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A CEYLONESE ‘COLONY’ IN SOUTH INDIA

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MANDAPAM CAMP:

by LC Arulpragasam

Description of Mandapam Camp

During the early 1900s, the British were interested in bringing workers from South India to provide cheap labour for the tea and rubber plantations in Ceylon. However, cholera, smallpox and typhoid were rife in India at that time; hence these labour imports risked bringing these diseases into Ceylon. To overcome this problem, the British established a quarantine station of about 700 acres in South India to be run by the Ceylon Government, where these workers could be held in quarantine for the three weeks of their potentially infective periods.

All the other passengers had to be medically cleared by Ceylonese medical doctors before their onward journey to Ceylon. In hindsight, it seems a bit cheeky that Ceylon should have such custody over Indians, on Indian soil, for three weeks! However, no one questioned this arrangement because of the relatively higher living standards and public health in Ceylon at that time. This one-sided arrangement of Ceylon controlling some land in India must have lasted from at least about 1915 to around 1970. My father was the Medical Superintendent (medical doctor) of the Ceylon Government in charge of Mandapam Camp for a period of seven years from about 1943 to 1950.

Mandapam Camp was well located for its quarantine purpose, being on the railway line from India to Ceylon, located about 40 miles from Dhanushkodi which was the southern terminal of the Indian railway. The distance from the port of Dhanushkodi in India to Talaimannar in Ceylon was approximately 22 miles. This involved a sea journey across the Palk Strait, which took about three hours in steamships that carried around 300 passengers. It is interesting that the Paamban bridge (which was built by Indian Engineers and covered part of this journey) was said to be the longest bridge over the sea in the world at that time. My two brothers and I, who were students at Royal College in Colombo at that time, would make this long land-cum-sea journey on every one of our major school holidays to join our parents who were posted in Mandapam Camp.

The railway station was the centre of activity in Mandapam Camp when the train passed through to Ceylon. Those who were detained were held in quarantine ‘camps’ for two to three weeks: hence the name ‘Mandapam Camp’. There were guards dressed in khaki uniforms, puttees and turbans who were supposed to supervise those held in quarantine. In addition, there were government-built quarters for all the government staff employed in the Camp, plus a well-equipped hospital with doctors on call. There were two Ceylonese doctors plus an Indian doctor, with the senior doctor (my father) holding the post of Medical Superintendent of the Ceylon Government, in charge of the whole Camp. Apart from his medical duties, he had to administratively supervise the entire staff (who numbered approximately 600 persons) and to ensure that the infrastructure and services functioned efficiently for the whole resident population of around 6000 persons.

I remember that in those days in India, the local population ranked my father as the ruler of a small kingdom, matching the power and jurisdiction of the petty Rajah of Ramnad, the ‘rajah’ of a petty principality close to Mandapam Camp! My father was a shy, unassuming man, who was embarrassed by the deference accorded to him by the rank-ridden Indian hierarchy of those days. He was visibly uncomfortable when the guards would salute him, even when walking on the opposite side of the road; they would even spring to attention in mid-flight in order to do so!

Mandapam Camp was, however, unlike any other outstation posting of the Ceylon Government. Except for the other doctors and public works overseer/engineer, there were no other staff officers in Mandapam; nor were there any other local educated families that one could socialize with. This social vacuum was filled to some extent by the visitors passing through from Ceylon to India and vice versa. From the Indian side, some top Indian professional musicians who had to stop over for quarantine reasons would sometimes provide an impromptu concert for the permanent residents of the Camp. These performances introduced me to the world of Indian classical music which I grew to appreciate in later life.

We lived in the Medical Superintendent’s Bungalow, which was set in two acres of land, providing a green oasis in an otherwise arid land. The garden was planted with tall shade trees with a well-watered lawn with colourful flower beds laid down by my mother and tended by two full-time gardeners. There was a swimming pool and a badminton court in the front garden, while there was also a spacious garden at the back, where we would play soft-ball cricket. The bungalow itself was large, with four bedrooms and ample living and dining rooms, with wide verandahs around the entire house. The second doctor’s house was next door, while across the road was the main hospital with its companion laboratory.

