Features
A singular modern Lankan mentor – Part I
Gananath Obeysekere: In search of Buddhist conscience (Baudha Hurdasakshiya Soya)
by Laleen Jayamanne and Namika Raby
“People were nourished by stories.” (Kathandarawalinne minissu jeewathwune) Gananath
“Man does not live by bread alone” Matthew 4:4
Dimuthu Saman Wettasinghe’s film Gananath Obeyesekere: In Search of Buddhist Conscience opens with a bravura tracking shot moving past trees, water, a splash of saffron robes. These sunlit images are enfolded in a non-religious, rather melancholy male choral chant, but soon the singular voice of Professor Gananath Obeyesekere cuts through with a kind of Dionysian intensity. He tells us a story about Gauthama Buddha, as the camera encircles, at speed, what turns out to be the Kandy Lake. His tale is about a devastating war waged by the king of Kosla against the Sakya kingdom but of the Buddha’s unshakable belief that if folk get together and discuss matters in good faith (call it diplomacy), all wars could be averted. This carefully and deeply researched, imaginative, ‘Educational Film’ of 142 minutes, with its exhilaratingly dense overture and its subtle montage, is a loving tribute to an exemplary Lankan scholar/teacher and his life work (of some 70 years) as an internationally renowned Anthropologist.
In my understanding of Classical Greek Theatre and Indian Philosophy (both studied at the University Ceylon Peradeniya in the late 60’s), ‘Dionysian intensity’ and Buddhist thought don’t sit easily together, Dionysus being the god of Greek Drama and festivity and as such, of intoxication and ecstasy, while Buddhist ideas of Reason, logical debate and introspective awareness of mental processes (Vipassana, Insight), were original contributions to perennial Indian Philosophy. But the wonder is that Gananath as a thinker was able to yolk together vastly diverse fields of scholarship and practices from many traditions, languages, and impart them to students in a memorable manner. In this two-fold activity, his voice was a powerful pedagogical instrument (in a musical sense) and tool (as in crafting words and sentences by breathing life into them). Let me elaborate with an anecdote I heard recently from a friend who was one of Gananath’s students from the mid-1960s at Peradeniya. The Anthropologist Dr Namika Rabi, who now in her retirement lives in LA, was a freshman then. She told me the following when I asked her what it was like listening to him:
One afternoon my room-mate Romaine Rutnam said to me that there is this interesting talk on campus, under the Popular Science Series delivered by Dr. Gananath Obeyesekere, with an interesting title, “Pregnancy Cravings (Dola Duka) and Social Structure in a Sinhalese Village” that we should go and listen to. The talk appealed because it was grounded in real society. I wondered where this faculty member came from, and I found out that there was a Department of Sociology and Dr. Obeyesekere was its Chair. One had to apply to the programme and get accepted and it was a four-year programme. I applied and got in, forgetting my plan to leave the campus in three years.
Professor Obeyesekere taught me Social Theory; Anthropological Methods; Anthropology of Religion; and Social and Cultural Organisation. Professor Obeyesekere brought dynamism into the classroom with his style of teaching, integrating abstract theory with how it works in practice through kathandara and carried me away with it”.
Though I myself was not a student of Gananath’s I have been to some of his seminars and listened to his public lectures over the years, both in Lanka and elsewhere. In the early 90s we organised a seminar by Gananath, (on what he called his ‘Cook Book’!), in the Dept. of Anthropology at The University of Sydney. His, The Apotheosis of Captain Cook: European Myth Making in the Pacific, led to a major Anthropological debate with Marshall Sahllins, on Cannibalism and ‘Primitivism’ in Colonial-Anthropology in Hawaii where Cook was killed by the indigenous folk. I certainly agree with Namika on the unusual power of Gananath’s oral communication with students and fellow academics, and crucially, with the interested public. One always gets the feeling that he is thinking on his feet, with a strong awareness of the listener (as in theatre), and then he varies his colloquial tone with humour, a wise crack here, a touch of irony there. Listening to him becomes enjoyable. He manifestly enjoys communicating ideas, his self-enjoyment in explicating them in accessible ways is infectious. He had an intuitive grasp of the theatrical dimensions of lecturing, in a place within the academy after all called, a ‘Lecture Theatre’. These ‘dynamics’, as Namika puts it, are so rare in the genre of the university lecture where we drone on for an hour or two each week, reading from stale notes, tone deaf, burning brain cells of young minds instead of firing them. Tone deafness is an occupational hazard of lecturing.
