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Anatomy of a Match: The Royal Thomian Up Close (Part I)

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By Uditha Devapriya and Uthpala Wijesuriya

A cricket match that exists beyond cricket, the Royal Thomian is one of the most celebrated sports encounters in South Asia – and the world.

“Everyone turns into a different being here.”
A spectator at the Royal Thomian

A Historical Outline

The Royal Thomian is Sri Lanka’s most popular cricket encounter, more popular than the many test and ODI matches that dot the island nation’s sports calendar. It unfolds every March, customarily on a Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.

Every year, Old Boys take the first chance they get to return home, like a pilgrimage, through whatever way they can, to meet long lost friends, share a beer, sing, dance, and cheer. Yet while cricket occupies a secondary place there, the match itself occupies an important place in the history of the sport in Sri Lanka – and in South Asia.

Like tea plantations, public schools, and the civil service, cricket came to Sri Lanka through European colonisers, specifically the British. And like all things British, it was introduced by the colonisers to help insulate themselves from the locals.

In India, the first cricket clubs were formed in 1792. Four years later, the British annexed Sri Lanka, then known as Ceylon, from the Dutch.

Despite a promising start, cricket took time to get fully established in Ceylon. The island’s first cricket club was formed only in 1832. As in India, it came to be restricted to a narrow circle, including colonial officials, the military, and plantation owners.

This was a crucial period in the island’s history. In 1833, the British government appointed a Commission of Inquiry to assess the state of the country’s administration.

The Commission made several recommendations. Among these was the establishment of a public school to impart an English education and prepare the sons of elites for the civil service. In 1835, that school, the Colombo Academy, opened in the capital Colombo. Forty six years later it obtained a Royal decree, and was renamed Royal College.

Manned by Anglican missionaries and British headmasters, these schools promoted European culture and Western values. Sport, particularly cricket, became markers of social status, distancing their students from the world outside. The models adopted were invariably British, with Eton and Harrow as the preferred prototypes. Their clientele, so to speak, were the sons of planters, administrators, and chieftains.

In 1851 the Anglican Diocese of Colombo founded S. Thomas’ College. Unlike the Colombo Academy, which was non-denominational, the College sought to impart a religious education. In 1864, it held what is now regarded as the first school match in the country, where it managed to record an eight-run victory.

The Royal Thomian’s long saga commenced when the Colombo Academy appointed Ashley Walker, an Old Boy of Westminster College and a graduate of Cambridge – a Cambridge Blue, to boot – as a mathematics tutor in 1877.

Walker, celebrated today as the father of Ceylonese cricket, was soon appointed as Boarding Master at the Academy. He went out of his way to promote cricket at school and to this end formed a rather formidable student team.

Having developed the sport in the Academy, Walker then wrote to the Sub-Warden of S. Thomas’, outlining his plan for an inter-collegiate encounter.

The first recorded fixture of the “Academy versus College” match, as it was called at the time, took place in 1879, with Walker captaining the Academy. The Academy won the toss and elected to bat. At the day’s close, it emerged champions.

At the first match, the teams from both schools comprised of teachers and students. The format changed the following year when the students took the lead. The Academy prevailed at this encounter as well, with a lead of 62 runs.

From the beginning, the match took on the character of a social event, with the active if obligatory participation of the upper class. By now, the British experiment of implanting Western civilisation in the country had proved immensely successful.

In this regard, for the upper classes, sport, in particular cricket, became more than just a game. Elite schools served a pivotal function in moulding their attitudes from an early age. At such institutions, cricket thus became a marker of social status.

As the years progressed, the schools and the match produced many of the country’s leading figures, including lawyers, doctors – and the country’s leaders.

In 1928 the match was rechristened the Senanayake Shield. Its namesake, D. S. Senanayake, who had played for S. Thomas’ more than 20 years earlier, would wind up as independent Ceylon’s first Prime Minister 20 years later.