A description follows of Mandapam Camp, as seen through the eyes of a 15-16 year old boy, which was my median age during my father’s round of duty there. First, the entire Mandapam Camp was fringed by scrub jungle made up of trees that were somewhat stunted because of the dry climate and sandy soil. Second, the Camp was bordered on two sides by the sea: the ‘Front Sea’, as we familiarly called it, which was about half a mile in front of our house, and the ‘Back Sea, which was about three miles away, through scrub jungle. Although we were good swimmers, we were forbidden to swim in the sea by our parents, who were paranoid that we might drown. Third, there was a very large area of the highest land, which was fenced off for the large drinking-water reservoir that served the whole Camp.

This was out of bounds for everyone – except for us, the doctors’ children: it was thus, like a private wooded park for us. It was also a place where birds came to nest in the breeding season due to its quiet isolation. Fourth was the swimming pool: in addition to the swimming pool in our house, there was another larger one available exclusively for our use. Fifth, there were two tennis courts that were available to all; but since no one else played tennis, we (the doctors’ families) had exclusive use of the courts. Sixth, there was an open field or esplanade at the northern extremity of the Camp, where wild horses that inhabited the scrub jungle by day would come in for the night, for safety from predators. We youngsters would eye the ponies longingly, plotting possible means to capture one.

Boyhood Adventures in Mandapam Camp

The high point of the April holidays was that it coincided with the nesting season of migratory birds, which ‘wintered’ and nested in the Mandapam area before passing on. The birds naturally chose to nest in the most tranquil part of the Camp, which was the tree-filled reservoir area, which was out of bounds to all others. Each scrawny tree played host to two or three nests of different kinds of birds. We noted with excitement the date of laying eggs, their number and colour, their hatching period, etc., cataloguing all for the record. We noticed that the male birds were always more colourful than the females. We noted also that the more colourless the birds, the more brilliant would be the colour of their eggs. For example, the drab grey ‘seven sisters’ had the most brilliant, electric-blue eggs, while even the ugly crow laid lovely, pale green eggs, speckled with brown.

Our ornithological adventures ended in a rather scary way. An eagle (a Brahmin Kite) had nested in the crown of a tall palmyrah tree. It is a large, savage bird with a wingspan of about two metres and armed with fierce beak and talons that could pick up and tear wild rabbits, which it habitually did. My friend Karal volunteered to climb the tree, my brother Jega undertook to look out for the mother bird, while I stood guard with our ‘Daisy’ air-gun to ward off a potentially irate mother. (We were only going to count the eggs and look at their colour, but the mother bird unfortunately did not know that!) Karal had just climbed the tree and looked into the nest when with a blood-curdling shriek, the mother eagle swooped out of the sky, plummeting down like a rocket to defend her nest! Karal had to let go his grip and slither down the tree in a hurry, hurting himself badly, while we all had to run for our lives, with the daisy air-gun trailing between our legs!

Among other things, we boys had been coveting a couple of ponies among the wild horses that roamed the jungles by day, but which would come into a grass field by night for safety from predators. We plotted that our only hope of catching a small white pony in their midst, would be to run it down to the ground through fatigue! Hence, our gang of three descended on the grass field, armed with bottles of water and sandwiches (we even planned the type of sandwiches that we would eat!) to keep us going through our planned marathon.

Each of us was to chase the pony for two to three laps around the perimeter of the field, taking turns to do so. This would force the pony to keep running all the time, while each of us would rest, drink water and eat our sandwiches! So we chased the pony continuously for two hours until the sun was setting. By which time, the poor pony gave up and collapsed! We tied it with our rope and marched it triumphantly home, as proof to our elders who had derided our plan. But after about four days of feeding it, with no chance of riding it (for it would kick and bite), we led it back to our ‘field of battle’ to surrender it sheepishly to its mother!

