stopping the addition of yolks because the sugar still had to go in. Incorporating all thirty had been regarded by an earlier generation as “a triumph of culinary art”. She wonders whether success depended on what she calls “the excellency of the dough” supplied to the cook, or simply on the smaller size of village eggs; the reason, she says, “was not clearly known”. In practical baking terms, both could matter: how much yolk the dough could absorb would depend on its condition and fermentation, while larger eggs would contribute more yolk by weight.

Before the raisins were added, the mixture was worked until hollow bubbles appeared, which the writer took as proof that it had been successfully aerated. The desired result was “light and spongy”.

The basic formula proved remarkably durable. The Ceylon Daily News Cookery Book, first published in 1929, still calls for two pounds of dough and twenty yolks, almost exactly preserving the older proportion. Chandra Dissanayake records a three-pound, thirty-yolk version alongside later adaptations using fewer eggs, while Charmaine Solomon simplifies and broadens the formula further. Across the twentieth century, breudher remained recognizable even as cooks adapted it for economy, convenience and changing kitchen practice.

When Recipes Travel

The recipes diverge most clearly in their enrichment. Many domestic Dutch broeders contained little or no sugar in the dough and were sweetened only when served, while the Hoorn and Frisian baked versions were richer. In Sri Lankan breudher, sugar, butter and an unusually large quantity of egg yolks were worked directly into the fermented dough.

Eighteenth-century German Gugelhupf recipes show that yeasted breads or cakes could contain substantial quantities of eggs and fat. Sugar appears more sparingly in these older German recipes and remained expensive. Against that background, the pound of sugar worked into three pounds of prepared dough is notable—and may point elsewhere.

Brohier draws attention to the Portuguese taste for sugar and to the ways Portuguese and Luso-Eurasian foodways entered Dutch-Ceylonese households. Iberian confectionery—particularly the convent traditions of Spain and Portugal—also made conspicuous use of sugar and egg yolks. Together, these parallels make Portuguese influence plausible, perhaps less in breudher’s basic structure than in the degree of richness it acquired in Ceylon.

Many European men serving the VOC married Portuguese-Eurasian women in Sri Lanka and elsewhere in Asia, while cooks and others in colonial households often came from communities shaped by earlier Portuguese influence. Such households offered precisely the setting in which northern European baking traditions and Luso-Eurasian tastes might meet.

It is tempting to imagine that a well-loved festive bread—and perhaps even the specialized vessel used to bake it—travelled with people on VOC voyages, carrying something of home across oceans into unfamiliar places. In new kitchens it acquired new ingredients, techniques and meanings, becoming something more than the dish that had first set out.

(All photos are by the author unless otherwise noted )

All News Advertisement

Features

Matrimony in crisis: Economic volatility, youth outflow, and changing fabric of Sri Lankan families – I

Published

16 hours ago

2026/10/19

Thilina Walpola

by Prof. M. W. Amarasiri de Silva

Sri Lanka’s official crude divorce rate is among the lowest in the world, sitting at roughly 0.15 divorces per 1,000 people per year, which translates to about nine legally finalised divorces, daily, nationwide. However, legal scholars and sociologists emphasise that this figure does not reflect a lack of marital distress or separation. Instead, the low official number is primarily a result of the country’s stringent legal framework, complex judicial procedures, and deep-seated socio-cultural factors that prevent couples from seeking formal legal dissolutions.

A primary driver of the low official rate is Sri Lanka’s fault-based legal framework under general civil law. Unlike jurisdictions that allow “no-fault” divorce or swift mutual consent dissolutions, Sri Lankan civil law requires a petitioning spouse to legally prove specific statutory grounds in court, such as adultery, malicious desertion, or incurable impotence present at the time of marriage. Proving these fault grounds often leads to protracted, emotionally exhausting, and financially draining court battles, discouraging many individuals from pursuing a final decree. Furthermore, personal status matters for Muslim Sri Lankans are governed separately under the Quazi court system via the Muslim Marriage and Divorce Act, which operates under distinct statutory procedures.

Because navigating the formal legal system is so cumbersome and costly, hundreds of couples choose informal separation rather than court litigation. Living apart without legally dissolving the marriage on paper remains a common alternative, meaning official marriage registries undercount the true rate of domestic breakdown. Additionally, strong cultural norms, family expectations, economic dependencies, and social stigma—particularly affecting women—exert significant pressure on spouses to remain legally married even when cohabitation has permanently ceased.