1979 marked the centenary of the match. At the end of the Royal Thomian that year, the then Sri Lankan President, J. R. Jayewardene, who had played for Royal in 1925, granted permission to change it from a two-day to its current three-day format. Since then the match has been played without any major modifications.

This is, admittedly, an all too brief historical summary. Yet it underlies at least three essential points about the Royal Thomian. First, in the words of fervent Old Boys and diehard fans, it has “stopped for nothing.” Not even two World Wars have managed to stop it – even if, as 2021 and 2022 showed, it has had its share of delays and postponements. That has sealed it with a posterity enjoyed by very few other cricket matches elsewhere.

Second, such historical legacies tend to provoke the most passionate emotions – as they did in 2020, when the then President, facing a crisis during COVID-19, revealed at a meeting that he had asked the organisers to call the match off over health concerns. Ironically, in 2021, it was to the President’s nephew, the then Sports Minister, that a group of concerned Old Boys presented a petition, urging the government to grant permission to hold the match and help maintain “the distinction the encounter has had for generations.”

Royal-Thomian fashions in 1893

Third, and perhaps most significantly, the match serves as a backdrop or a culmination to a series of other events – each with their own histories behind them – which unfold like a ritual every March – lending themselves to the moniker “March Madness.”

Today, cricket, like every other facet of life in Sri Lanka, has become more grounded in Sri Lankan society: a far cry from what it used to be under colonial rule. This has been no less true of the Royal Thomian – though it has managed to maintain its elite veneer.

Class, Politics, and Baila

For all intents and purposes, the Royal Thomian is not just a cricket match. But to define it in terms of what it is not, is to ponder on what it is. That, however, depends on who you ask and what perspective you adopt. Perhaps the best way of defining it without essentialising it would be to examine the many contradictions that underlie it.

To outsiders, the Royal Thomian appears as a gathering of a social elite, a class which sees itself as superior to everyone else. But to insiders, there are no such demarcations: all those who make themselves part of the proceedings eventually fall in line with the mood of the event. “There’s nothing classist about the match,” one Old Boy, beer can in hand, says. His friend cheerily agrees: “It doesn’t matter where you come from.”

Certainly, the Royal Thomian – with its cacophony of baila, drinking, and endless merriment – is a far cry from what it used to be in the early 20th century. Back then – lodged between the Victorian and Edwardian eras – the event resembled an Ascot race, with sharply tailored suits and top hats all around. That era has long gone.

To be sure, students take pride in its elite character, and do everything to maintain its status. But that quality doesn’t really come out on the field or the many tents on both sides of the field. This is because the elite have their preferred spaces at the match: prominently at the Mustangs Tent, the male-only club with a history of more than a 100 years attracting the highest echelons of Sri Lankan society.

From corporate heads to heads of state to parliamentarians, everyone with a pass come to these corners and spaces to socialise, sing, dance, and cheer. Here, traditional rivalries transform into perennial friendships. It’s not unusual to spot MPs – Sri Lanka is an electoral democracy – who make a career out of bickering with each other, dancing, singing, even holding arms. Occasionally the members of these tents invite special guests: this year, it was the Indian High Commissioner and the US Ambassador.

Some of the invitees leave feeling dazed. As one former Ambassador recalls:

“Part of my work involved visiting government Ministers and Opposition lawmakers. They invariably badmouth each other. Seeing them hang out with each other so casually at the tent confused me. It almost felt like a drama.”

Old Boys, even students, would defend such contradictions on the grounds that the Royal Thomian is no place for politics: if you are part of the crowd – if you are an Old Boy – you bond with one another. And yet, these paradoxes invite their fair share of criticisms, with some accusing the match – and not altogether inaccurately – as whitewashing the excesses of the political elite, many of whom hail from either of the two schools.

It would be naive to claim that politics plays no part at the Royal Thomian. It does, often in not-so subtle or diplomatic ways. The 2015 encounter, for instance, unfolded three months after what was dubbed as a “Royalist coup”: the election of a government, most of whose Ministers had been educated at Royal College.

