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Hard times and finally making the grade

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Anna Maria worked as a cleaner to help tide us over

I was admitted to practice as a barrister and solicitor of the Supreme Court of Victoria on December 1, 1971. My dear friend, Ronnie de Kretser, was a partner in the firm of Weigall and Crowther, and he arranged for my admission to be moved by Robert Brooking Esq., QC, later Justice Brooking, and a young barrister by the name of Tim Smith, later Justice Smith.

I arrived for work the following Monday and was shown into my office. This was the second shock I received in the space of just over one month. It was not a room but a little cubicle about 10 feet long and six feet wide. It was the space between the boardroom and the main office complex. A large filing cabinet was placed by its entrance and next to it was a small desk and chair for me to use. The only redeeming feature of the cubicle was the large window to the left of my desk which ran all the way from floor to ceiling and looked down onto Lonsdale Street. Little did I realise that I was soon to spend many an unhappy hour looking disconsolately at that view.

Shortly after I settled down, Max bustled in with a dictating machine and several files. He opened the filing cabinet, popped several of the files onto my desk and gave me one to peruse. Each file contained a letter from the insurance company together with an accident report and an investigator’s report. I proceeded immediately to advise. Things were really beginning to look up.

One drawback was that neither Max nor Oscar had told me what they wanted of me, nor what I was required to do. As an advocate/ barrister in Ceylon, my advices were long and learned. I analyzed the facts in detail and wrote learned advices on the law when I was briefed to advise clients. I decided to follow my Ceylonese practice and provided the managers of these insurance companies with a comprehensive advice with regard to each file.

I was completely unaware that all the managers of these insurance companies wanted was to know whether they were liable to indemnify the insured, and what amount they had to pay. Neither Max nor Oscar told me that my advices were completely inappropriate to the extent that I was spending far too much time on each individual report. Instead, they tore my letters of advice to shreds. They even corrected my English in ways that were almost impossible to comprehend.

Let me give you an example of how pedantic these gentlemen were. On one occasion I had written: “The duty of an occupier to take care is …” The letter came back with my words scored off and replaced with the following words: “An occupier’s duty to take care is …”

I thought to myself, “Good God, I took Second-Class Honours in law at Cambridge, and had to come out to the colonies to have my English corrected!” This happened every day and my letters of advice came back completely mutilated so I had to rewrite them in my principal’s English. A few years later I showed these mutilated advices to my dear friend Louis Voumard QC and he was horrified.

But this was the least of my worries. Max treated me with contempt from the commencement of my employment. There was nothing racist in his treatment of me, for Max treated all his employees with contempt. He was a second-class bully (it would be insulting to call him a first-class bully). Many years later I was discussing my experiences of Max with a Queen’s Counsel at the Victorian Bar, who told me that when his son was employed under Max, he suffered a nervous breakdown and had to leave the firm.

On my first day at work when Max had brought me a dictating machine and files, I thanked him and called him “Max”. He remonstrated with me and informed me that I was just an employee in the firm and that I had to call him “Mr Williams”. A week later, I met him in the lavatory, got onto the little platform and stood beside him at the urinal. I looked down on him for he was only 5’4″ tall and said, “Mr Williams, I am sorry we haven’t had a chance to talk to each other.” He brushed past me muttering, “What is there to talk about?”

When I occasionally walked into a room to discuss a problem I had with a particular file, he would look disdainfully at me, pick up the telephone, swivel around in his chair, dial a telephone number and carry on a conversation with an unknown person for many minutes while I stood there looking up at the ceiling and counting the tiles. When he had finished, he would swivel around, glare at me and abuse me for disturbing him. This happened regularly and repeatedly; after some time my soul was completely battered and bruised, my confidence shattered and my mind in turmoil.

I was now at my wits end. I was too proud to go back to Ceylon and face the humiliation of having failed in Australia. My misery was compounded by the fact that I would go to the common room to have lunch every day, as I knew no one in the city of Melbourne. Occasionally, a vicious young employee solicitor would join us for lunch. He paid no heed to the fact that I was a stranger in a foreign land and needed to be treated with kindness and consideration. Whenever I joined in the conversation, he would make a point of humiliating and ridiculing me. I remember one occasion when I brought in some photographs of our tea plantation in Ceylon, this solicitor asked me where I had got these photographs from and why I was pretending to “skite over other people’s property.”

My only friend in the firm was Ian Robertson (now Judge Robertson). He had left the firm to go to the Victorian Bar and I had no one to turn to. I seriously contemplated taking my life, but I could not leave my dear sweet wife alone and friendless in Australia. I would look down at the people walking in Lonsdale Street. They seemed so happy and carefree. Did they know the turmoil in my heart and in my soul? I could not get another job: Eva Mahlab, who ran a legal employment agency and had obtained this job for me, bluntly told me that she could not find me any other employment.

I felt lost, I was desperate. In my hour of darkness I turned to valium. I started taking five mg at night in March 1972. By June I was taking another five mg at lunchtime. Looking back over the years, I cannot comprehend how I managed to drive to work and return-home driving down the South-Eastern Freeway, let alone do a day’s work. My wife was desperate. I had lost all interest in life. I would return home after work and sit in front of the television, staring blankly at the screen until it was time to have dinner and go to bed. The only pleasure I had in my life was at weekends when I could forget for a while about my employment.