Meanwhile, the ‘Back Sea’ always beckoned – especially to a water lover like me. It could be reached by a rough path through three miles of scrub jungle. It was well worth the walk, since it was always calm, in a sheltered bay with no currents. Above all, there was absolutely no one to be seen for miles and miles and miles. I would sometimes walk all the way there alone, take a swim in my underwear and dry myself in the setting sun before I made my way home. (I was forbidden by my parents to swim in the sea)!

This was my secret getaway – and I was rewarded one day with a sight that I will never forget. The December rains had left shallow water on the sand-flats by the beach. There, resting during their annual migration, was a cloud of pink flamingoes. There were more than 8,000 of them, glowing pink, orange and gold in the rays of the setting sun, redoubled by their reflections in the water. It was a heavenly sight. I stood transfixed in the sweeping silence, a lonely figure in a lonely land among thousands of these heavenly creatures. There was no one, no one in the world – except me and this heavenly sight. It was a sight that will remain with me till the end of my days.

Epilogue

Eighty years later in 2020, it is with nostalgia and even some guilt that I recall the happy days we spent in Mandapam Camp. Quite rightly, the cozy British arrangement that gave the Ceylon Government the right to possess land and hold Indians in quarantine on their own soil, ended soon after Indian Independence. But the tables have now been turned even more completely. Instead of Indian citizens being held by the Ceylon Government, the Indian Government now holds refugees from Sri Lanka’s north and east. A count in March 2013 showed that about 66,000 Sri Lankan refugees were still living in camps, including a large number in Mandapam Camp. It is heart-breaking to witness this reversal of roles and the plight of the refugees. This makes it even harder to remember those happy, peaceful days that I spent in Mandapam Camp.



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Addressing human rights needs multi-pronged approach

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Volker Türk

by Jehan Perera

The ongoing 63rd session of the United Nations Human Rights Council, which runs from September 7 to October 7, 2026, in Geneva is important to Sri Lanka. Its outcome will send a signal to other international actors, including the European Union, as to whether Sri Lanka’s reform policy is on track. The written update on Sri Lanka, prepared by the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights under High Commissioner Volker Türk and presented by Deputy High Commissioner Nada Al-Nashif, has taken a more holistic approach to the government’s performance over the past year. It acknowledged the progress Sri Lanka has made under the NPP government in relation to accountability for financial fraud and other economic crimes. At the same time, the High Commissioner’s update made clear that progress in relation to economic crime cannot be equated with progress in relation to accountability for grave human rights violations committed during the armed conflict and in other periods of political violence.

The government may have felt sufficiently confident that its response to the High Commissioner’s update could be handled by its representative in Geneva and did not require the attendance of Foreign Minister Vijitha Herath. Sri Lanka’s representative Sumith Dassanayake called for a fundamental review of country-specific mandates within the UN Human Rights Council. Sri Lanka has been facing repeated scrutiny in the form of successive UNHRC resolutions from 2012 onwards. Ambassador Dassanayake argued that such mandates should not continue indefinitely and must be regularly assessed against measurable objectives and tangible outcomes. This may reflect confidence that its record of reform is beginning to receive recognition internationally. The reports and statements at the Human Rights Council acknowledged progress in the government’s efforts to address corruption and economic crime.

The government’s anti-corruption drive has included investigations into allegations involving individuals who held the highest political offices in the country. The arrest of former President Ranil Wickremesinghe in connection with alleged misuse of public funds, and the investigation into the controversial SriLankan Airlines Airbus transaction involving former President Mahinda Rajapaksa’s son, are examples of the reach of these investigations. The arrest of SLPP National Organiser and Member of Parliament Namal Rajapaksa in connection with allegations relating to the Airbus purchase scandal has also demonstrated that the government is willing to pursue cases involving politically powerful figures.