Indeed, as one newspaper editor pointed out at the time, “the subtext [of the match was] that these people were back in charge now.”

Responding to the charge, one MP bluntly agreed and added, “We’re bringing with us the values we learned at these schools: inclusiveness and common decency.”

Historically, the match has served as a backdrop for elite politics. For much of its post-independence period, the political leadership in Sri Lanka – Ceylon until it became a Republic in 1972 – shifted between two main parties, the United National Party (UNP) and the Sri Lanka Freedom Party (SLFP). Most of the country’s leaders hailed from leading schools, including Royal and S. Thomas’. The situation has changed today: there is more room for those from outside elite circles to enter the corridors of power.

It would be amiss to view elite schools as being immune to these developments. Such institutions have, in their own way, accommodated the social and political changes that have swept through the country since independence.

Still, the charge that events like the Royal Thomian are gathering spaces for the elite has managed to stick, the result being that social media users get hostile when match season is around the corner. Often they decry the match as a “snooty” affair.

To Be Continued Next Week
Uditha Devapriya is an international relations analyst, researcher, and freelance columnist who can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com.
Uthpala Wijesuriya is a law and international relations student and history researcher who can be reached at wijesuriyau6@gmail.com.
Uditha and Uthpala are the two leads of U & U, an informal Sri Lankan collective that engages in art and culture research. Twitter handle: @uanduthoughts.



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Rethinking post-disaster urban planning: Lessons from Peradeniya

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University of Peradeniya

A recent discussion by former Environment Minister, Eng. Patali Champika Ranawaka on the Derana 360 programme has reignited an important national conversation on how Sri Lanka plans, builds and rebuilds in the face of recurring disasters.

His observations, delivered with characteristic clarity and logic, went beyond the immediate causes of recent calamities and focused sharply on long-term solutions—particularly the urgent need for smarter land use and vertical housing development.

Ranawaka’s proposal to introduce multistoried housing schemes in the Gannoruwa area, as a way of reducing pressure on environmentally sensitive and disaster-prone zones, resonated strongly with urban planners and environmentalists alike.

It also echoed ideas that have been quietly discussed within academic and conservation circles for years but rarely translated into policy.

One such voice is that of Professor Siril Wijesundara, Research Professor at the National Institute of Fundamental Studies (NIFS) and former Director General of the Royal Botanic Gardens, Peradeniya, who believes that disasters are often “less acts of nature and more outcomes of poor planning.”

Professor Siril Wijesundara

“What we repeatedly see in Sri Lanka is not merely natural disasters, but planning failures,” Professor Wijesundara told The Island.

“Floods, landslides and environmental degradation are intensified because we continue to build horizontally, encroaching on wetlands, forest margins and river reservations, instead of thinking vertically and strategically.”

The former Director General notes that the University of Peradeniya itself offers a compelling case study of both the problem and the solution. The main campus, already densely built and ecologically sensitive, continues to absorb new faculties, hostels and administrative buildings, placing immense pressure on green spaces and drainage systems.

“The Peradeniya campus was designed with landscape harmony in mind,” he said. “But over time, ad-hoc construction has compromised that vision. If development continues in the same manner, the campus will lose not only its aesthetic value but also its ecological resilience.”

Professor Wijesundara supports the idea of reorganising the Rajawatte area—located away from the congested core of the university—as a future development zone. Rather than expanding inward and fragmenting remaining open spaces, he argues that Rajawatte can be planned as a well-designed extension, integrating academic, residential and service infrastructure in a controlled manner.

Crucially, he stresses that such reorganisation must go hand in hand with social responsibility, particularly towards minor staff currently living in the Rajawatte area.

“These workers are the backbone of the university. Any development plan must ensure their dignity and wellbeing,” he said. “Providing them with modern, safe and affordable multistoried housing—especially near the railway line close to the old USO premises—would be both humane and practical.”

