Features
Anuradhapura Teaching Hospital – an encomium
To understand the strength of a fellow human being, you don’t have to enter a wrestling match; you only have to observe how the men and women in a hospital heal patients.
The following is the magnanimity of human nature explained in a nutshell. This story is not fiction or hearsay. These are compelling comments on humanity, bravery, strength, life, and sadly, death, I witnessed firsthand recently during my three-day stay in Ward 61 at the Anuradhapura Teaching Hospital for fever, chest pain, buildup of fluid in the space around my heart, and a few other problems. This hospital has been a medical outpost since its inception in the 1950s. However, after it became a teaching hospital, the whole institution gained wide recognition and gave new meaning to all things health in the region. It is the third largest hospital in Sri Lanka.
Now, its Wards are not just numbers; they distribute the highest brands of medical expertise. They are not your run-of-the-mill half-walled hospital Wards, but bursting with knowledge Hippocrates worked all his life to master.
Wards 61 and 62 are Professorial Wards served by devoted, brilliant men and women of the highest medical learning and authority. They make these places sacred by healing. Descendants of Dhanvantari (doctor to Devas) and Saint Sebastian (Saint of Medicine) take turns to walk the hallways here with stethoscopes dangling in their hands. White-crowned nurses attend and show kindness to patients as if they were their children.
I was in the High Dependency Unit (HDU) of Ward 61 with three other patients who were attached to electronic monitors, which provided nonstop beeping symphonies to my tired ears. Before long, I thought I was sitting in the orchestra pit of an opera house, where musicians were tuning their instruments before the start of the show. This whole time, my wife, Niranjala, the angel of angels, held my hand, helping me with soothing words to ease my pain and worries.
We watched nurses light up the Ward, walking among beds with purposeful and determined faces, talking and listening, offering soothing words to patients in various states of pain and suffering.
Meanwhile, inside the HDU, two young men wearing short-sleeved shirts and sarongs were standing by the beds of the two elderly patients, their fathers, who were in a sedated state. One father had ingested poison, and the other had advanced liver failure, a common health issue in the North Central province.
When I dozed off and woke up later in the middle of the night, a team of nurses gathered around one of these patients, holding various medical items in their raised hands. One was pushing an Artificial Manual Breathing Unit (AMBU) like the bellows at a smithy. Every so often, she wiped the sweat off her forehead. The patient’s son stood at a far corner, watching this determined group of strangers trying to save his father’s life. As this life’s drama unfolded, the other man held his father’s hand and watched in stunned and palsied silence.
We would never know the unfathomable weight of the hearts of the two men watching their fathers fight for their lives. That night, these young men were the two loneliest people on the planet.
At dawn, I saw the father they were trying to save lying alone on his bed, wrapped in blankets from head to toe. His overhead electronic screen had gone dark, and the tubing hanging lifeless above the headstand. Life had the rendezvous with its nemesis, and death won.
A few hours later, the son came to pick up his father’s items from the nurse. As we made eye contact, I nodded my heartfelt thoughts to him.
Doctor-fledglings ready to fly out
Next, as the Ward woke up, my eyes caught a heartening moment you would not see in any other work environment. A tall pedagogue, probably in his late 50s and athletic-looking, led a group of young men and women clad in deep, turquoise-shaded trousers and short-sleeved shirts. They earnestly listened to him while holding notebooks and stethoscopes on their bosoms.
With each step he takes, these young men and women, medical students at the Rajarata University Medical School, follow suit in unison. The tall figure with crew-cut hair is Professor of Medicine, Sisira Siribaddana, a giant of a man of academic standing. He has crossed oceans of medical expertise. Teaching students and treating patients are two inevitably tough propositions. He is one of the busiest doctors/teachers around here. But his articulation was appealing and mesmerized the students, who watched as if they were listening to a Himalayan Irshi.
The students followed the professor through the Ward like a flock of goslings following the mother goose who led them to shore.
Little did they know, soon they would be on their own. They will not have the pleasure of flying in formation like a skein on holidays and on outings on weekends you and I take for granted. They will become fully-fledged lifesavers, often sleeping in converted staff rooms in the hospital while on call or floating alone in turbulent spells of medical winter blizzards.
Amid their study sessions, these fledgling doctors also return to continue looking after the patients late into the night. Time of day is not an issue for them. They are cued by impeccable dedication to patients and show superlative energy for observing and learning, embodying the demands and responsibilities of the job they will soon be charged with outside the comfort under the eyes of the professors.
