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Aachchi – My Heroine

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by Jayantha Perera


Aachchi (my paternal grandmother)s claim to fame was a story about her mother’s bravery. My great-grandmother was 160-years old when the Krakatoa Volcano in the Javanese Sea erupted in 1883. She ran with her brother to the seabed to catch gasping fish left behind by the receding waves. When the sea swelled and exploded, it took her about a hundred metres before dashing her onto a building. If we pressed for more drama, Aachchi would say that her mother rode high waves and swam home over the railway track and coconut trees.

Aachchi’s father was a carpenter at Wakari Binkari (Walkers and Briggs) Company in Colombo. After work, he bathed in the Beira Lake before going home. One day, while having his evening bath, he saw someone stealing his clothes. He came out of the lake and hit the thief with a club. The thief fell into the lake. My great-grandfather thought the thief would try to stay underwater and waited ten minutes for him to resurface. As the thief did not, he hurriedly wore his white sarong and cotton jacket and went home, never to come to Colombo again. Aachchi was his third child. She attended Sinhala Catholic Girls’ School until fourth standard and left school to look after her sick mother.

My paternal grandfather was a school dropout. When he was 20, he joined a rubber estate as a field assistant. On several occasions, he smelt cigarette smoke but could not see anybody nearby. One day, a fellow worker found him fallen face down and unconscious in an abandoned block of rubber land. When revived, he complained that a demon attacked him. He had bruises on his neck, face and chest. The parish priest, an expert on demonic possession, had taken charge of my grandfather. After a week of prayer and negotiations with the demon, the priest claimed that he had expelled the demon and sent my grandfather home. The experience with a demon changed his personality altogether. He roamed the village aimlessly and occasionally joined fishermen to pull seine nets and empty boats after their return from the sea. Some people thought that he was still possessed by a spirit.

Soon after marrying my grandfather, Aachchi realised that she had to earn a living as she could not depend on her husband for money. Fortunately, she owned a few pieces of land, which her father had given her as a dowry. She started a small business in her verandah with the money she got from selling a piece of land. She bought vegetables, fruits, and rice from the Sunday market in Kalutara Town and sold them with a small profit. Her husband frequently demanded money from her to buy cigars and arrack. Whenever she refused, he assaulted her, and neighbours had to intervene to calm them down. Men in their neighbourhood were notorious for frequent fights and the beating of wives. The neighbourhood was known as ‘alakalanchi Usaviya’ (noisy courtyard).

Thaththa (my father) received much attention from his mother as an only child. Aachchi wanted to send him to Holy Cross College in Kalutara to study in the English medium. She started saving money to send him to the College. Aachchi cooked food, chopped firewood, and fetched water for several households to earn an extra rupee. When Thaththa was about seven, she took him to Holy Cross College and met the College Principal, a French priest. The priest agreed to admit Thaththa but refused to exempt him from paying hefty school and facilities fees. Aachchi then enrolled him in Lansi Palliya (Dutch School) at Paiyagala. The school’s history goes back to the 18th century. The Dutch established several palliyas (schools) in the Western Province, and the Lansi Palliya was one of them. In the 1920s, it was known as an excellent Government-funded Sinhala Buddhist school.

The parish priest learned that Aachchi had enrolled Thaththa at Lansi Palliya. He sent for Aachchi and told her that thaththa must not attend a Buddhist school. She demanded that the priest should help Thaththa to join Holy Cross College. He refused and excommunicated Aachchi from the church. He prohibited her from attending Sunday mass and receiving holy sacraments.

While chopping firewood, Aachchi cut her ankle and bled profusely. At the Kalutara District hospital, her health deteriorated, and she wanted to get Catholic last rites. The parish priest refused to visit her at the hospital. My grandfather promised the priest to take Thaththa out from the Lansi Palliya. The priest then administered the last rites on Aachchi after admonishing her for straying away from God and his love.

A few months later, the principal priest of Holy Cross College saw some drawings of Jesus and the Apostles at the entrance to the church of Kalamulla. The priest wanted to meet the artist. The artist was Thaththa. The priest recognised him as the boy who had come with his mother to meet him. The priest appreciated Thaththa’s drawings and asked him to visit the College with his mother. The priest waived school fees and asked Aachchi to pay a rupee monthly as facilities fees. Her nephew loaned that money to her. She arranged for Thaththa to have lunch at her cousin’s place in Kalutara on school days. The cousin treated Thaththa well, and Aachchi gave her a piece of land as a token of gratitude.