According to Professor Wijesundara, housing complexes built near existing transport corridors would reduce daily commuting stress, minimise traffic within the campus, and free up valuable land for planned academic use.

More importantly, vertical housing would significantly reduce the university’s physical footprint.

Drawing parallels with Ranawaka’s Gannoruwa proposal, he emphasised that vertical development is no longer optional for Sri Lanka.

“We are a small island with a growing population and shrinking safe land,” he warned.

“If we continue to spread out instead of building up, disasters will become more frequent and more deadly. Vertical housing, when done properly, is environmentally sound, economically efficient and socially just.”

Peradeniya University flooded

The veteran botanist also highlighted the often-ignored link between disaster vulnerability and the destruction of green buffers.

“Every time we clear a lowland, a wetland or a forest patch for construction, we remove nature’s shock absorbers,” he said.

“The Royal Botanic Gardens has survived floods for over a century precisely because surrounding landscapes once absorbed excess water. Urban planning must learn from such ecological wisdom.”

Professor Wijesundara believes that universities, as centres of knowledge, should lead by example.

“If an institution like Peradeniya cannot demonstrate sustainable planning, how can we expect cities to do so?” he asked. “This is an opportunity to show that development and conservation are not enemies, but partners.”

As climate-induced disasters intensify across the country, voices like his—and proposals such as those articulated by Patali Champika Ranawaka—underscore a simple but urgent truth: Sri Lanka’s future safety depends not only on disaster response, but on how and where we build today.

The challenge now lies with policymakers and planners to move beyond television studio discussions and academic warnings, and translate these ideas into concrete, people-centred action.

By Ifham Nizam ✍️

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Superstition – Major barrier to learning and social advancement

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At the initial stage of my six-year involvement in uplifting society through skill-based initiatives, particularly by promoting handicraft work and teaching students to think creatively and independently, my efforts were partially jeopardized by deep-rooted superstition and resistance to rational learning.

Superstitions exerted a deeply adverse impact by encouraging unquestioned belief, fear, and blind conformity instead of reasoning and evidence-based understanding. In society, superstition often sustains harmful practices, social discrimination, exploitation by self-styled godmen, and resistance to scientific or social reforms, thereby weakening rational decision-making and slowing progress. When such beliefs penetrate the educational environment, students gradually lose the habit of asking “why” and “how,” accepting explanations based on fate, omens, or divine intervention rather than observation and logic.

Initially, learners became hesitant to challenge me despite my wrong interpretation of any law, less capable of evaluating information critically, and more vulnerable to misinformation and pseudoscience. As a result, genuine efforts towards social upliftment were obstructed, and the transformative power of education, which could empower individuals economically and intellectually, was weakened by fear-driven beliefs that stood in direct opposition to progress and rational thought. In many communities, illnesses are still attributed to evil spirits or curses rather than treated as medical conditions. I have witnessed educated people postponing important decisions, marriages, journeys, even hospital admissions, because an astrologer predicted an “inauspicious” time, showing how fear governs rational minds.

While teaching students science and mathematics, I have clearly observed how superstition acts as a hidden barrier to learning, critical thinking, and intellectual confidence. Many students come to the classroom already conditioned to believe that success or failure depends on luck, planetary positions, or divine favour rather than effort, practice, and understanding, which directly contradicts the scientific spirit. I have seen students hesitate to perform experiments or solve numerical problems on certain “inauspicious” days.

In mathematics, some students label themselves as “weak by birth”, which creates fear and anxiety even before attempting a problem, turning a subject of logic into a source of emotional stress. In science classes, explanations based on natural laws sometimes clash with supernatural beliefs, and students struggle to accept evidence because it challenges what they were taught at home or in society. This conflict confuses young minds and prevents them from fully trusting experimentation, data, and proof.