Sri Lanka and other countries

Comparing Sri Lanka, India, and the United States reveals stark contrasts in divorce rates, legal frameworks, and societal attitudes toward marital dissolution. Statistically, Sri Lanka reports an official crude divorce rate of approximately 0.15 divorces per 1,000 people, annually, while India reports a rate of roughly 1 per 1,000. In contrast, the United States records a significantly higher crude divorce rate of around 2.5 per 1,000 people, with roughly 40% to 45% of first marriages ending in divorce. However, these figures reflect distinct judicial mechanisms and cultural expectations rather than a simple measure of marital harmony.

The primary legal distinction lies in the availability of “no-fault” divorce mechanisms. All 50 US.states allow no-fault divorce, enabling either party to dissolve a marriage by citing irreconcilable differences without assigning blame. India occupies a middle ground, where major personal law codes—such as the Hindu Marriage Act—permit divorce by mutual consent, provided the couple undergoes a court-mandated waiting period intended for potential reconciliation. Sri Lanka maintains the most restrictive regime among the three, requiring a petitioning spouse under general civil law to prove specific statutory faults, such as adultery or malicious desertion, through formal adversarial court proceedings.

Pluralistic personal law systems also shape how marital disputes are handled in South Asia compared to North America. Both Sri Lanka and India apply distinct personal status laws, based on religious or ethnic identity, such as Kandyan and Muslim laws in Sri Lanka, or Hindu, Muslim, and Christian personal codes in India. In contrast, the US relies strictly on uniform state civil codes for property division, spousal maintenance, and child custody, eliminating religious adjudication from the legal process.

Official divorce rates in Sri Lanka and India significantly undercount actual marital breakdowns. High legal costs, protracted court battles, and strong social stigma often lead estranged couples in both South Asian nations to choose informal, permanent separation over formal legal proceedings. In the United States, clear statutory procedures for asset distribution and custody arrangements encourage individuals to formally conclude their marriages through the judicial system rather than living in legal limbo.

Unmarried Sri Lankans

Data from the Department of Census and Statistics reveals that the proportion of the population that has never married has risen dramatically to over 40 percent. This shift reflects a major demographic transition characterised by delayed marriages, changing socio-economic priorities, and economic instability that has led many young adults to postpone or forego marriage altogether.

While both men and women are increasingly remaining unmarried, the trend manifests differently across genders due to distinct socio-demographic factors. Men generally marry at an older age than women—with the average age at first marriage rising toward 29 years for men compared to around 25 to 26 years for women. As a result, in younger adult cohorts, a noticeably higher percentage of men remain single at any given time.

Conversely, a different demographic dynamic affects women in older age cohorts. Sri Lanka exhibits a distinct gender imbalance in its total population, with women outnumbering men—there are roughly 93 males for every 100 females nationwide. This imbalance, combined with higher female life expectancy and significant labour migration of men seeking overseas employment, creates a structural shortage of eligible partners for women in certain age groups, contributing to a growing number of women remaining unmarried or living alone in later life.

The marriage expectations and ages by gender can be inferred through matrimonial advertisements in newspapers. Matrimonial advertisements, published in leading Sri Lankan weekend newspapers, offer a revealing look into the country’s shifting demographic trends and evolving marital preferences. These classified sections, traditionally placed by parents or family elders, rather than the individuals themselves, reflect a structured marriage market where personal expectations, economic security, and socio-cultural compatibility intersect.

The age profile of individuals advertised in these columns mirrors the broader national trend toward delayed marriage. For women, the typical age range featured in listings spans from 24 to 32 years, while for men, advertisers generally range between 28 and 38 years. Furthermore, advertisements for individuals in their late thirties, forties, or older have become increasingly common, particularly in notices seeking secondary marriages following a legal divorce or the loss of a spouse. The concentration of listings in older age brackets highlights how higher educational pursuits, career establishment, and economic challenges have pushed marriage further into adulthood.

Horoscope compatibility

Expectations detailed in newspapers emphasise a combination of traditional socio-cultural criteria and modern status indicators. Horoscope compatibility remains a fundamental requirement across a large majority of listings, alongside considerations of caste, religion, and regional background. Personal character is heavily weighted, with advertisements for men frequently specifying a desire for non-smoking, non-drinking partners, while descriptions for women routinely emphasise moral standing, domestic capability, and physical attributes.