Thaththa disliked the new school. Boys bullied him and criticised his old clothes and shoes. When Thaththa dropped out from Holy Cross after passing JSC at 18, Aachchi thought thaththa had suffered because of neighbours’ evil eyes. Thaththa wandered aimlessly in the village in his sarong and shirt as his father did many years ago. Aachchi suspected someone had used black magic to harm him.

Thaththa passed the junior clerical examination and was posted at Kandy General Hospital. Aachchi was devastated when she heard that thaththa would leave home. When thaththa did not come home for four months and did not even send a postcard, she made up her mind that Thaththa was dead. When Thaththa returned home, she fed 20 poor persons and requested them to pray for Thaththa’s well-being. She expected a good time for herself and Thaththa soon.

Three years later, Thaththa married Amma, and Aachchi joined the new family. She could not believe that her only son now belonged to another woman. She started to harass Amma by spreading rumours against her. Amma treated Aachchi well. When meals were prepared, Amma served Achchi first. Once, she tried to kill Amma by slashing the ropes of the bed where Amma used to rest after lunch. Achchi spread a mat over the bed to hide the hole. On that day, Amma was getting ready to go to the Kalutara District Hospital to deliver me, her third child. She fell through the bed when she lay down after lunch. She was unconscious for an hour but delivered to me on the same day at home with the help of a local midwife. Aachchi denied that she had cut the ropes. It was the beginning of her troubles with her son. Thaththa chased her away from home. She spent two years with her nieces in Beruwela before returning to her son’s house.

Aachchi remembered who had helped her in bringing up Thaththa. She sold her residential house and homestead to an outsider because her relatives in the neighbourhood had ignored her and Thaththa when they were trying to survive as the poorest family among them. When I visited Achchi’s village many years later, an old aunt complained that Aachchi had destroyed the neighbourhood’s solidarity by selling her property to an outsider.

Aachchi had rented several coconut trees annually on two plots of land by the beach to a toddy businessman. The rent was for tapping coconut trees for toddy. She took my elder brother or me on her rent-collecting trips. Once, the businessman told her that the trees on her land had died when lightning struck them. She did not accept the explanation and demanded the rent, which she got after arguing with the man. She spent the money on her grandchildren. She brought two packets of Maldivian halva, four neckties for her grandchildren, and three handkerchiefs for thaththa. She did not buy anything for Amma. She opened the halva packets and put halva pieces under the outer cloth that she was wearing so that we could not snatch them from her. After that, we refused to eat them, saying that she smeared them with her urine.

Aachchi took her grandchildren to visit her relatives during church feasts. Once, she told us to wear the ties she had bought to attend the Kala Eliya church feast. My necktie had the pattern of running tigers, Gamini had a necktie with frogs, and Nihal’s necktie had dancing cobras. My youngest brother, Parakrama, refused to wear his tie with swans. Achchi wore a thick, colourful kumbaya and an embroidered long-sleeved jacket. If the relatives did not welcome us, Aachchi told us to entertain them. Gamini often demonstrated ‘China-footing’, which he had learned from Thaththa. Gamini punched an imaginary foe with his fists and elbows with a peculiar scream. I recited a poem in English. Nihal showed a piece from a drama he had performed at the School.

Achchchi loved to take her four grandsons to Sunday mass. Once, after the holy mass, she bought mango achchar (pickle) for us with the money my Amma gave her to pay for our haircuts. She took us to a hair salon and got our hair cut. She asked us to show our skills to the saloon keeper and other customers. When we got up to leave the saloon, the salon keeper asked Achchi to pay for the services. She asked him, “How often do you get four handsome boys to perform and entertain you? You should be ashamed to demand money from them after such a great performance”. We never went back to the salon.

On Christmas Eve, thaththa gave Aachchi one or two ‘drams’ of arrack, and Aachchi wanted more. While smoking a crude black cigar, she sang a street song that she learned as a young girl during the 1915 Muslim-Sinhala riots:

Kauda bole pare morae
Lunsi kabalunge morae
Gal gahala marala marala…

(Who are those bastards shouting on our streets

White (English) ruffians are shouting on the streets.

Let us stone and kill them, and kill them—).

Aachchi had fallen ill and was paralysed when she was 77. She was bedridden for three months before her death. A village physician suggested to my father that he dip his thumb in water and give the water to Achchi to drink to finish the close relationship between him and Aachchi. Such severance, he explained, would help her to die peacefully. Thaththa refused to do it and left the house angrily.