Even after going home this time around, the patients know that whatever future ailments they will get, they are in good hands. What these medical students try to learn is all under our skin – unseen, entwined with hundreds of potential disorders in the limitless and complex miracle we call our all-scented and well-groomed bodies. Unlike engineers who rarely touch water for fear of electrocution, these students read and interpret blood and other body fluids. They study what boils under our skin. They count the pulse because it matters to them as much as to their patients. These future doctors become so good at what they do that by the time we, the patients, are ready to go home, they have seen through us enough to write our biographies by heart.
Tutored by a cognoscente of Jeewaka pedigree, they will do just fine because they are also the cream of the cream and earned the right and honour to follow the footsteps of Siribaddana-class of great teachers. With the earnest look on their faces, we have nothing to fear. Professor Siribaddana and his academic colleagues will prepare them to hit the road to medical miracles like flashes of a just-offloaded fleet of Lexuses.
I am helpless searching for words to express my appreciation to Professor Sisira Siribaddana, Senior Professor and Chair of Medicine, Drs. Isuru Ahesh, Priyadharshan, Sampavi Ramanan in Ward 61, and Dr. Arulkumar Jegavanthan, one of the cardiologists in the hospital, for the excellent medical care they rendered to me.
Nurses and Other Staff
The nursing staff’s immaculate service furthers the doctors’ mission. Nurses and the minor staff are the other pieces of the backbone of this Ward. They hold this place together, preventing it from drifting into chaos. They encourage and offer kind words to dejected patients.
These nurses are in a marathon to win together. They are regular folks like you and me. They are fathers and mothers, often with two or three kids, constantly worrying about whether the kids came home from school or tuition classes and had dinner. I know it. My niece, Uditha, a nurse in this hospital, has two kids. While at work, I know how much she worries about her preschooler daughter and the 9-month-old son at home. Then there are young nurses just out of nursing school yearning for the time to be out with a cupid.
Patience in nurses is a remarkable science that somebody must teach in schools and public counters in government offices. Nursing vocabulary does not have the word “tiredness.” Never angry, never in haste, they exude unmatched professionalism and kindness. Those in other government offices must emulate the work ethic of these men and women. They are our Florence Nightingales. They are healers in our midst. Next time you see someone you know as a nurse standing on the bus or in a queue at the bank, get up and give her the seat or step aside and offer her the place in the line. She has earned every inch of that space much more than anyone in that place. If you fail to do it, I think you must seek counseling help.
Hospital Needs Immediate Attention.
Yet, some things here need immediate attention. The central air conditioning system of this multi-story building is out of commission for some time, and its lorry-sized condenser and compressor unit sit in the open garden, uncovered, lifeless, and decaying. Its inert ducts hang on the ceiling like fossilised long-necked dinosaurs. Some suspect that rat infestation has infiltrated the duct system. During this time of the year, the dry zone sun is on the job full force, and without working air conditioners, rooms are hot like incubators. Patients take the brunt of the heat punishment.
In contrast, what I found elsewhere a few weeks later completely flabbergasted me. I was in a 17-storey government building (not a hospital) in Battaramulla, near Colombo. In this building, the central air conditioning system worked flawlessly, so it felt like its ducts system drew air directly from the Arctic Circle.
Decaying Condenser and Compressor Units
Immediately after my discharge from the hospital, Niranjala and I asked Professor Siribaddana if there was anything we could donate to the Ward. Having experienced the intolerable heat firsthand, we discussed the inconvenience that patients go through due to a lack of air conditioning in the HDU. We got his consent to donate two air conditioning units for the HDU in Ward 61 and later to donate two more units to the HDU in its sister Ward 62, which hosts female patients. We are happy that the four LG 18000BTU air conditioning units we donated are now working, providing much-needed relief to critical patients housed in the HDUs. Sadly, this building has more Wards and units without air conditioning. I hope that by bringing this issue to light, relevant authorities will take immediate steps, or any benefactors out there will think of providing some relief.
Furthermore, hospital staff are taking proactive steps to improve the hospital’s working environment. For example, recently, after considering the safety and convenience of the doctors on call in the Wards, Professor Siribaddana and his colleagues in the two Wards purchased air conditioners with their own money and installed them in two rooms previously used for storage. They converted it into rooms for on-call doctors to stay overnight. Now, after work, the on-call doctors do not have to step outside into the dark, deserted streets tethered to predatory elements. The consultants in the Department coming out with a creative and indispensable gesture to resolve this dire situation is a noble act.