******
Here’s Namika elaborating on how Gananath guided her in her scholarly and professional life. It is evident from her account that visionary Mentors do not produce clones but rather draw out and nurture the talents of a student well before she knows she has some.
Namika Raby: A Student’s Perspective
“As a cultural anthropologist Gananath’s ability to communicate abstract thinking into the classroom through dramatic performance is an integration of scientific Reason and Dionysian intensity. Beyond his voice, in my time, he was a performer. I remember him explaining the role of the sanni demon, a lowly creature in Sinhalese Buddhism, mimicking the demon, Gananath hopped with a banana on his toe to portray the demon.
Gananath had many illustrious students over time. However, I was a unique case because of my ethnicity and gender and a lifetime of what I call my Gananath “interventions” beginning during my days in the Department of Anthropology, Peradeniya. Nagging me to apply to graduate school and persuading my parent with a home visit to send me to graduate school abroad are a couple of examples of these interventions. Our ties are enduring, accompanying me throughout my career and life. So, I could say our ties evolved in multifaceted ways over half a century, as a teacher, a mentor, and my adoptive family with Ranjini in La Jolla into a holistic relationship. My husband and I had Sunday dinner with the Obeyesekere family, Gananath, an excellent cook, did Sunday dinners. One time we arrived and lo and behold a duck was hanging upside down from Gananath’s study window. He was preparing Peking Duck.
In my early training under Gananath, a memorable example was learning to do fieldwork. As undergraduates it was mandatory to do fieldwork during college breaks. As he said, “don’t come into my class if you don’t muddy your feet in the field.” He assigned us a location and ideas to study. He looked at me and said, “you’re a girl, you can go from home and study the Kachcheri, it is fascinating.”
I think of the irony of a researcher studying the meaning of exotic rituals advising me to find meaning in a bureaucracy. Kachcheri Bureaucracy in Sri Lanka: The Culture and Politics of Accessibility was the subject of my Ph.D. thesis, and my first publication. Once I learned to bring in the meanings of culture as they interfaced with rational structures, procedures, I was trained at the International Water Management Institute (IWMI) to apply my insights to irrigation bureaucracy and technology of irrigation for practical solutions. This became my life’s work. When I applied for a Post-Doctoral fellowship at IWMI, Gananath wrote a letter in support. With IWMI’s interdisciplinary team I researched and published on Mahaweli System H and Irrigation Management for Crop Diversification to be followed by work in the northern Philippines; This experience led to my recruitment and training by the World Bank. I worked on designing and evaluating National Irrigation Projects for The World Bank, in the Philippines; UN/FAO in India; and in Imperial Valley, California.
This eldest daughter of Muslim parents from Matara, Kotuwegoda, who boarded a plane for the first time to go to graduate school in California, was able to travel back to Sri Lanka to walk the rice fields of Galnewa; climb the hills of Northern Philippines to study the zanjeras (community managed farms); walk 22km of the Indira Gandhi Canal in Rajasthan, with my team, in darkness and pouring rain with a Jat elder leading us with his torch made of palm leaves and chanting jai hind; see the beauty of ancient Rome on my way to work at the Investment Center, FAO; work for the World Bank in the highly secured environment of Cali, Colombia; and study irrigation under drought in arid Imperial County, California by walking the extent of the All American Canal, and farms cultivating fruits and vegetables. Perhaps my most rewarding work came as an academic, (without time constraints, and fortunate to be funded by a grant by the American Institute for Lankan Studies) when I completed my case study of Ridi Bendi Ela (Alla) and Magallavava, Nikerawetiya, where the Government of Sri Lank did a pilot study of a Farmer Company established under the Companies Act. Farmer organizations based on purana, and newly settled villages. A total of 11 villages covered the command area of the tank.