Socio-economic standing and professional qualifications serve as primary benchmarks in prospective partner selection. Listings placed by women’s families heavily prioritise male suitors with secure employment in established sectors, such as medicine, engineering, law, management, or government service, alongside evidence of financial stability or asset ownership. Advertisements for men similarly seek educated and career-minded partners, though often balancing professional credentials with traditional family values. Notably, both publications feature a substantial proportion of listings placed by or seeking non-resident Sri Lankans and dual citizens, reflecting the strong pull of foreign residency and international mobility as desirable attributes in prospective matches.

Horoscope matching and dowry expectations in Sri Lankan matrimonial advertisements reflect a delicate interplay between longstanding cultural traditions and modern socio-economic realities. These two elements serve as primary filtering mechanisms during the initial stages of family-mediated matchmaking, helping families gauge spiritual alignment, family background, and long-term economic compatibility.

Horoscope compatibility remains a nearly indispensable prerequisite across a vast majority of Sinhala and Hindu marriage notices. Advertisements routinely include explicit phrases such as “send copy of horoscope with reply” or “astrologically compatible match sought,” underscoring the belief that planetary positions at birth dictate marital longevity, health, and mutual prosperity. Families often consult professional astrologers (nakath karayo) to compare charts (Janma-pathra) before engaging in direct personal meetings. Beyond general alignment, specific astrological conditions—such as Kuja Dosha or planetary placements associated with delayed marriage—are actively declared or sought out to ensure balanced pairings, making astrological clearance the first major gatekeeper in the proposal process.

Dowry expectations

Dowry expectations have undergone a significant transformation in contemporary Sri Lanka, evolving from explicit demands for wealth into subtle indicators of financial security and asset sharing. While direct references to cash or specific dowry amounts have largely disappeared from modern newspaper classifieds due to changing social norms, advertisements routinely signal material contributions through references to family assets. Listings placed by a bride’s family frequently highlight inherited residential properties, land parcels, vehicles, or substantial financial savings, framed positively as background assets rather than a mandatory transaction. Conversely, advertisements placed by grooms’ families often emphasise secure professional income and housing ownership, establishing an expectation of shared socio-economic parity between both lineages.

Ultimately, the portrayal of horoscopes and dowry in matrimonial advertisements illustrates how Sri Lankan families preserve traditional cultural safeguards while adapting to contemporary legal and economic environments. Horoscopes continue to function as an essential spiritual and psychological reassurance of harmony, while evolving dowry practices reflect a mutual investment strategy focused on helping young couples navigate modern economic pressures and establish financial stability.

Digital matrimonial platforms

Digital matrimonial platforms, dedicated matchmaking websites, and social media networks are reshaping traditional matchmaking practices in Sri Lanka. While the core objectives—securing compatible, stable, and family-approved partnerships—remain consistent, the shift to digital infrastructure has decentralised the matchmaking process, giving individuals greater agency while altering how personal data and socio-economic expectations are presented.

Specialised digital matrimony sites, such as Poruwa.lk and Matchmaker.lk, have modernised print classifieds by replacing brevity with structured digital profiles. Unlike newspaper advertisements, which are constrained by line limits and word costs, digital profiles allow candidates, or their families, to upload detailed personal biographies, verified educational certificates, career histories, and multiple photographs. Privacy controls on platforms, like Poruwa.lk, allow users to restrict photo visibility and obscure contact details until a mutual interest is established, offering safety and discretion that public newspaper columns cannot provide.

Social media platforms, particularly dedicated Facebook groups and WhatsApp channels, have democratised proposal exchanges across urban and rural demographics alike. These informal digital groups allow families and self-registering candidates to post notices directly without incurring publishing fees or relying on commercial matchmaking brokers. The interactive nature of social media enables direct messaging between interested parties, reducing the initial lag time typical of postal or phone responses generated by newspaper listings.

Digital matchmaking has also transformed how traditional criteria like horoscopes and dowry assets are handled. Many online platforms integrate digital horoscope software directly into their search filters, enabling automated chart matching before contact is initiated. Similarly, asset preferences are often communicated through structured fields detailing property ownership, foreign residency status, or career mobility, rendering explicit dowry discussions obsolete. By streamlining preliminary vetting, digital platforms allow Sri Lankans, especially young professionals and expatriates, to balance traditional familial expectations with modern efficiency.