When Niranjala and I visited the library upstairs with Dr. Hemal Senanayake, the Head of the Department of Medicine, we walked past the 250-seat auditorium. There, we saw the seat covers of nearly all chairs torn away and the exposed cushion foam falling apart and dissolving into pieces. We hope the authorities fix this problem soon. Meanwhile, we heard a generous group recently equipped the auditorium with air conditioning facilities.
After I left the Ward, I returned to Ward 61 twice daily, a few times, to get my antibiotic through IV. By now, I have begun to miss the staff here. This is a government hospital. Its hallway walls may not have mounted George Keyts reproductions or framed pictures of cherubic babies with adoring smiles. But the weight and pains of ordinary people from all walks of life beautify its floors and corridors.
Actor Robin Williams, playing British/American neurologist Oliver Sacks in the 1990 movie Awakenings, declared, “The human spirit is more powerful than any other drug.” I found the doctors, nurses, and other minor staff in Wards 61 and 62 surely fostering this attribute, the cornerstone of any healing facility. Thus, I would not hesitate to return to Ward 61 for a second tour, because I trust these people with my life.
by Lokubanda Tillakaratne
Features
It is not 1968, but protests are everywhere except Sri Lanka
by Rajan Philips
Paris has exploded in protests barely two weeks after peacefully assembling nearly a million people on its streets to welcome and salute Pope Leo XIV on his first visit to France. The good Pope himself has since been diagnosed with lung cancer and is convalescing after surgery in the Vatican. The protest triggers in France are youth frustrations over the state of the country’s education system and the broken conditions of its schools. The scale and mode of the current protests have brought back memories of the great French student protests in May 1968. The two are not the same and even though they may be comparable in appearance, the circumstances between then and now are vastly different and so will be the consequences.
It is not only in Paris, but the protests are also everywhere else in France. As well as in other cities in other countries in Europe and extending beyond. The protest triggers vary from country to country, but the arc of the protests from Paris to Delhi has a common strand: youth frustrations. Everywhere, it is the youth that is on the march – for better education in France, Belgium, Greece, Germany, Ireland, Albania and Austria; housing access and affordability in Spain; and opposition to official tampering with electoral voter lists in India. The young are restless about their future. “No future, no calm” is the chant in Paris.
France’s union of students, Union Syndicale Lycéenne (USL) had outlined four basic grievances before the protests began: “lack of teachers and staff, “dilapidated lycées,” overloaded timetables and classes, and the stress caused by Parcoursup” (a government web portal used for university admissions). The French government’s initial lukewarm response provoked the protests and when the government took a ham fisted approach, things went out of control. It has been the same story in other countries.
In India, the Modi government unleashed the police forces on students and others protesting the manipulation of the voter lists by the Chief Election Commissioner, Gyanesh Kumar, and calls for his resignation have become the rallying cry of the protests. The protests are no longer limited to the “Cockroach” youth movement or the Cockroach Janata Party (CJP), and more mainstream opposition parties are all in the fray.
Defending the Constitution has become the new motif for Rahul Gandhi and the Congress Party. The Cockroach movement that first tasted political blood in June this year, by forcing the resignation of the Union Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan over national exam leaks, is looking for a second scalp. The government is not in any immediate danger, but Prime Minister Narendra Modi is rapidly losing his political varnish and these protests may mark the beginning of his retirement.
In Spain, Socialist Prime Minister Pedro Sanchez has called a snap election on the housing question, hoping to steal a march on the conservative Popular Party that has been leading in the opinion polls. Mr. Sanchez has been in power since 2018 and, despite the fluctuations in domestic approval rating, has gained international prominence following his clashes with Trump and Isreal over Gaza and the Iran war.
The beleaguered French President Emmanual Macron has six months left in office, and the next presidential election will be held in either April or May next year. In the cabinet meeting after three weeks of protests, President Macron reportedly acknowledged “that young people have legitimate concerns, but said these are being exploited for political purposes and turned into urban violence.”
The two main contenders to replace Macron are Jean-Luc Mélenchon who leads the far-left France Unbowed (LFI) Party, and Marine Le Pen leading the far-right National Rally (RN Party. Mélenchon is supportive of the protests, has condemned police brutality, and has participated in the Paris demonstrations. Le Pen, on the other hand, who is also the front runner in opinion polls, has blamed the students and supports police deployment against them.
There is also speculation that former President François Hollande (2012-2017) may stage a comeback as a more normal alternative to the two extreme contenders. Although he was deeply unpopular when he left office foregoing a second run, Mr. Hollande is considered to have been mostly mocked (as Rain Man) but not at all hated. His moderate positions and his socialist roots may attract a portion of the French electorate that is tired of “Jupiter” Macron and is weary of the diametrically opposite prospects.