Prof. Obeysekere with folk masks
In his very earliest work Land Tenure in Village Ceylon, Gananath challenged the western notion of the homogenous village of kinship and landownership and showed in great detail how land holding patterns defined what a village was.
In Ridi Bendi Ela, with a few exceptions, landholding cut across villages and during droughts farmers practiced thattumaru (rotated land holdings seasonally), as described in Gananath’s work. In my villages the relationships based on landholding patterns were complicated by landless outsiders settled as colonists by the Government. In these villages I also observed the doctrine/thought vs practice dimensions of Buddhism with relation to rice cultivation.
This pilot project trained farmers to undertake off-farm income generation activities, and progressively undertake self- management of the canal network. Magallavava, the tank, dates to 276-303 AD, constructed by King Mahasena (according to historical records), and according to some villagers, by king Pandukabaya. According to local legend, during the time of Lord Buddha, a prince and princess from India heard of the plight of the drought ridden villagers and brought silver coins to build the anicut to Magallavava, hence the name Ridi Bendi. Gananath often told us, “history matters.
These experiences became teaching tools in the classroom at California State University, Long Beach. Gananath’s film Kataragama: The God for All Seasons (story of Kareem included), remained a favourite with our students at every level.
Isn’t it interesting Dr. Obeyesekere, you asked me to muddy my feet in the field and I ended up spending my career doing just that?”
******
In Search of Buddhist Conscience
(Baudha Hurdasakshiya Soya), skilfully interweaves the multiple strands of Gananath’s life and work. They are: his family background in a village (his multi-lingual father, an Ayurvedic physician trained in Calcutta and writer, and an anti-colonial thinker, as was his maternal grandfather); his married life with Ranjini Ellepola and their profound shared ethic of education, love of language, a feel for the aesthetic and generous hospitality to students and friends; his robust education locally which made him fluently bilingual and in the US; discussions with a large number of scholars, including Gananath and Ranjini, and also a Pattini Kapumahattaya, providing illuminating, lively commentaries on his work; explication of a series of his key texts and their concepts across his very long career; a rich array of images (stills and film clips) from Gananth’s extensive ethnographic archive where we see a young Gananath in the field with his multi-ethnic research teams. The filmmaker Dharmasiri Bandaranayke’s ‘teacherly documentary voice-over’, synthesises some of the facts, which helps, as there is so much rich material and new ideas to take in. Because of the careful interweaving of these many strands through the montage and the long duration of the film overall, it has a relaxed tempo, but one also feels a sense of urgency, the urgency of the ‘search’ (for Gananath and these dedicated young filmmakers too), in the Lankan historical political context of cycles of organised state violence against Tamil people including the long civil war, since political Independence in 1948.
Together, the very title ‘In Search of Buddhist Conscience’ and the melancholy chant (not a gatha but playing with its sonic memory, given the mise-en-scene of the iconic Temple of the Tooth, Dalada Maligawa glimpsed in the background), which opens the film, suggest a ‘loss’. A loss of conscience, the loss of a Buddhist conscience which was once robust in Lanka as manifested in the expansive, tolerant folk traditions, presented as incontrovertible ethnographic evidence. The film examines Gananath’s anthropological work as an intellectual (historical, ethnographic, theoretical, and yes, aesthetic) reclamation of the syncretic richness of the Buddhist and Hindu folk traditions as they intersected in all their hybrid multiplicity and presents the multi-ethnic folk of Lanka, both men and especially the women, who embodied their values so vibrantly, eloquently, intransigently and therefore unforgettably.