Wide Range

The ongoing investigations appear to encompass a wide range of parliamentarians and government members, both past and present. They suggest that accountability for corruption is not being confined to lower-level officials or to individuals who lack political influence. This is precisely the kind of accountability that the public has long demanded and that previous governments have too often failed to deliver. The government is also reaching into the upper levels of the military hierarchies of the past. The case in which 11 young men, most of them Tamil, disappeared after being abducted in Colombo between 2008 and 2009 involved allegations that some families were asked to pay ransoms. The investigation into this case has reached senior military figures. The willingness to pursue such cases is important because it challenges the assumption that those who exercised power during the war are beyond the reach of the law. Such cases would provide a practical test of whether the government’s commitment to accountability for economic crimes is part of a broader commitment to the rule of law.

Success in prosecuting corruption cannot substitute for justice for those who were unlawfully killed, disappeared, tortured or otherwise victimised. The UN report noted that there had been no recognition or accountability for crimes under international law, gross human rights violations and serious violations of international humanitarian law committed by all parties during the war. The government has yet to establish a credible and effective process to address the many cases of enforced disappearance, extrajudicial killing, torture and other serious violations. The government needs to take the international commitments it has inherited on human rights issues seriously. It needs to adopt a multi-pronged approach and go beyond focusing primarily on financial and corruption-related accountability.

Need Action

As a member of the international community, Sri Lanka has a responsibility to abide by the commitments it has made. It cannot selectively uphold international obligations postponing those that are politically difficult. Also, as a small country, Sri Lanka has a self-interest in ensuring the survival of international law, which is all that it has to protect it from the depredations of the bigger international actors. The erosion of international law by powerful states makes it all the more important that smaller states uphold the principles on which the international system is based. Sri Lanka cannot credibly appeal to international law when it is threatened from outside while disregarding its own obligations within. Sri Lanka also needs to win the confidence of its own population that it is committed to justice and equality for all. Public opinion polls and community-level research have disclosed that ethnic and religious minorities are appreciative of the sense of greater security they enjoy under the present government from ethnic or religious extremists.

But a sense of security is not the same as the fulfilment of rights. As far as the Tamil people are concerned, the government has yet to deliver on several of its specific promises. These include the long-standing problems of missing persons, the release of political prisoners who have been members of Tamil militant organisations, and the return of land taken over for military purposes during the war. The issue of Buddhist statues and archaeological sites found on their properties which are then taken from their control continue to trouble them especially as they see no signs of resolution of those disputes. The issue of pastureland in the east of the country in Mylathamadu is particularly concerning to them as they see orders by successive presidents, both President Ranil Wickremesinghe and President Anura Kumara Dissanayake, being disregarded on the ground. The Mylathamadu pastureland dispute is where traditional Tamil dairy farmers have engaged in multi-year protests against the ongoing encroachment of their ancestral grazing lands by Sinhalese crop cultivators relocated under government development schemes.

The government’s failure to hold Provincial Council elections is particularly troubling. The provincial council system is the only one that can provide the Tamil people and other ethnic minorities the opportunity to wield political power and exercise a measure of self-determination in the areas in which they are the numerical majority. The continued postponement of Provincial Council elections therefore has consequences that go beyond an ordinary electoral delay. It deprives communities of an important constitutional avenue for democratic participation and power-sharing. The ethnic and religious minorities appreciate what the government is doing in the larger national interest, but they must not be made to feel that their special concerns are being ignored. The government cannot resolve Sri Lanka’s entire legacy of rights violations overnight. But it does need to demonstrate that it is willing to move forward on multiple fronts, not only on a few.

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The emptying university: why are academics leaving?

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by Hasini Lecamwasam

Brain drain in Sri Lanka is at an all-time high. The latest Human Flight and Brain Drain Index for 2024 shows that we are 16th of 175 countries on this count, and first in South Asia. That this is a crisis goes without saying. Brain drain affects all sectors, and is a huge strain on the resources of a developing country. Particularly in Sri Lanka, where considerable public investment is made in the moulding of professionals through the system of free education, this amounts to transferring the resources of poorer countries to richer ones with top migration destinations. It is, therefore, important to consider the push and pull factors behind skilled outmigration, specifically from the public university system of Sri Lanka, a key focus of the Kuppi column.