Family-mediated marriages

While subtle differences exist in framing, with a popular English weekly in Sri Lanka leaning toward urban, English-speaking, and expatriate circles, and its Sinhala counterpart serving a wider Sinhala-speaking demographic, both mediums demonstrate that family-mediated marriage in Sri Lanka remains deeply anchored in structured compatibility, educational status, and long-term financial security.

Socio-economic factors also drive these decisions differently across genders. For many men, the financial burden of establishing an independent household, securing stable employment, and meeting traditional expectations of financial provision causes prolonged delays in marriage. For women, expanded educational attainment and changing lifestyle expectations mean that marriage is increasingly viewed alongside career goals or personal independence, rather than as an immediate or mandatory life milestone.

The severe economic volatility and escalating inflation experienced in Sri Lanka have acted as direct catalysts in altering traditional family planning and delaying marriage. Establishing a new household requires significant upfront capital, including funding wedding ceremonies, housing deposits, and securing household goods. With sharp rises in the cost of living and persistent real wage stagnation, young adults face immense financial barriers, prompting couples to postpone marriage or avoid formal marital commitments until economic conditions stabilise. (To be continued)

Features

What nature knows that humanity has forgotten

Published

17 hours ago

2026/10/19

Thilina Walpola

Urban development

by Dr Debapriya Mukherjee
Former Senior Scientist
Central Pollution Control Board

Human beings often treat nature as an unlimited storehouse, clearing forests, polluting rivers and degrading soil for immediate gain. Animals and plants, without environmental policies or scientific knowledge, survive through relationships with their surroundings and other forms of life. An elephant needs connected habitats; a bee depends on flowers; a tree supports organisms while drawing nutrients from the soil. Humans can understand these connections, yet too often act as if their consequences did not concern us.

Elephants remind us that habitats cannot survive as isolated islands. Elephants disperse seeds and shape vegetation through feeding. Roads, railway lines, mines and settlements can obstruct their movements, increasing the risk of accidents and encounters with people. An elephant entering a village may reflect not only animal behaviour but also habitat fragmentation or changes in access to food and water. Protecting elephants therefore means conserving the corridors connecting essential habitats, not merely preserving separate patches of forest.

Vultures reveal the value of nature’s unsung services. These scavengers consume carcasses and help remove decaying animal material. India’s vulture crisis, linked particularly to exposure to the veterinary drug diclofenac, showed how a chemical used for one purpose can disrupt a distant ecological process. A creature often dismissed as unattractive may perform a service whose loss has far-reaching consequences.

Bees and bats reveal the biological foundations of food security. Bees pollinate many crops and wild plants. Certain bats also pollinate flowers, disperse seeds or consume insects. Habitat destruction, pesticide exposure and loss of food sources can threaten these contributions. Agricultural success cannot be judged by yield alone; the health of pollinators and the wider landscape also matter.

: Frog

: Bee

Frogs can warn us of environmental disturbance. Many amphibians have permeable skin and depend on both aquatic and terrestrial habitats. Some populations are sensitive to pollution, pesticides, habitat loss and disease. Frogs also consume insects and provide food for birds, snakes and other animals. Their decline does not identify a particular pollutant by itself, but it can warrant investigation. A pond may still hold water while losing important elements of ecological health.

Earthworms and termites reveal the living world beneath our feet. Earthworms contribute to soil structure and organic-matter decomposition. Termites recycle plant material and influence soil formation in many environments. Alongside fungi and bacteria, these organisms sustain processes essential to soil health. This matters to agriculture: applying cow dung or vermicompost does not guarantee a good crop if soil conditions and nutrient requirements are unknown. Agricultural inputs should be chosen according to soil properties, water availability and crop needs.

“Elephants remind us that habitats cannot survive as isolated islands. Elephants disperse seeds and shape vegetation through feeding. roads, railway lines, mines and settlements can obstruct their movements, increasing the risk of accidents and encounters with people.” (A file photo by picture by Dilum Alagiyawanna.)

Mangroves

Fig trees and native grasses show why conservation must respect each habitat’s character. Many fig species depend on specialised fig wasps for pollination, while their fruits feed birds, bats and other animals. Native grasses provide food and shelter for insects, birds and grazing animals. Planting trees everywhere is therefore not necessarily ecological restoration. Converting natural grasslands into tree plantations can damage habitats adapted to open landscapes. Conservation must protect the ecosystem suited to each place, not simply increase tree numbers.