I am blown away by the suggestive power of this film for possible research on the Lankan folk archives of the Tamil Hindu traditions and what may be called an inclusive, vital, Buddhist folk imaginary, and material culture, through Gananath’s scholarship. One learns about Lanka’s deep cultural connections with South India from the ethnographic record as analysed and theorised by Gananath. For a lapsed Roman Catholic like me, the film is a profound revelation about my country of birth where I lived my first 23 years. Walter Benjamin wrote his essay ‘The Story Teller’ at a moment in Western modernity when the richly diverse European oral traditions were long gone and yet his essay, shot through with melancholy, catches light like a little gem every now and then, depending on how and why one might reread it under the pressure of the present moment baring down like a tonne of bricks, obliterating a future, inconceivable without a sense of a deep past, linked to legends, stories, ‘folk lore’ of the people. The film indicates that much of what the film dramatizes is now archival material, the living traditions mostly lost in processes of modernisation and westernisation of Buddhism itself. However, Gananath is no melancholy European Jewish intellectual like Walter Benjamin.
The ’dramatis persona’ ‘Gananath’ who comes across in Dimuthu’s film is an intellectual whose scholarly and indeed existential understanding of the tragedy of our post-independence etho-nationalist history, has not dampened his irrepressible sense of humour and a feel for the comic in public life and in the Lecture Theatre. After all, Dionysus presided over the genres of tragedy, comedy and the Satyr plays in the Civic Theatre Festival in Athens, the City Dionysia. And I have no doubt that Gananth has read his favourite thinker Nietzsche’s Birth of Tragedy in the Spirit of Music. But then Gananath has also imbibed the theatrical comic ribald humour and delight in high farce from our robust folk rituals. Two walls of his beautiful home in Kandy are shown decorated with a rare collection of comic-grotesque-scary folk masks (of the Sannyas and Demons) of Lanka, awaiting a museum that would house them. There is a precious group photo of Anthropologists at the famous Folk Art Museum in Bali, in Ubud, where a young Gananath is seen in the company of the legendary Margret Mead and others. I saw a Lankan Demon mask there when I visited the museum and now imagine that Gananath probably arranged for that demon to join his South Asian ‘na yakku’ (kith and kin demons) – this phrase in Sinhala makes me crack up! Gananath has brought both intensity and laughter into the intellectual arena of the academic lecture, making his pedagogic style unforgettable. This film is also a testament to that evanescent, spirited performance of a singular modern Lankan ‘guru’, in the sense of mentor who incites students to learn to think for themselves and strike a path of their own. By his own example he teaches us the irresistible art of critical thinking.
(To be continued)
There has been a rare consensus of opinion in the country that the government’s humanitarian response to the sinking of Iran’s naval ship IRIS Dena was the correct one. The support has spanned the party political spectrum and different sections of society. Social media commentary, statements by political parties and discussion in mainstream media have all largely taken the position that Sri Lanka acted in accordance with humanitarian principles and international law. In a period when public debate in Sri Lanka is often sharply divided, the sense of agreement on this issue is noteworthy and reflects positively on the ethos and culture of a society that cares for those in distress. A similar phenomenon was to be witnessed in the rallying of people of all ethnicities and backgrounds to help those affected by the Ditwah Cyclone in December last year.
The events that led to this situation unfolded with dramatic speed. In the early hours before sunrise the Dina made a distress call. The ship was one of three Iranian naval vessels that had taken part in a naval gathering organised by India in which more than 70 countries had participated, including Sri Lanka. Naval gatherings of this nature are intended to foster professional exchange, confidence building and goodwill between navies. They are also governed by strict protocols regarding armaments and conduct.
When the exhibition ended open war between the United States and Iran had not yet broken out. The three Iranian ships that participated in the exhibition left the Indian port and headed into international waters on their journey back home. Under the protocol governing such gatherings ships may not be equipped with offensive armaments. This left them particularly vulnerable once the regional situation changed dramatically, though the US Indo-Pacific Command insists the ship was armed. The sudden outbreak of war between the United States and Iran would have alerted the Iranian ships that they were sailing into danger. According to reports, they sought safe harbour and requested docking in Sri Lanka’s ports but before the Sri Lankan government could respond the Dena was fatally hit by a torpedo.