- To Paris Turbulent
1968 Throwback
Whichever way, an orderly transition through France’s “rentrée politique” is in the offing, and the protesters are not clamouring to overthrow anything. That is a far cry from what transpired in 1968, when student protests ultimately led to the ouster of Charles de Gaulle. And there was more. Amidst convulsions in the US over Civil Rights legislation and the prosecution of the Vietnam War, Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy were assassinated, President Johnson declared that he will not be a candidate in the 1968 presidential election, and Richard Nixon was elected as President eight years after his defeat by John Kennedy.
Besides the protests in France, there were protests in the then Communist countries and Yugoslavia, the Prague Spring in Czechoslovakia, the start of the troubles in Northern Ireland, and uprisings against military juntas in Latin America. Africa was becoming more and more independent and there were strong prospects of secular nationalism in the Middle East. The year 1968 also marked the start of many social movements including feminism, and the environmental and anti-war movements. Socialists were a force to reckon with in France and Italy, both politically and electorally. New Left politics was emerging as a counter to both unbridled capitalism and Soviet orthodoxy. The Club of Rome was born in 1968.
“L’imagination au pouvoir” (Power to the imagination) became the battle cry in Paris in May 1968. The protests were infused with optimism for a new social order supervening the postwar material progress. There were powerful cultural and literary overtones that have proved to be more durable than the political projects that inspired them. Television became the main political medium, if not also the message. Although the state power and structures survived, other structures were broken and the intellectual and cultural legacies of 1968 have continued.
It is a different ball of wax in 2026. The protesting students are not looking for any brave new world, but for decent furniture, clean toilets and back to basics teaching and immediate remedies to problems that should not be there in the first place. In Spain, the younger generation is looking for housing at affordable rents. European demographics are also not helpful. The ageing population has its own needs and demands while the youth are increasingly drawn from the immigrant and the working class sections of society. High youth unemployment, zero growth, and government debt have become recipe for stagnation and not resolution. In theory, it is called “gerontonomia,” a form of “democratically sustained economic stagnation.”
In politics, the radicals and populists were dominantly on the right unlike in 1968 when the political left held sway even if it was not in power. Donald Trump, who vulgarly led the rise of the ugly right, may be on his way out, but it is a different story elsewhere. The right has returned to power practically in every South American country. Brazil is almost equally divided between its socialist President Lula de Silva and his presidential challenger Flavio Bolsonaro, the Senator son of Jair Bolsonaro who is in prison for fomenting insurrection to upend the 2022 presidential election.
In 1968, China was at the peak of its Cultural Revolution. It is a different China now. Indonesia was beginning its post-Soekarno era, just as India was adapting to life without Nehru, albeit in vastly different ways. Field Marshal Ayub Khan was overthrown in Pakistan – then with its two wings, east and west, separated by a thousand miles of Indian territory. Within three years, Bangladesh would break free quite violently, redrawing forever the colonial map of the subcontinent. Bangladesh had another uprising in 2024 and the new government is struggling to keep the many promises it made in the elections that followed the overthrow of Sheikh Hasina after 15 years in power. Imran Khan decidedly eschewed Sri Lanka’s ‘aragalaya’ example to protest his ouster in Pakistan, but the army has locked him up and seems to be in no mood to release him. Now there are protests in Pakistan for his release before it is too late for everyone’s good.
It was all relatively quiet in Sri Lanka in 1968, but it would not be for long. The 1970s and every other decade since have seen political turmoils of one kind or another. 1968 / 1969 were also the years when Sri Lanka’s parliament began considering a response to the 1964 Privy Council ruling (in Bribery Commissioner v. Ranasinghe) and its implications for the ‘unalterably entrenched’ clauses of the Soulbury Constitution.
Dr. Colvin R de Silva, then an opposition LSSP MP, took over the debate and convinced everybody that the path to reforming the constitution was not through amending the Soulbury Constitution, but bypassing it and creating a new constitution and a new republic. Dr de Silva accomplished both but not without creating unintended consequences. Tamil separatism was one, and transforming Sri Lanka into a presidential polity was another. The former has come and gone, while the latter is still in force in spite of many promises and mandates to revert the country to its earlier parliamentary system.
President Dissanayake and the NPP government are the latest in a long line of promisers. The country is waiting for the final fulfillment of the promise and not its betrayal. The government can claim some credit for the current quiet in the country, but it would be a fool’s paradise to assume that peace and power are permanent.