Mangroves and wetland plants provide natural protection. Mangroves support wildlife, trap sediments in suitable conditions and can reduce wave energy and coastal erosion. Wetlands store water, provide habitat and cycle nutrients; some also help moderate flooding. Neither can prevent every cyclone or flood, but destroying these systems without assessing their functions may increase risks and the cost of protecting communities.

Nature is not a world of perfect cooperation. Predators hunt prey, plants compete for sunlight, and organisms sometimes harm one another. Its lesson lies instead in interdependence, environmental limits and the consequences of disruption.

Development is often measured through roads built, buildings completed and economic returns. These achievements matter, but the picture is incomplete when ecological damage is ignored or its costs are transferred to other communities. Science enables us to examine impacts before approving projects, protect wildlife corridors before they are severed, test soil before choosing inputs and assess wetlands before filling them. Knowledge, however, protects nature only when it influences decisions.

Nature does not ask humanity to abandon progress. It asks us to distinguish genuine progress from activities that destroy their own ecological foundations. A vulture, frog, bat, termite or fig tree may seem insignificant in isolation; their importance emerges through the processes they sustain.

The living world offers no simple moral sermon, but a scientific truth: a civilisation that neglects the ecological relationships sustaining life ultimately undermines its own future.

Features

Man Behind the Music: Ananda Ganegoda and Singlanka

Published

17 hours ago

2026/10/19

Thilina Walpola

Ananda Ganegoda

A tribute to the man who believed Sri Lankan music deserved the very best

by Vindana Ariyawansa

Some people build companies. Others build institutions that outlive them. When Ananda Ganegoda passed away last week at the age of 81, he left behind something far larger than a business: a cultural landmark whose logo sits on the cassette shelves of countless Sri Lankan homes, and whose songs many of us grew up with without knowing the man who made them possible.

For decades, his name and Singlanka were one and the same. Both stand for the belief that Sri Lankan music deserved the highest standard of quality in its content, its production and its presentation.

“Singlanka: the symbol of excellence in creation and of priceless perfection in finish!”

That was the promise printed in the company’s advertising, and Ananda Ganegoda spent his life trying to keep it.

A friendship that changed a life

In the 1970s, Ganegoda was already a successful businessman from an industrialist family, running enterprises alongside his brothers. Then he met pop singer Milton Mallawarachchi, and the friendship became a turning point.

Through Milton, he came to know many of the country’s most celebrated artistes. He admired them deeply, and they welcomed him into their circle. Before long, the businessman had become something rarer: a patron who supported the country’s artistic endeavours out of genuine love for them.

Worried for the artistes

By the late 1970s the audio cassette had become the most practical way to sell music, and many businessmen rushed into the trade. Ganegoda watched this with concern. He worried about what it meant for singers’ creative and financial independence, and whether the people who made the music would share fairly in its rewards.

At the request of leading artists, he decided to enter music production himself. He did it, by every account, without commercial ambition. His only intention was to serve the artists.

18 March 1980

Singlanka was founded on 18 March 1980 as a limited company. Its founding team was remarkable. Clarence Wijewardana, the celebrated singer and songwriter, joined it. So did the renowned lyricist Kularatna Ariyawansa, who gave up his government job to be part of the venture, and continued to this day as its creative director. Vijaya Ramanayake, owner of the Tharanga record label, took charge of distribution.

Dozens of veteran artists who were close friends of Ganegoda handed over songs they had recorded independently to be released under the new label. Many new songs were recorded under the guidance of Clarence Wijewardana and Vijaya Ramanayake. In April 1980, Singlanka launched with 25 albums at once.

The first cassettes were produced in Singapore and imported. Because Sri Lanka then lacked the facilities to print Sinhala on the covers, the first sleeves carried their titles and information in English. Listeners objected, and the albums were quickly re-released with new covers in Sinhala.

By December 1980, 15 more albums recorded earlier in the year had followed. That same year, the Singlanka recording studio opened in Nugegoda under Clarence Wijewardana’s supervision. Equipped with the latest technology, it produced the country’s first eight-track recordings. Ganegoda invested heavily in it, and with veteran recordist Dayananda Perera at the helm it became the busiest and most respected studio in the country.

One roof, one family

The year 1981 was a landmark for the company. Ganegoda held a strong conviction that artists should not be left at the mercy of a fluctuating cassette market, which made careers unpredictable and unsustainable. If he could give them stability under one roof, he believed, they could give their energy to their art instead of worrying about money.