International Law
The sinking of the Dena occurred just outside Sri Lanka’s territorial waters. Whatever decision the Sri Lankan government made at this time was bound to be fraught with consequence. The war that is currently being fought in the Middle East is a no-holds-barred one in which more than 15 countries have come under attack. Now the sinking of the Dena so close to Sri Lanka’s maritime boundary has meant that the war has come to the very shores of the country. In times of war emotions run high on all sides and perceptions of friend and enemy can easily become distorted. Parties involved in the conflict tend to gravitate to the position that “those who are not with us are against us.” Such a mindset leaves little room for neutrality or humanitarian discretion.
In such situations countries that are not directly involved in the conflict may wish to remain outside it by avoiding engagement. Foreign Minister Vijitha Herath informed the international media that Sri Lanka’s response to the present crisis was rooted in humanitarian principles, international law and the United Nations. The Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) which was adopted 1982 provides the legal framework governing maritime conduct and obliges states to render assistance to persons in distress at sea. In terms of UNCLOS, countries are required to render help to anyone facing danger in maritime waters regardless of nationality or the circumstances that led to the emergency. Sri Lanka’s response to the distress call therefore reflects both humanitarianism and adherence to international law.
Within a short period of receiving the distress message from the stricken Iranian warship the Sri Lankan government sent its navy to the rescue. They rescued more than thirty Iranian sailors who had survived the attack and were struggling in the water. The rescue operation also brought to Sri Lanka the bodies of those who had perished when their ship sank. The scale of the humanitarian challenge is significant. Sri Lanka now has custody of more than eighty bodies of sailors who lost their lives in the sinking of the Dena. In addition, a second Iranian naval ship IRINS Bushehr with more than two hundred sailors has come under Sri Lanka’s protection. The government therefore finds itself responsible for survivors but also for the dignified treatment of the bodies of the dead Iranian sailors.
Sri Lanka’s decision to render aid based on humanitarian principles, not political allegiance, reinforces the importance of a rules-based international order for all countries. Reliance on international law is particularly important for small countries like Sri Lanka that lack the power to defend themselves against larger actors. For such countries a rules-based international order provides at least a measure of protection by ensuring that all states operate within a framework of agreed norms. Sri Lanka itself has played a notable role in promoting such norms. In 1971 the United Nations General Assembly adopted a resolution declaring the Indian Ocean a Zone of Peace. The initiative for this proposal came from Sri Lanka, which argued that the Indian Ocean should be protected from great power rivalry and militarisation.
Moral Beacon
Unfortunately, the current global climate suggests that the rules-based order is barely operative. Conflicts in different parts of the world have increasingly shown disregard for the norms and institutions that were created in the aftermath of the Second World War to regulate international behaviour. In such circumstances it becomes even more important for smaller countries to demonstrate their commitment to international law and to convert the bigger countries to adopt more humane and universal thinking. The humanitarian response to the Iranian sailors therefore needs to be seen in this wider context. By acting swiftly to rescue those in distress and by affirming that its actions are guided by international law, Sri Lanka has enhanced its reputation as a small country that values peace, humane values, cooperation and the rule of law. It would be a relief to the Sri Lankan government that earlier communications that the US government was urging Sri Lanka not to repatriate the Iranian sailors has been modified to the US publicly acknowledging the applicability of international law to what Sri Lanka does.
The country’s own experience of internal conflict has shaped public consciousness in important ways. Sri Lanka endured a violent internal war that lasted nearly three decades. During that period questions relating to the treatment of combatants, the protection of civilians, missing persons and accountability became central issues. As a result, Sri Lankans today are familiar with the provisions of international law that deal with war crimes, the treatment of wounded or disabled combatants and the fate of those who go missing in conflict. The country continues to host an international presence in the form of UN agencies and the ICRC that work with the government on humanitarian and post conflict issues. The government needs to apply the same principled commitment of humanitarianism and the rule of law to the unresolved issues from Sri Lanka’s own civil war, including accountability and reconciliation.