Worse still, superstition nurtures dependency; students wait for miracles instead of practising problem-solving, revision, and conceptual clarity. Over time, this mindset damages curiosity, reduces confidence, and limits innovation, making science and mathematics appear difficult, frightening, or irrelevant. Many science teachers themselves do not sufficiently emphasise the need to question or ignore such irrational beliefs and often remain limited to textbook facts and exam-oriented learning, leaving little space to challenge superstition directly. When teachers avoid discussing superstition, they unintentionally reinforce the idea that scientific reasoning and superstitious beliefs can coexist.

To overcome superstition and effectively impose critical thinking among students, I have inculcated the process to create a classroom culture where questioning was encouraged and fear of being “wrong” was removed. Students were taught how to think, not what to think, by consistently using the scientific method—observation, hypothesis, experimentation, evidence, and conclusion—in both science and mathematics lessons. I have deliberately challenged superstitious beliefs through simple demonstrations and hands-on experiments that allow students to see cause-and-effect relationships for themselves, helping them replace belief with proof.

Many so-called “tantrik shows” that appear supernatural can be clearly explained and exposed through basic scientific principles, making them powerful tools to fight superstition among students. For example, acts where a tantrik places a hand or tongue briefly in fire without injury rely on short contact time, moisture on the skin, or low heat transfer from alcohol-based flames rather than divine power.

“Miracles” like ash or oil repeatedly appearing from hands or idols involve concealment or simple physical and chemical tricks. When these tricks are demonstrated openly in classrooms or science programmes and followed by clear scientific explanations, students quickly realise how easily perception can be deceived and why evidence, experimentation, and critical questioning are far more reliable than blind belief.

Linking concepts to daily life, such as explaining probability to counter ideas of luck, or biology to explain illness instead of supernatural causes, makes rational explanations relatable and convincing.

Another unique example that I faced in my life is presented here. About 10 years ago, when I entered my new house but did not organise traditional rituals that many consider essential for peace and prosperity as my relatives believed that without them prosperity would be blocked.  Later on, I could not utilise the entire space of my newly purchased house for earning money, largely because I chose not to perform certain rituals.

While this decision may have limited my financial gains to some extent, I do not consider it a failure in the true sense. I feel deeply satisfied that my son and daughter have received proper education and are now well settled in their employment, which, to me, is a far greater achievement than any ritual-driven expectation of wealth. My belief has always been that a house should not merely be a source of income or superstition-bound anxiety, but a space with social purpose.

Instead of rituals, I strongly feel that the unused portion of my house should be devoted to running tutorials for poor and underprivileged students, where knowledge, critical thinking, and self-reliance can be nurtured. This conviction gives me inner peace and reinforces my faith that education and service to society are more meaningful measures of success than material profit alone.

Though I have succeeded to some extent, this success has not been complete due to the persistent influence of superstition.

by Dr Debapriya Mukherjee
Former Senior Scientist
Central Pollution Control Board, India ✍️

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Race hate and the need to re-visit the ‘Clash of Civilizations’

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Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese: ‘No to race hate’

Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese has done very well to speak-up against and outlaw race hate in the immediate aftermath of the recent cold-blooded gunning down of several civilians on Australia’s Bondi Beach. The perpetrators of the violence are believed to be ardent practitioners of religious and race hate and it is commendable that the Australian authorities have lost no time in clearly and unambiguously stating their opposition to the dastardly crimes in question.

The Australian Prime Minister is on record as stating in this connection: ‘ New laws will target those who spread hate, division and radicalization. The Home Affairs Minister will also be given new powers to cancel or refuse visas for those who spread hate and a new taskforce will be set up to ensure the education system prevents, tackles and properly responds to antisemitism.’

It is this promptness and single-mindedness to defeat race hate and other forms of identity-based animosities that are expected of democratic governments in particular world wide. For example, is Sri Lanka’s NPP government willing to follow the Australian example? To put the record straight, no past governments of Sri Lanka initiated concrete measures to stamp out the evil of race hate as well but the present Sri Lankan government which has pledged to end ethnic animosities needs to think and act vastly differently. Democratic and progressive opinion in Sri Lanka is waiting expectantly for the NPP government’ s positive response; ideally based on the Australian precedent to end race hate.