From frustration to exit

Several bitter realities in our crumbling public university system act as push factors in the migration decisions of academics. Many essays on this column have, over several years, attempted to highlight numerous aspects of this erosion. Perhaps, primary among them is the lack of adequate funding, which has debilitating ramifications for the system: very little investment is made in the up-keep of infrastructure (and even less in its expansion), resulting in serious constraints in accommodating growing batches of students and the wellbeing of the staff (particularly in regional universities); research funding is negligible, severely curtailing academics’ ability to effectively discharge their primary duty of teaching which should ideally be informed by their research (and the research of others, access to which is also, unfortunately, mediated by funding); a funding crunch also means a slash in (or greater constraints on) recruitments, increasing the workloads of academics, currently in service, and eating into the quality of their teaching and research.

What recruitments are done frustrate those with any faith in merit. As many of our interventions in this column have shown, recruitment processes are characterised by archaic selection criteria that place very little weight on a candidate’s postgraduate growth and the advantages of interdisciplinary training. Added to this is the general preference for ‘culturally compliant’ candidates who would not rock the boat too much. The combined effect is that those with the capacity and spirit to try out innovations in education are discouraged from joining or staying on in the public university system. Some, or many, of them may instead seek appointments abroad.

A thread that binds all of these problems together is pervasive hierarchy which, again, many interventions on this column have sought to highlight. It is the interest in preserving hierarchy that leads to the preference for alumni in recruitment processes. Hierarchy within universities can be particularly frustrating for younger faculty and women, who typically have to bear the brunt of the workload of their senior, often male, colleagues. In a context of funding, and, therefore, recruitment, restrictions, this translates into a disproportionate burden being placed on junior (usually female) faculty, seriously hindering their prospects of growing into successful academics due to the time constraints within which they have to operate. Junior academics, therefore, are more likely to look to educational institutions abroad for what they hope would be a different work culture that respects them more.

Ideological ruses

On top of these structural frustrations are also the workings of neoliberal ideology. For one, the nature of relations between the global metropole and peripheral countries like Sri Lanka largely dictates what is desirable and what is not. The apparent lifestyles of Western countries – from food to clothing, housing, appliances, and so on – have continued to lure people from the periphery with the promise of a ‘better’ life, alongside better career advancement opportunities. This, of course, masks much of the struggle that goes on behind the scenes to survive in Western societies. For instance, in most cases highly attractive public infrastructure such as roads, public transport, clean air, quality control of food, and so on belie the astronomical privatised costs of healthcare and education. Health insurance is usually mandatory and steep in most high-income settings, while even subsidised education (for which eligibility criteria are strict) creates a serious dent in household earnings. Of course, the happy images of glossy trams and gleeful international travellers don’t convey this.

A second ideological ruse is the myth of greater opportunities and recognition abroad. While there is no denying that local skilled sectors – be it higher education, health, civil service, or private white-collar positions – are replete with issues that inhibit merit-based professional advancement, the notion that things are fundamentally different in Western countries stems from an uninformed optimism. As is now increasingly known and discussed, Western labour markets are notoriously racialised, and equivalent skills are rarely treated as such. Instead, it is usually demanded that skilled migrants clear certain formal examinations in their host countries. In fields like medicine, this is followed by an interview that may also be racially prejudiced. Once these initial steps are cleared, remuneration reverts to square one irrespective of experience accumulated abroad, not to mention the many subtle aggressions, rejections, and trials one has to go through in the negotiation of everyday life. In the many cases where professional qualifications are used as leverage for a move abroad, sights are set on a better future for one’s children, which again is informed by the misplaced faith in greater opportunities and a lack of awareness of the factors outlined above. Needless to say, in the global swing to the Right, things have become even more challenging. In such a context, considering the few rare cases where skilled migrants live extremely comfortable lives as the norm becomes a dangerous misconception.