By affirming humanitarian principles and acting accordingly towards the Iranian sailors and their ship Sri Lanka has become a moral beacon for peace and goodwill in a world that often appears to be moving in the opposite direction. At a time when geopolitical rivalries are intensifying and humanitarian norms are frequently ignored, such actions carry symbolic significance. The credibility of Sri Lanka’s moral stance abroad will be further enhanced by its ability to uphold similar principles at home. Sri Lanka continues to grapple with unresolved issues arising from its own internal conflict including questions of accountability, justice, reparations and reconciliation. It has a duty not only to its own citizens, but also to suffering humanity everywhere. Addressing its own internal issues sincerely will strengthen Sri Lanka’s moral standing in the international community and help it to be a force for a new and better world.
BY Jehan Perera
It was Henry Sweet, the English phonetician and language scholar, who said, “Language may be defined as the expression of thought by means of speech sounds“. In today’s context, where language extends beyond spoken sounds to written text, and even into signs, it is best to generalise more and express that language is the “symbolic expression of thought“. The opposite is also true: without the ability to think, there will not be a proper development of the ability to express in a language, as seen in individuals with intellectual disability.
Viewing language as the symbolic expression of thought is a philosophical way to look at early childhood education. It suggests that language is not just about learning words; it is about a child learning that one thing, be it a sound, a scribble, or a gesture, can represent something else, such as an object, a feeling, or an idea. It facilitates the ever-so-important understanding of the given occurrence rather than committing it purely to memory. In the world of a 0–5-year-old, this “symbolic leap” of understanding is the single most important cognitive milestone.
Of course, learning a language or even more than one language is absolutely crucial for education. Here is how that viewpoint fits into early life education:
1. From Concrete to Abstract
Infants live in a “concrete” world: if they cannot see it or touch it, it does not exist. Early education helps them to move toward symbolic thought. When a toddler realises that the sound “ball” stands for that round, bouncy thing in the corner, they have decoded a symbol. Teachers and parents need to facilitate this by connecting physical objects to labels constantly. This is why “Show and Tell” is a staple of early education, as it gently compels the child to use symbols, words or actions to describe a tangible object to others, who might not even see it clearly.
2. The Multi-Modal Nature of Symbols
Because language is “symbolic,” it does not matter how exactly it is expressed. The human brain treats spoken words, written text, and sign language with similar neural machinery.
Many educators advocate the use of “Baby Signs” (simple gestures) before a child can speak. This is powerful because it proves the child has the thought (e.g., “I am hungry”) and can use a symbol like putting the hand to the mouth, before their vocal cords are physically ready to produce the word denoting hunger.
Writing is the most abstract symbol of all: it is a squiggle written on a page, representing a sound, which represents an idea or a thought. Early childhood education prepares children for this by encouraging “emergent writing” (scribbling), even where a child proudly points to a messy circle that the child has drawn and says, “This says ‘I love Mommy’.”
3. Symbolic Play (The Dress Rehearsal)
As recognised in many quarters, play is where this theory comes to life. Between ages 2 and 3, children enter the Symbolic Play stage. Often, there is object substitution, as when a child picks up a banana and holds it to his or her ear like a telephone. In effect, this is a massive intellectual achievement. The child is mentally “decoupling” the object from its physical reality and assigning it a symbolic meaning. In early education, we need to encourage this because if a child can use a block as a “car,” they are developing the mental flexibility required to later understand that the letter “C” stands for the sound of “K” as well.
4. Language as a Tool for “Internal Thought”
Perhaps the most fascinating fit is the work of psychologist Lev Vygotsky, who argued that language eventually turns inward to become private speech. Have you ever seen a 4-year-old talking to himself or herself while building a toy tower? “No, the big one goes here….. the red one goes here…. steady… there.” That is a form of self-regulation. Educators encourage this “thinking out loudly.” It is the way children use the symbol system of language to organise their own thoughts and solve problems. Eventually, this speech becomes silent as “inner thought.”