Meanwhile, it is apt to remember that inasmuch as those forces of terrorism that target white communities world wide need to be put down their counterpart forces among extremist whites need to be defeated as well. There could be no double standards on this divisive question of quashing race and religious hate, among democratic governments.

The question is invariably bound up with the matter of expeditiously and swiftly advancing democratic development in divided societies. To the extent to which a body politic is genuinely democratized, to the same degree would identity based animosities be effectively managed and even resolved once and for all. To the extent to which a society is deprived of democratic governance, correctly understood, to the same extent would it experience unmanageable identity-bred violence.

This has been Sri Lanka’s situation and generally it could be stated that it is to the degree to which Sri Lankan citizens are genuinely constitutionally empowered that the issue of race hate in their midst would prove manageable. Accordingly, democratic development is the pressing need.

While the dramatic blood-letting on Bondi Beach ought to have driven home to observers and commentators of world politics that the international community is yet to make any concrete progress in the direction of laying the basis for an end to identity-based extremism, the event should also impress on all concerned quarters that continued failure to address the matters at hand could prove fatal. The fact of the matter is that identity-based extremism is very much alive and well and that it could strike devastatingly at a time and place of its choosing.

It is yet premature for the commentator to agree with US political scientist Samuel P. Huntingdon that a ‘Clash of Civilizations’ is upon the world but events such as the Bondi Beach terror and the continuing abduction of scores of school girls by IS-related outfits, for instance, in Northern Africa are concrete evidence of the continuing pervasive presence of identity-based extremism in the global South.

As a matter of great interest it needs mentioning that the crumbling of the Cold War in the West in the early nineties of the last century and the explosive emergence of identity-based violence world wide around that time essentially impelled Huntingdon to propound the hypothesis that the world was seeing the emergence of a ‘Clash of Civilizations’. Basically, the latter phrase implied that the Cold War was replaced by a West versus militant religious fundamentalism division or polarity world wide. Instead of the USSR and its satellites, the West, led by the US, had to now do battle with religion and race-based militant extremism, particularly ‘Islamic fundamentalist violence’ .

Things, of course, came to a head in this regard when the 9/11 calamity centred in New York occurred. The event seemed to be startling proof that the world was indeed faced with a ‘Clash of Civilizations’ that was not easily resolvable. It was a case of ‘Islamic militant fundamentalism’ facing the great bulwark, so to speak, of ‘ Western Civilization’ epitomized by the US and leaving it almost helpless.

However, it was too early to write off the US’ capability to respond, although it did not do so by the best means. Instead, it replied with military interventions, for example, in Iraq and Afghanistan, which moves have only earned for the religious fundamentalists more and more recruits.

Yet, it is too early to speak in terms of a ‘Clash of Civilizations’. Such a phenomenon could be spoken of if only the entirety of the Islamic world took up arms against the West. Clearly, this is not so because the majority of the adherents of Islam are peaceably inclined and want to coexist harmoniously with the rest of the world.

However, it is not too late for the US to stop religious fundamentalism in its tracks. It, for instance, could implement concrete measures to end the blood-letting in the Middle East. Of the first importance is to end the suffering of the Palestinians by keeping a tight leash on the Israeli Right and by making good its boast of rebuilding the Gaza swiftly.

Besides, the US needs to make it a priority aim to foster democratic development worldwide in collaboration with the rest of the West. Military expenditure and the arms race should be considered of secondary importance and the process of distributing development assistance in the South brought to the forefront of its global development agenda, if there is one.

If the fire-breathing religious demagogue’s influence is to be blunted worldwide, then, it is development, understood to mean equitable growth, that needs to be fostered and consolidated by the democratic world. In other words, the priority ought to be the empowerment of individuals and communities. Nothing short of the latter measures would help in ushering a more peaceful world.

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