Features
India and Sri Lanka must move beyond Katchatheevu to save the Palk Bay
By Milinda Moragoda
The latest proceedings before the Supreme Court of India offer an opportunity to move the Katchatheevu island debate beyond the familiar question of sovereignty. While hearing petitions challenging the 1974 and 1976 India-Sri Lanka maritime agreements, the court urged the central and Tamil Nadu governments to sensitise fishermen about the consequences of crossing the international maritime boundary and entering Sri Lankan waters. The Indian government, meanwhile, has made clear that it does not intend to reopen the agreements and is pursuing concerns relating to Indian fishermen through diplomatic channels.
More significantly, the Attorney General pointed to the depletion of fish stocks in Indian waters as one reason fishermen venture into Sri Lankan waters. The court also raised questions about fishing practices and the condition of Indian coastal waters during the hearing.
These observations point towards a more fundamental question: is the continuing focus on Katchatheevu distracting both India and Sri Lanka from the real crisis—the depletion of the Palk Bay’s marine resources and the persistence of destructive fishing practices?
A problem larger than an island
Over 50 years ago, Sri Lanka and India signed two maritime boundary agreements—one in 1974 and the other in 1976—defining the International Maritime Boundary Line and establishing the respective maritime jurisdictions of the two countries, including Sri Lanka’s sovereignty over Katchatheevu. The agreements did not grant Indian fishermen traditional fishing rights in Sri Lankan waters, nor did they provide reciprocal rights to Sri Lankan fishermen in Indian waters.
The constitutional and legal challenges to those agreements remain before the Indian Supreme Court. The court has not adjudicated their constitutional validity, and the matter remains pending. At the bilateral level, however, successive governments have treated the maritime boundary established by the agreements as the basis for managing relations between the two countries.
The concerns of Tamil Nadu’s fishing communities are genuine. Indian fishermen and their families face economic hardship when boats are detained and fishermen are arrested after crossing the maritime boundary. Tamil Nadu Chief Minister C Joseph Vijay has recently urged the Indian government to intervene to secure the release of detained fishermen and seized boats and called for renewed dialogue.
But these immediate concerns point towards a larger question: why are fish stocks being depleted, and what can be done to restore them?
The problem cannot be addressed simply through repeated diplomatic representations, arrests, releases and demands for the return of fishing boats. Nor can it be resolved by continually reopening the political debate over Katchatheevu.
The Palk Bay is a shared ecological system whose resources are finite. Its health ultimately determines whether fishing communities, on either side of the maritime boundary, can continue to make a living from it.
The ecological toll
Bottom trawling is at the heart of the problem. Dragging heavy nets across the seabed destroys marine habitats, captures juvenile fish and generates substantial bycatch. Its effects are cumulative and potentially long-lasting.
The issue is, therefore, not simply whether fishermen cross an international maritime boundary. It is also the impact on the marine ecosystem of continued large-scale, destructive fishing.
Sri Lanka’s Northern Province, once home to a thriving fishing industry, has experienced a sharp decline in fish catches, from 35,000 metric tonnes in 1995 to 17,000 metric tonnes in 2023. Multiple factors have contributed to this decline, including the legacy of decades of conflict and displacement. But pressure from large-scale trawling in the Palk Bay has added to the difficulties faced by northern fishing communities.
For fishermen on both sides, the long-term interest should, therefore, be the same: preserving the marine resource on which their livelihoods depend.
A consistent but passive response
Sri Lanka has maintained a consistent and restrained position on Katchatheevu for five decades, working within established legal and diplomatic frameworks. The island has also remained a symbol of the longstanding links between the two countries, particularly through St Anthony’s Church and the annual pilgrimage attended by devotees from both sides.
But Sri Lanka has done little to give Katchatheevu a constructive contemporary role. That should change.
Years ago, the Pathfinder Foundation proposed the establishment of a marine research station on Katchatheevu, led by the Department of Fisheries, the National Aquatic Resources Agency (NARA), and Sri Lankan universities.
The proposal deserves renewed consideration.
Turning Katchatheevu into a platform for science.
A marine research station would give Sri Lanka a practical means of exercising responsible stewardship while contributing to the preservation of the wider Palk Bay ecosystem.
It could monitor marine biodiversity and ecological degradation, assess the long-term impact of bottom trawling, track migratory patterns and spawning cycles, and provide scientific data for fisheries policy. It could also serve as a platform for marine diplomacy and dialogue between India and Sri Lanka.
India already possesses substantial marine research capabilities. Sri Lanka should develop a complementary capability on its side of the maritime boundary.
Advances in solar power, desalination and modular construction have also reduced the logistical obstacles that might once have made such a facility difficult to establish. A low-impact, high-value research station is now a feasible proposition.