Finally, there is the charming thought of the feasibility of conversing with very young children in two or even three or more languages. In Sri Lanka, the three main languages are Sinhala, Tamil and English. There are questions asked as to whether it is OK to talk to little ones in all three languages or even in two, so that they would learn?
According to scientific authorities, the short, clear and unequivocal answer to that query is that not only is it “OK”, it is also a significant cognitive gift to a child.
In a trilingual environment like Sri Lanka, many parents worry that multiple languages will “confuse” a child or cause a “speech delay.” However, modern neuroscience has debunked these myths. The infant brain is perfectly capable of building three or even more separate “lexicons” (vocabularies) simultaneously.
Here is how the “symbolic expression of thought” works in a multilingual brain and how we can manage it effectively.
a). The “Multiple Labels” Phenomenon
In a monolingual home, a child learns one symbol for an object. For example, take the word “Apple.” In a Sri Lankan trilingual home, the child learns three symbols for that same thought:
* Apple (English)
* Apal
(Sinhala – ඇපල්)
* Appil
(Tamil – ஆப்பிள்)
Because the trilingual child learns that one “thought” can be expressed by multiple “symbols,” the child’s brain becomes more flexible. This is why bilingual and trilingual children often score higher on tasks involving “executive function”, meaning the ability to switch focus and solve complex problems.
b). Is there a “Delay”?
(The Common Myth)
One might notice that a child in a trilingual home may start to speak slightly later than a monolingual peer, or they might have a smaller vocabulary in each language at age two.
However, if one adds up the total number of words they know across all three languages, they are usually ahead of monolingual children. By age five, they typically catch up in all languages and possess a much more “plastic” and adaptable brain.
c). Strategies for Success: How to Do It?
To help the child’s brain organise these three symbol systems, it helps to have some “consistency.” Here are the two most effective methods:
* One Person, One Language (OPOL), the so-called “gold standard” for multilingual families.
Amma
speaks only Sinhala, while the Father speaks only English, and the Grandparents or Nanny speak only Tamil. The child learns to associate a specific language with a specific person. Their brain creates a “map”: “When I talk to Amma, I use these sounds; when I talk to Thaththa, I use those,” etc.
*
Situational/Contextual Learning. If the parents speak all three, one could divide languages by “environment”: English at the dinner table, Sinhala during play and bath time and Tamil when visiting relatives or at the market.
These, of course, need NOT be very rigid rules, but general guidance, applied judiciously and ever-so-kindly.
d). “Code-Mixing” is Normal
We need not be alarmed if a 3-year-old says something like: “Ammi, I want that palam (fruit).” This is called Code-Mixing. It is NOT a sign of confusion; it is a sign of efficiency. The child’s brain is searching for the quickest way to express a thought and grabs the most “available” word from their three language cupboards. As they get older, perhaps around age 4 or 5, they will naturally learn to separate them perfectly.
e). The “Sri Lankan Advantage”
Growing up trilingual in Sri Lanka provides a massive social and cognitive advantage.
For a start, there will be Cultural Empathy. Language actually carries culture. A child who speaks Sinhala, Tamil, and English can navigate all social spheres of the country quite effortlessly.
In addition, there are the benefits of a Phonetic Range. Sinhala and Tamil have many sounds that do not exist in English (and even vice versa). Learning these as a child wires the ears to hear and reproduce almost any human sound, making it much easier to learn more languages (like French or Japanese) later in life.
As an abiding thought, it is the considered opinion of the author that a trilingual Sri Lanka will go a long way towards the goals and display of racial harmony, respect for different ethnic groups, and unrivalled national coordination in our beautiful Motherland. Then it would become a utopian heaven, where all people, as just Sri Lankans, can live in admirable concordant synchrony, rather than as splintered clusters divided by ethnicity, language and culture.