The two ideological pull factors mentioned above are complemented by a push factor, which has to do with a highly classed understanding of what a white-collar professional is due in their society. Many of these aspirations are clearly articulated in academic trade union action demanding separate quotas for school entry, increased fuel allowances, winning back the presently stalled vehicle permit scheme, salary hikes, and so on. While working people have every right to agitate for better material conditions, insofar as it remains unconnected to a broader movement for improving the conditions of the lot of the working class, it remains self-serving and very much within the class logic of capitalist society. Since these demands are articulated as a means of maintaining distinction, it is clear that they are not envisaged as part of a class movement. The frustration of not having these needs for distinction satisfied may push some to seek greener pastures abroad, at least financially, (perhaps as a means of social mobility based on it), only to be disappointed on most occasions.

What is to be done?

Addressing the systemic push factors listed above requires, first and foremost, greater allocations for free public higher education. This would immediately translate into more recruitments and less work per academic, and better research and teaching in the long haul. An increase in funding would also ideally lead to greater infrastructural investments, especially including improving the living conditions of those who work in regional universities amid untold hardships. Next, fairer, more creative, and, therefore, more effective recruitment policies are badly needed to attract talented individuals to university positions. Rather than carving out a ‘special category’ for academics to achieve this purpose, which is informed by a classed logic, this needs to be done through fundamental reforms in recruitment processes. Third, a persistent attack on the entrenched hierarchy within universities through internal reform is much called for. Reforming recruitment practices will go a long way towards addressing this. Measures should also be taken to introduce more stringent policies against SGBV (not to mention ragging, even though it is not directly connected to brain drain). Such measures would create a safer, fairer, and more attractive workplace, which would give more reasons for people to stay.

On top of greater allocations, we also need a transformation of our aspirations themselves if this situation is to change. That necessitates a kind of education capable of questioning the ‘paradise’ conception of Western societies, and lays bare their colonial material and ideological dimensions, in both their historical and contemporary manifestations. These colonial understandings of the ‘good life’, moreover, have devastating ecological implications for the planet, not to mention social justice. An education with the ability to transform this mindset would hopefully prove to be more than a mere path to social mobility, rather being a tool of social emancipation that renders mobility moot.

(Hasini Lecamwasam is with the Department of Political Science, 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.

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Friends favourite Suzi Croner returns for Oktoberfest 2026

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Charming audiences in Switzerland as Suzi Flückiger, Sri Lanka’s own Suzi Croner is coming home… for a very special occasion.

The bubbly former frontline vocalist of 90s band Friends will take the stage at a popular venue in Colombo for Oktoberfest 2026.

Known in Europe for her country and classic hits, Suzi has remained a much-loved name back home. This will be a rare chance for local fans to see her live and celebrate the voice behind so many Friends memories.

Oktoberfest 2026 in Colombo promises an evening of live music, traditional Bavarian food and beer, colourful dirndls and lederhosen, folk dancing, and plenty of community cheer.

Suzi Croner (Flückiger)

Against this lively backdrop, Suzi will take the stage for a special solo set, featuring her own pre-recorded music. She performed at the event last year too, as a solo artiste, but a German band providing the music.

This year, however she says, it’s a different scene.

“The novel attraction will be the dancers from Germany — all girls, clad in German outfits,” Suzi said. She added that the event will also highlight the activities generally connected with Oktoberfest, which should generate a lot of fun and excitement for those who join her in Colombo next month.

Suzi has become a much-in-demand artiste in Europe, and has even performed Down Under, in Melbourne.

In Switzerland, where she has been based for the past 42 years, she continues to charm audiences with country and classic hits, performing at private events and community nights across Europe.

“My weekends are generally loaded with my work as a singer,” she said. “And I also play tennis three times a week, because I need to keep fit to entertain my audience in an active way.”

Her repertoire is made up mainly of Swiss, German and English songs.

And true to form, Suzi loves springing surprises.

“So watch out when you join me at Oktoberfest 2026, in Colombo!” she said.

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