From dispute to cooperation
The current debate offers an opportunity to change the nature of the conversation.
Tamil Nadu’s concern for its fishermen is legitimate. Sri Lanka’s concern about illegal fishing and the degradation of its marine resources is equally legitimate. Treating one concern as valid and the other as an obstacle will not produce a durable solution.
Nor will repeatedly returning to the sovereignty question.
Instead, India and Sri Lanka should focus on the management of the Palk Bay as a shared ecological system. Joint scientific monitoring, conservation programmes and discussions on regulated and sustainable fishing could provide the basis for practical arrangements that protect livelihoods while phasing out destructive practices, such as bottom trawling.
Such cooperation would not require either country to compromise its sovereignty or its legal position.
It would require both to recognise that marine ecosystems do not respect political boundaries.
Science over sentiment
The Katchatheevu debate has continued for decades. The immediate concerns of detained fishermen and fishing communities must be addressed through established diplomatic and legal channels. But those measures cannot substitute for a long-term solution.
The real challenge is not simply who possesses Katchatheevu. It is whether the waters surrounding the island will continue to support the communities that depend on them.
For Sri Lanka, the answer should be neither rhetorical confrontation nor passive diplomacy. It should be science, responsible stewardship and constructive regional cooperation.
Katchatheevu need not remain a symbol of contention. Properly used, it could become a platform for marine research, environmental stewardship and sustainable cooperation between India and Sri Lanka.
(Milinda Moragoda is a founder of the Pathfinder Foundation, a strategic affairs think tank. tweets @MilindaMoragoda. email@milinda.org, courtesy of The Print)
Features
Rome:My First Diplomatic Assignment
(Excerpted from “Madam-Sir,” by Manel Abeysekera career and dilemmas of Ceylon’s first woman diplomat)
After the training in London I was assigned to our Embassy in Rome as Attache as I was still a probationer in the sense we needed to pass the First Efficiency Bar Examination plus acquire proficiency in the assigned foreign language within a period of three years before being designated Third Secretary. The Italians simply could not understand the meaning of “probationer” in my passport [which I do not think should have been in our passports] and always looked askance at me thinking I was out of jail on probation!
My Ambassador, Sir Arthur Ranasinha, much to my embarrassment [probably to his too], was my brother Lakshman’s father-in-law whom I used to address at home as “Uncle” and now had to address as “Excellency” in public. To my surprise, I made the transition quite easily and never made a faux pas. Sir Arthur and Lady Ranasinha insisted that I stay with them rather than at a hotel till I found an apartment. It was extremely kind of them, but I insisted, after the first few days, that I not travel with him in the official car but find my own way to the Embassy as I did not want the staff to think that I was being favoured by the Ambassador which would have been bad for both of us.
Little did I know that I would have only 10 months in Rome. I was grateful to Methodist College for my knowledge of Latin and Roman history as I wandered around the city having a closer look at places and monuments, some of which I had already seen on our family tour of Europe in 1950 ten years before. Once again I was able to treat myself to Grand Opera both in the magnificent Opera House as well as in the spectacular Baths of Caracalla. Art and architecture of such munificence was there for me to savour.
I think Rome is one of the most beautiful cities in the world and unique in the way that the old and the new blend naturally. Italy is the place to boost any woman’s ego especially if she were a foreigner because of the fun loving, romantic and gallant Italians to whom the chase was the thing rather than the capture! They seem to be able to spot a foreigner a mile off as happened to my English friend and flat mate from New Hall, Mary Anne Pritchard whom I had arranged to meet at the Memorial of Vittorio Emmanuele [the first King of Garibaldi’s united Italy], popularly known as “the wedding cake” as it had some tiers and was white in colour.
She had been a little ahead of time and, when I arrived on the scene, she was surrounded by a number of Romeos – wasn’t she glad to see me and be “rescued”! As I have observed, Italians have a nose for foreigners, whatever be their colour! I found it great fun as I had got used to it and as the Romeos were never dangerous and one could extricate oneself from them! On one occasion, when I was walking to the Embassy, two Romeos on a motor bike were insisting on giving me a ride when the Indian Ambassador drove past with flag flying and, seeing a woman in saree, put his head out of the car window and, in a flash the Romeos disappeared and I was able to proceed!
I feel that keeping up their reputation of being handsome Latin lovers was a cult with them! This seemed to be extended beyond belief as when I went to the telecommunication authority to pay the private portion of my telephone bill the officer who dealt with me who looked quite professional though young naturally came to know my telephone number. The next evening my delightful “daily” maid Maria asked me who was telephoning my apartment and asking for the “the princess” to whom she had firmly replied that there was no princess living there!