A Helpful Summary Checklist for Parents
* Do Not Drop a Language:
If you stop speaking Tamil because you are worried about English, the child loses that “neural real estate.” Keep all three languages going.
* High-Quality Input:
Do not just use “commands” (Eat! Sleep!). Use the Parentese and Serve and Return methods (mentioned in an earlier article) in all the languages.
* Employ Patience:
If the little one mixes up some words, just model the right words and gently correct the sentence and present it to the child like a suggestion, without scolding or finding fault with him or her. The child will then learn effortlessly and without resentment or shame.
by Dr b. J. C. Perera
MBBS(Cey), DCH(Cey), DCH(Eng), MD(Paediatrics), MRCP(UK), FRCP(Edin), FRCP(Lond), FRCPCH(UK), FSLCPaed, FCCP, Hony.
FRCPCH(UK), Hony. FCGP(SL)
Specialist Consultant Paediatrician and Honorary Senior Fellow, Postgraduate Institute of Medicine, University of Colombo, Sri Lanka
It is, indeed, encouraging to see our local artistes working on new formats, where their music is concerned.
Variety is the spice of life, they say, and I do agree, especially when it comes to music.
Blending modern synth textures, ambient layers and soulful undertones, the group SIMPSON’S is set to carve a distinct sonic identity within Sri Lanka’s contemporary music landscape.
Their vision, they say, is not simply to produce songs, but to create emotional atmospheres – experiences that elevate, energise and resonate, both locally and beyond.
This four-piece outfit came into the scene, less than two years ago, and they are already making waves with their debut single ‘Balaporottuwak’ (Hope).
The song, I’m told, marks the beginning of a new sound, and at the forefront of ‘Balaporottuwak’ is the group’s lead vocalist and guitarist, Ryo Hera, who brings a rich cultural heritage to the stage.
As a professional Kandyan Wes dancer, Ryo’s commanding presence and textured vocals bring a distinct energy to the band’s sound.
‘Balaporottuwak’
Ryo Hera: Vocals for ‘Balaporottuwak’
is more than just a debut single – it’s a declaration of intent. The band is merging tradition and modernity, power and subtlety, to create a sound that’s both authentic and innovative.
With this song, SIMPSON’S is inviting listeners to join them on an evolving musical journey, one that’s built on vision and creativity.
The recording process for ‘Balaporottuwak’ was organic and instinctive, with the band shaping the song through live studio sessions.
Dileepa Liyanage, the keyboardist and composer, is the principal sound mind behind SIMPSON’S.
With experience spanning background scores, commercial projects, cinematic themes and jingles across multiple genres, Dileepa brings structural finesse and atmospheric depth to the band’s arrangements.
He described the recording process of ‘Balaporottuwak’ as organic and instinctive: “When Ryo Hera opens his voice, it becomes effortless to shape it into any musical colour. The tone naturally adapts.”
The band’s lineup includes Buddhima Chalanu on bass, and Savidya Yasaru on drums, and, together, they create a sound that’s not just a reflection of their individual talents, but a collective vision.
Dileepa Liyanage: Brings
structural finesse and
atmospheric depth to the
band’s arrangements
What sets SIMPSON’S apart is their decision to keep the production in-house – mixing and mastering the song themselves. This allows them to maintain their unique sound and artistic autonomy.
“We work as a family and each member is given the freedom to work out his music on the instruments he handles and then, in the studio, we put everything together,” said Dileepa, adding that their goal is to release an album, made up of Sinhala and English songs.
Steering this creative core is manager Mangala Samarajeewa, whose early career included managing various international artistes. His guidance has positioned SIMPSON’S not merely as a performing unit, but as a carefully envisioned project – one aimed at expanding Sri Lanka’s contemporary music vocabulary.
SIMPSON’S are quite active in the scene here, performing, on a regular basis, at popular venues in Colombo, and down south, as well.
They are also seen, and heard, on Spotify, TikTok, Apple Music, iTunes, and Deezer.
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