One morning in the middle of September 1972, Oscar called me into his room. Max and Oscar had divided the bullying between them over the previous nine months, with each one unwittingly outdoing each other. Oscar smiled sarcastically and said, “Nimal, Max and I have been discussing your future in the firm. We have decided that you have no future in this firm. You are of no use to us because you have no brains.” This was a body blow. I sat there in a state of shock, fearing what was coming next. My sorry little world was about to disintegrate completely. He continued: “We realize that working in a firm doing defendants’ work is far too complicated for you. We thought you ought to join a firm doing personal injuries work for plaintiffs.” I looked down at the floor.

“Another alternative for you would be to go to the Victorian Bar. One of our articled clerks who was a complete fool went to the Bar and we heard that he is doing quite well. That may be your answer, for you don’t need any brains or ability to be a success at the Victorian Bar.” This was the last straw. I went back to my little cubicle, lay my head on my hands and burst out crying. Even 10 mg of valium a day was no help. I was lost, living in a foreign country with no one to turn to for help. That was the longest day of my life. I drove home as I usually did in a daze, but on this occasion I was completely shattered. I have no recollection of how I got home; all I can remember was cars flashing past me.

I drove into the garage. I could not get out of the car. My limbs were frozen. After some time, Anna Maria came to the garage to see why I had not come in. She opened the passenger door and got in. I fell into her arms sobbing and crying. Anna Maria had come from a little village in Northern Italy called Asolo. She had left school at the age of 15 to work, and had worked until we got married. I then told her that she would never have to work again as I would provide for her. Now when I told her what had happened, she said quite firmly that I had to go to the Victorian Bar.

I asked her sarcastically what she knew about the Victorian Bar. I told her that this was impossible, for no Australian solicitor would brief a coloured man. I asked her how we were going to manage. Where was the money to come from? I couldn’t get money out of Ceylon due to stringent exchange control regulations. She looked at me and smiled. She told me that every morning for some months, she had been walking along Glenferrie Road, Malvern to do her shopping. About a month before, she had met two Italian nuns. She heard them speaking in Italian and joined them in their conversation. They asked her whether she was working, to which she replied, “yes’ They then asked her whether she would like to work at the St Francis Xavier Cabrini Hospital as there was a vacancy for a cleaner, cleaning floors at the hospital. Anna Maria said yes, but she could only work part-time as she had to return home before her husband got home from work. She did not want him to know that she was working.

She had now been working for a few weeks as a cleaner at the hospital. The little extra money she earned from cleaning floors would come in useful for us. Anna Maria told me that she could now work-full time as a cleaner so that I could go to the Victorian Bar. She reminded me of the fact that I came from one of the great legal families in Ceylon and I had been on my way to the top of the legal profession in Ceylon before we left for Australia. She was the only one who had confidence that I would be a success at the Victorian Bar.

I went into the house, had a shower and felt like a new man. I telephoned several Ceylon-born solicitors in Australia who were practicing in Melbourne, including Ronnie de Kretser. Ronnie had been instrumental in helping me get my employment with Max as he was one of my referees. Every single Ceylon-born solicitor, without exception, cautioned me about going to the Bar, and advised me that no Australian solicitor would brief a coloured man. A few days after I made my decision to go to the Bar, I went to a friend’s son’s wedding. It was a Ceylonese affair. One cantankerous, nasty old Ceylonese-born solicitor, told the assembled guests that he had an announcement to make. In loud stentorian tones, he told the assembled gathering that I was going to the Victorian Bar and that there were easier ways of committing suicide. Great stuff, that.

The night after I made my decision, I threw my remaining valium pills in the bin. The next morning I strode into Oscar’s office and told him that I would take his advice and go to the Victorian Bar. One interesting feature of my employment was that during the nine months I had been there, I would be regularly called upon to contribute 20 cents for presents for employees who were leaving

the firm, even though I did not know any of them. I must apologize for this pettiness, but when I left, I did not receive a present, nor did Max and Oscar wish me well.I can now look back years later with considerable satisfaction. Although the early years were difficult, I am the author of Voumard: The Sale of Land, a work of recognized excellence in Australia, listed in the top twenty legal books in Australia. I am an authority on land law and a Queen’s Counsel. I was also appointed as a judge on the Court of Appeal in Fiji. I wonder what would have happened if I had not gone to the Victorian Bar?

My story has a happy ending. Supposedly it is Talleyrand who said, “Revenge is a dish best served cold” In 1986, I saw Oscar wandering around in Owen Dixon Chambers. He looked extremely sheepish when he saw me, for I was now a successful barrister. I had been invited to write a conveyancing manual and I took a leaf out of what Damon Runyan did when he wrote his first book: he dedicated it to his employer “who fired him with ambition”. I told Oscar that I was going to dedicate my work to Max “for firing me with ambition”.

I did write the conveyancing manual but certainly did not dedicate it to Max. I will be eternally grateful to Max and Oscar for giving me a helping hand to climb the rungs of the ladder of life in Australia.



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Features

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

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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)

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What nature knows that humanity has forgotten

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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.

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.

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Man Behind the Music: Ananda Ganegoda and Singlanka

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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.

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