Subsequently when I answered such a call, I realized it was the official who had attended to my telephone bill! He professed a keen interest in the history and culture of Ceylon and wanted to come and learn all about it from me! I promptly told him that it was my male colleague in the Embassy that dealt with it – which was not really true – and that he was most welcome to meet him! As I expected, that cooled his ardour!
My senior colleague [he and I were the only diplomatic officers], Melville Fernando and his wife Shelagh took me under their wing and really looked after me. I fondly called him “Unkie” as he was quite avuncular to me and Shelagh “Agh Agh” and he called me Manuel Gomez! [shades of my Oxford tutor!]. Three Ceylonese who were in and out of the Embassy and who were sharing an apartment with Nada [A. Nadarajah] our Chief Clerk, were Lakdasa Hulugalle who was with FAO, a son of the former Ambassador – with whom I had stayed one night en route to Maratea to visit Maria my Italian friend from Cambridge — Mahinda Pethiyagoda [Peththa to his friends] and S.K Charles, both of whom were students.
They told me that they had seen me in my sitting-room through their sitting-room window. I simply did not believe them as they were great teasers, but when they described the saree I was wearing the previous day, it seemed convincing as I had not met them that day. So, when I went home, I looked out of the two windows of my apartment – the sitting-room one and my bedroom one and realized to my horror that it was in my bedroom that they had actually seen me and thanked my lucky stars that I had been fully clothed at the time. My bedroom window was directly below their sitting-room window as mine was on the ground floor and theirs on the first floor next door!
I had taken the first apartment I had seen within my rent ceiling as I was keen on moving out of the Ambassador’s residence, without bothering about who my neighbours were. After my discovery, I kept my bedroom window shuttered whenever I was in it. Soon after, my neighbours invited Melville, Shelagh and me to dinner and as I was only going next door, I did not bother to carry a handbag but put my set of keys and a handkerchief in my coat pocket. After dinner Melville and Shelagh insisted on seeing me home and luckily, before they left, I discovered that I did not have my key case and, thinking that the boys had taken it from my coat pocket after I had taken it off and hidden it, we went back to their apartment and demanded it.
They looked the picture of innocence and denied having hidden it and, fumbling in my coat pocket I realized that there was a hole in it through which the case could have dropped. Though we retraced our steps, with the boys joining in the search, we could not find it. The key case was an Indian one with a design on it and a zip and it may well have happened that someone could have picked it up thinking that it was a purse. I was able to get into my apartment with the Portiera’s [female porter] front door key.
Next day Melville organized the changing of the front door lock and that of my bedroom. Italians are rather like us: they are wont to do a job in fits and starts! So, when I got home that evening, I did not realize that though the front door lock had been changed, the bedroom one had one handle – only on the outside. After a shower and having had my dinner, I went into my room and having unwittingly allowed the door to close, I found that I could not open it from inside! As it was late, all I could do was to laugh myself to sleep!
Melville would always call for me on his way to the Embassy, and I woke up early and called him about my plight and asked him to come a little early so that I could throw him the key of my apartment door through my bedroom window so that he could enter and open my bedroom door where I was marooned! The good soul he was, he did so and got into the Portiera’s courtyard below my window from which I threw him the key. He made up his own funny version of it that he had to serenade me before I threw down the key, nor did he let me forget the episode!
Melville liked to take the mickey out of me and advised me to buy a Fiat Panic car. Knowing Latin I did not fall for it, but when he suggested that I buy a Super Cortomaggiore, I fell for it as I did not know that it was the Italian term for super petrol!
My Ambassador very thoughtfully let me handle FAO work and it was a great thrill for me to sit behind the Ceylon name board at meetings. The experience of getting to know the workings of a UN Specialised Agency stood me in good stead when I was accredited to ECAFE when I served in Bangkok. It also gave me entre to Dr. B.R. Sen, the Indian Director General of FAO. He even suggested that I join FAO but wisely advised that I should wait until I was more senior in my own Service so that I could join at a higher level.
An amusing incident involving Dr. and Mrs Sen comes to mind when I was back in Ceylon after Rome, and they visited as the guests of their friend, the Governor General Sir Oliver Goonetilleke. Since they knew me I was assigned the task of taking them to Kandy and Nuwara Eliya where we stayed at the Governor General’s Residence. Sir Oliver was a close friend of our family and as he considered Mother a lucky person, he used to come on the first of the year to partake of kiribath.