One morning, Aachchi called me to her bedside. She could hardly talk. I told her that I loved her and would miss her. I could see tears in her eyes, and she confessed lightly, holding my hand, that she did not mean to kill Amma by cutting the ropes of the bed. I felt sorry to see her tears. I consoled her by saying that I had escaped death on that day so that I could look after her and Amma.



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Challenges faced by the media in South Asia in fostering regionalism

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Main speaker Roman Gautam (R) and Executive Director, RCSS, Ambassador (Retd) Ravinatha Aryasinha.

SAARC or the South Asian Association for Regional Cooperation has been declared ‘dead’ by some sections in South Asia and the idea seems to be catching on. Over the years the evidence seems to have been building that this is so, but a matter that requires thorough probing is whether the media in South Asia, given the vital part it could play in fostering regional amity, has had a role too in bringing about SAARC’s apparent demise.

That South Asian governments have had a hand in the ‘SAARC debacle’ is plain to see. For example, it is beyond doubt that the India-Pakistan rivalry has invariably got in the way, particularly over the past 15 years or thereabouts, of the Indian and Pakistani governments sitting at the negotiating table and in a spirit of reconciliation resolving the vexatious issues growing out of the SAARC exercise. The inaction had a paralyzing effect on the organization.

Unfortunately the rest of South Asian governments too have not seen it to be in the collective interest of the region to explore ways of jump-starting the SAARC process and sustaining it. That is, a lack of statesmanship on the part of the SAARC Eight is clearly in evidence. Narrow national interests have been allowed to hijack and derail the cooperative process that ought to be at the heart of the SAARC initiative.

However, a dimension that has hitherto gone comparatively unaddressed is the largely negative role sections of the media in the SAARC region could play in debilitating regional cooperation and amity. We had some thought-provoking ‘takes’ on this question recently from Roman Gautam, the editor of ‘Himal Southasian’.

Gautam was delivering the third of talks on February 2nd in the RCSS Strategic Dialogue Series under the aegis of the Regional Centre for Strategic Studies, Colombo, at the latter’s conference hall. The forum was ably presided over by RCSS Executive Director and Ambassador (Retd.) Ravinatha Aryasinha who, among other things, ensured lively participation on the part of the attendees at the Q&A which followed the main presentation. The talk was titled, ‘Where does the media stand in connecting (or dividing) Southasia?’.

Gautam singled out those sections of the Indian media that are tamely subservient to Indian governments, including those that are professedly independent, for the glaring lack of, among other things, regionalism or collective amity within South Asia. These sections of the media, it was pointed out, pander easily to the narratives framed by the Indian centre on developments in the region and fall easy prey, as it were, to the nationalist forces that are supportive of the latter. Consequently, divisive forces within the region receive a boost which is hugely detrimental to regional cooperation.

Two cases in point, Gautam pointed out, were the recent political upheavals in Nepal and Bangladesh. In each of these cases stray opinions favorable to India voiced by a few participants in the relevant protests were clung on to by sections of the Indian media covering these trouble spots. In the case of Nepal, to consider one example, a young protester’s single comment to the effect that Nepal too needed a firm leader like Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi was seized upon by the Indian media and fed to audiences at home in a sensational, exaggerated fashion. No effort was made by the Indian media to canvass more opinions on this matter or to extensively research the issue.

In the case of Bangladesh, widely held rumours that the Hindus in the country were being hunted and killed, pogrom fashion, and that the crisis was all about this was propagated by the relevant sections of the Indian media. This was a clear pandering to religious extremist sentiment in India. Once again, essentially hearsay stories were given prominence with hardly any effort at understanding what the crisis was really all about. There is no doubt that anti-Muslim sentiment in India would have been further fueled.

Gautam was of the view that, in the main, it is fear of victimization of the relevant sections of the media by the Indian centre and anxiety over financial reprisals and like punitive measures by the latter that prompted the media to frame their narratives in these terms. It is important to keep in mind these ‘structures’ within which the Indian media works, we were told. The issue in other words, is a question of the media completely subjugating themselves to the ruling powers.

Basically, the need for financial survival on the part of the Indian media, it was pointed out, prompted it to subscribe to the prejudices and partialities of the Indian centre. A failure to abide by the official line could spell financial ruin for the media.

A principal question that occurred to this columnist was whether the ‘Indian media’ referred to by Gautam referred to the totality of the Indian media or whether he had in mind some divisive, chauvinistic and narrow-based elements within it. If the latter is the case it would not be fair to generalize one’s comments to cover the entirety of the Indian media. Nevertheless, it is a matter for further research.