So, he invited them to join Singlanka, and they came. Amaradeva, Nanda Malini, Victor Rathnayaka, Sanath Nandasiri, Milton Mallawarachchi, Gunadasa Kapuge, Priya Sooriyasena, Sisira Senarathna, Indrani Wijayabandara, Malkanthi Nandasiri, Clarence Wijewardana, Anton Jones, Abeywardana Balasooriya and Niranjala Sarojini became exclusive Singlanka artists. Sunil Edirisinghe, T. M. Jayaratna, Somathilaka Jayamaha, Karunarathna Divulgane, Deepika Priyadarshani, Janaka Wickramasinghe, Rohan Bulegoda and Dayan Witharana joined them later.

Singlanka also produced best-selling albums by H. R. Jothipala, M. S. Fernando, Desmond de Silva, Nihal Nelson and Vijaya Kumaratunga.

The journey was not without heartache. Some ventures did not bear fruit, and it pained him when a few artistes left the label over the years. But the majority stayed, which says something about the man they stayed with.

A company of firsts

Singlanka’s catalogue reads like a record of firsts for Sri Lankan music:

· In April 1981, it released the first film soundtrack on cassette, for Sunil Ariyaratna’s Vajira.

· That year it also released Nanda Malini Live in London, the country’s first live-recorded cassette.

· In 1982, Ganegoda began replicating cassettes in Sri Lanka itself, having previously relied on Singapore. Veteran musician Rohana Weerasinghe left his government teaching post to join the company in 1983.

· In 1983, Prof. Ediriweera Sarachchandra’s iconic play Sinhabahu was released on a double cassette. Noorthi and Nadagam Songs, directed by Punyasena Gunasinghe, followed as another first.

· In 1984, under Sanath Nandasiri’s direction, came Madhubani, the country’s first album of classical instrumentals and songs, launched with a classical concert at Colombo’s Tower Hall.

· The same year, Nanda Malini’s double vinyl album Sathyaye Geethaya was released. Vinyl was not in popular demand at the time, so the experiment was not continued.

· In 1987, one of Ganegoda’s dream projects came true with Dorata Waduma, an album by six talented amateur singers. It introduced the singer Deepika Priyadarshani.

· In 1987, Sansare Api became the first collection of songs written by a member of the clergy, the Venerable Rambukkana Siddhartha.

· In 1989, Dhammapada Geethaya set verses of the Dhammapada to song.

The famous Singlanka logo was designed by Charlie Chang of Singapore. It has since become a timeless emblem of quality Sinhala music. In its first decade alone, Singlanka produced 136 original albums, a remarkable achievement for a company built on original recordings.

A patron of the nation’s culture

Ganegoda’s generosity reached well beyond his own studio. During its first two decades, Singlanka contributed financially to virtually every prominent national artistic event in the country.

In the early 1980s he sponsored concert tours to the United Kingdom for Amaradeva, Sisira Senarathna, Indrani Wijayabandara, Sunil Edirisinghe, Malani Bulathsinhala, Sanath Nandasiri and Malkanthi Nandasiri, carrying Sri Lankan music to audiences abroad.

He supported the first Sarasaviya Film Festival at the BMICH in 1980, the University of Colombo Art Festival, the G. B. Senanayake scholarship at the University of Sri Jayewardenepura, and the Mahagama Sekara Memorial Festival. He supported the Amaradeva felicitation event, the Children’s Books Society’s book exhibitions and prize-givings, the Bandaranaike Memorial Foundation Fund, and the Charles Silva Gunasinghe Memorial Fund. He supported the Vesak Bhakthi Gee Festival of the Lake House Buddhist Society, the “40 Years of Sinhala Cinema” event organised by the film critics and writers’ society, Prof. Sarachchandra’s drama festival, and the Premakeerthi Tribute Festival.

He also helped launch Amaradeva’s Naada Siththam, Dharmasiri Gamage’s Sulan Kurullo, and the concert Mage Swarayayi Obe Ridmayayi by Victor Ratnayake and Premasiri Kemadasa. These are only some of the many occasions on which he quietly gave his support.

More than a company

Today, Ananda Ganegoda’s name and Singlanka are inseparable. Singlanka is more than a record label. It is a cultural emblem of Sri Lanka, one that preserved the country’s musical heritage and identity for a generation and set a benchmark that the industry still looks to.

He began as a businessman who befriended a singer. He became a guardian of Sri Lankan music, giving artists a home, a stage and the security to create. Most of the millions who have hummed those songs may never have known his name. But every time a Singlanka melody plays, his dream is still being heard.