Needless to say, his recollection of me was as a young woman lacking in experience to handle the duty of looking after his illustrious friends. So he called the Manager of King’s Pavilion, Kandy to enquire after his friends and to advise me to make sure that they were offered drinks before dinner and the like. In Nuwara Eliya, H.M. Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip had stayed at Queen’s Cottage where we were to stay and while the Sens were accommodated in the room that had been used by the Queen, I was accommodated in the one next door which had been used by the Prince.
Before dinner I thought I would have a bath in the refurbished attached bathroom. Although it was December and quite cold, the warm water made me feel great but, as I was finishing my bath, I heard the telephone ring in the room; there was no time to dry myself and put on my dressing gown and so I wrapped a bath towel round me and, dripping wet and shivering, I dashed to the telephone and answered it. To my surprise it was Sir Oliver on the line, to enquire after his friends.
While Sir Oliver had a natural stammer, I too must have been stuttering because of the cold! As soon as the call ended, I buzzed the operator and asked from whom the call had been as I thought that perhaps my brother was pulling my leg! But the operator’s shocked reply was that it was the “Uthumanan” and had I not recognized his voice! Wasn’t I glad and relieved that I had responded correctly! My brother, who when told the tale, assured me he would never have pulled my leg when I was on official duty!
My first experience of a cocktail reception was in Rome and so was my introduction to the popular Italian aperatif Campari. It was popular as a long drink with soda or orange juice or as a cocktail called negroni mixed with vodka. The deep crimson colour of the negroni made me reach for it, but one sip of it and I never tasted it again – so bitter was it on my tongue. Campari was one of the few drinks I was unfamiliar with as Father was a connoisseur of both liquors as well as liqueurs and taught me much of what I know; however, it was in Rome that I became acquainted with Italian aperitifs like Campari and the finer points of wines, their vintages and “bouquet”.
I must say that I enjoyed every moment of my stay in Italy and everyone in the Embassy was most kind and helpful and, apart from the Ambassador and his wife, Melville and Shelagh, there were others like Ornella Gulmanelli, a secretary who was always so caring and with whom I am in touch and see whenever I go to Rome, as well as others outside the Embassy like Nelson Fernando, Director of the Ceylon Tea Centre, who was great fun and had a lovely tenor voice, and whom we called Nelsone and his Italian wife.
My young girl friend Nelun de Silva whose step father Mr. Williams was with FAO and whose mother would allow her only to spend a night or week end with me in my apartment and, of course, both of us became and still are good friends as also with her husband Selvan Mather.
We had a lot of fun together but I had a problem of keeping the Italian Romeos away from her as she was and still is beautiful! We took a photograph together and titled it “Manel Nelun ha!” as in the famous “Danno Budunge”! One of my treats was to have been taken by Nelun’s parents to the Verdi Opera “Aida” staged at the Baths of Caracalla, where the Triumphal March was depicted with horses and chariots on stage – a most spectacular scene.
During my term in Rome, I had the joy of being in Venice to organize our stall at the Venice Biennale of Art, and taking time to visit the old Palace and St. Mark’s Cathedral. While in Rome, I sat for the First Efficiency Bar Examination and passed it – two years ahead of time – which resulted in my becoming a “passed Probationer” with the promoted rank of Third Secretary. This meant that as the Mission had no financial cadre provision to have more than one Third Secretary it could not pay my salary and I had to be transferred out.
I was extremely sad to end my “Roman Holiday” as it were. My Ambassador told me that he felt this would happen but that he did not tell me so as he thought that I might postpone sitting the Examination and as he felt it was not good for my career since he believed that young officers should get over examinations as soon as possible. I was given a farewell by the Embassy and I recall that the cork of the Champagne bottle popped, flew out and landed on my head! This I was assured was a lucky omen! I was given not surprisingly a cocktail shaker as a parting gift!
The only reason that I was glad to get home was that Mother had had a stroke. Yet Father advised me to accept New Delhi if offered as he thought it would be a good experience and, in any case, I would not be far from home. But that was not fulfilled as the Government was economising on foreign exchange and, alas, I never had the chance of serving in India which I have always considered is the cornerstone of our foreign policy.
So I took the sea route to Colombo from Naples, where Melville and Nada took me. A lasting, appropriate memory of the Italian character and of my departure was the lunch we had of very good fish, with Melville ordering three portions of the same for each of us. However, when the bill was brought, he noticed that he had been overcharged as it was not divisible by three; when questioned, the waiter smiled disarmingly and asked Melville whether he had not noticed that the lady had been served a “beeg fish”!
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