However, an overall point made by the speaker that as a result of the above referred to negative media practices South Asian regionalism has suffered badly needs to be taken. Certainly, as matters stand currently, there is a very real information gap about South Asian realities among South Asian publics and harmful media practices account considerably for such ignorance which gets in the way of South Asian cooperation and amity.

Moreover, divisive, chauvinistic media are widespread and active in South Asia. Sri Lanka has a fair share of this species of media and the latter are not doing the country any good, leave alone the region. All in all, the democratic spirit has gone well into decline all over the region.

The above is a huge problem that needs to be managed reflectively by democratic rulers and their allied publics in South Asia and the region’s more enlightened media could play a constructive role in taking up this challenge. The latter need to take the initiative to come together and deliberate on the questions at hand. To succeed in such efforts they do not need the backing of governments. What is of paramount importance is the vision and grit to go the extra mile.

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When the Wetland spoke after dusk

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Environmental groups and representatives

By Ifham Nizam

As the sun softened over Colombo and the city’s familiar noise began to loosen its grip, the Beddagana Wetland Park prepared for its quieter hour — the hour when wetlands speak in their own language.

World Wetlands Day was marked a little early this year, but time felt irrelevant at Beddagana. Nature lovers, students, scientists and seekers gathered not for a ceremony, but for listening. Partnering with Park authorities, Dilmah Conservation opened the wetland as a living classroom, inviting more than a 100 participants to step gently into an ecosystem that survives — and protects — a capital city.

Wetlands, it became clear, are not places of stillness. They are places of conversation.

Beyond the surface

In daylight, Beddagana appears serene — open water stitched with reeds, dragonflies hovering above green mirrors.

Yet beneath the surface lies an intricate architecture of life. Wetlands are not defined by water alone, but by relationships: fungi breaking down matter, insects pollinating and feeding, amphibians calling across seasons, birds nesting and mammals moving quietly between shadows.

Participants learned this not through lectures alone, but through touch, sound and careful observation. Simple water testing kits revealed the chemistry of urban survival. Camera traps hinted at lives lived mostly unseen.

Demonstrations of mist netting and cage trapping unfolded with care, revealing how science approaches nature not as an intruder, but as a listener.

Again and again, the lesson returned: nothing here exists in isolation.

Learning to listen

Perhaps the most profound discovery of the day was sound.

Wetlands speak constantly, but human ears are rarely tuned to their frequency. Researchers guided participants through the wetland’s soundscape — teaching them to recognise the rhythms of frogs, the punctuation of insects, the layered calls of birds settling for night.

Then came the inaudible made audible. Bat detectors translated ultrasonic echolocation into sound, turning invisible flight into pulses and clicks. Faces lit up with surprise. The air, once assumed empty, was suddenly full.

It was a moment of humility — proof that much of nature’s story unfolds beyond human perception.

Sethil on camera trapping

The city’s quiet protectors

Environmental researcher Narmadha Dangampola offered an image that lingered long after her words ended. Wetlands, she said, are like kidneys.

“They filter, cleanse and regulate,” she explained. “They protect the body of the city.”

Her analogy felt especially fitting at Beddagana, where concrete edges meet wild water.

She shared a rare confirmation: the Collared Scops Owl, unseen here for eight years, has returned — a fragile signal that when habitats are protected, life remembers the way back.

Small lives, large meanings

Professor Shaminda Fernando turned attention to creatures rarely celebrated. Small mammals — shy, fast, easily overlooked — are among the wetland’s most honest messengers.

Using Sherman traps, he demonstrated how scientists read these animals for clues: changes in numbers, movements, health.

In fragmented urban landscapes, small mammals speak early, he said. They warn before silence arrives.

Their presence, he reminded participants, is not incidental. It is evidence of balance.

Narmadha on water testing pH level

Wings in the dark

As twilight thickened, Dr. Tharaka Kusuminda introduced mist netting — fine, almost invisible nets used in bat research.

He spoke firmly about ethics and care, reminding all present that knowledge must never come at the cost of harm.

Bats, he said, are guardians of the night: pollinators, seed dispersers, controllers of insects. Misunderstood, often feared, yet indispensable.

“Handle them wrongly,” he cautioned, “and we lose more than data. We lose trust — between science and life.”

The missing voice

One of the evening’s quiet revelations came from Sanoj Wijayasekara, who spoke not of what is known, but of what is absent.

In other parts of the region — in India and beyond — researchers have recorded female frogs calling during reproduction. In Sri Lanka, no such call has yet been documented.

The silence, he suggested, may not be biological. It may be human.

“Perhaps we have not listened long enough,” he reflected.

The wetland, suddenly, felt like an unfinished manuscript — its pages alive with sound, waiting for patience rather than haste.

The overlooked brilliance of moths

Night drew moths into the light, and with them, a lesson from Nuwan Chathuranga. Moths, he said, are underestimated archivists of environmental change. Their diversity reveals air quality, plant health, climate shifts.

As wings brushed the darkness, it became clear that beauty often arrives quietly, without invitation.

Sanoj on female frogs

Coexisting with the wild

Ashan Thudugala spoke of coexistence — a word often used, rarely practiced. Living alongside wildlife, he said, begins with understanding, not fear.

From there, Sethil Muhandiram widened the lens, speaking of Sri Lanka’s apex predator. Leopards, identified by their unique rosette patterns, are studied not to dominate, but to understand.

Science, he showed, is an act of respect.

Even in a wetland without leopards, the message held: knowledge is how coexistence survives.

When night takes over

Then came the walk: As the city dimmed, Beddagana brightened. Fireflies stitched light into darkness. Frogs called across water. Fish moved beneath reflections. Insects swarmed gently, insistently. Camera traps blinked. Acoustic monitors listened patiently.

Those walking felt it — the sense that the wetland was no longer being observed, but revealed.

For many, it was the first time nature did not feel distant.

A global distinction, a local duty

Beddagana stands at the heart of a larger truth. Because of this wetland and the wider network around it, Colombo is the first capital city in the world recognised as a Ramsar Wetland City.

It is an honour that carries obligation. Urban wetlands are fragile. They disappear quietly. Their loss is often noticed only when floods arrive, water turns toxic, or silence settles where sound once lived.

Commitment in action

For Dilmah Conservation, this night was not symbolic.

Speaking on behalf of the organisation, Rishan Sampath said conservation must move beyond intention into experience.

“People protect what they understand,” he said. “And they understand what they experience.”

The Beddagana initiative, he noted, is part of a larger effort to place science, education and community at the centre of conservation.

Listening forward

As participants left — students from Colombo, Moratuwa and Sabaragamuwa universities, school environmental groups, citizens newly attentive — the wetland remained.

It filtered water. It cooled air. It held life.

World Wetlands Day passed quietly. But at Beddagana, something remained louder than celebration — a reminder that in the heart of the city, nature is still speaking.

The question is no longer whether wetlands matter.

It is whether we are finally listening.

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Cuteefly … for your Valentine

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Indunil with one of her creations

Valentine’s Day is all about spreading love and appreciation, and it is a mega scene on 14th February.

People usually shower their loved ones with gifts, flowers (especially roses), and sweet treats.

Couples often plan romantic dinners or getaways, while singles might treat themselves to self-care or hang out with friends.

It’s a day to express feelings, share love, and make memories, and that’s exactly what Indunil Kaushalya Dissanayaka, of Cuteefly fame, is working on.

She has come up with a novel way of making that special someone extra special on Valentine’s Day.

Indunil is known for her scented and beautifully turned out candles, under the brand name Cuteefly, and we highlighted her creativeness in The Island of 27th November, 2025.

She is now working enthusiastically on her Valentine’s Day candles and has already come up with various designs.

“What I’ve turned out I’m certain will give lots of happiness to the receiver,” said Indunil, with confidence.

In addition to her own designs, she says she can make beautiful candles, the way the customer wants it done and according to their budget, as well.

Customers can also add anything they want to the existing candles, created by Indunil, and make them into gift packs.

Another special feature of Cuteefly is that you can get them to deliver the gifts … and surprise that special someone on Valentine’s Day.

Indunil was originally doing the usual 9 to 5 job but found it kind of boring, and then decided to venture into a scene that caught her interest, and brought out her hidden talent … candle making

And her scented candles, under the brand ‘Cuteefly,’ are already scorching hot, not only locally, but abroad, as well, in countries like Canada, Dubai, Sweden and Japan.

“I give top priority to customer satisfaction and so I do my creative work with great care, without any shortcomings, to ensure that my customers have nothing to complain about.”

Indunil creates candles for any occasion – weddings, get-togethers, for mental concentration, to calm the mind, home decorations, as gifts, for various religious ceremonies, etc.

In addition to her candle business, Indunil is also a singer, teacher, fashion designer, and councellor but due to the heavy workload, connected with her candle business, she says she can hardly find any time to devote to her other talents.

Indunil could be contacted on 077 8506066, Facebook page – Cuteefly, Tiktok– Cuteefly_tik, and Instagram – Cuteeflyofficial.

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