Opinion
AYU– A Review
This is one of the most enigmatic of Sinhala films that I have seen. I had to see it twice to understand the rationale of the non-linear narrative and the developing plot. It moves on at least two planes – one, the straight-forward storyline and the other, the surreal presence of Ayu, the little girl who titles the film.
First for the story. A young doctor, Nishmi, is caught up in a dissatisfying marriage with a tour operator who is hardly at home. She is uneasy about his regular absences from home and disturbed about the foreign feminine voices she hears in the background whenever she phones him and his postponements about when he is coming home. She is not at all close to her widowed mother who seems to visit her often. The mother, caring as most mothers are, steeped in Buddhist cultural traditions, is nevertheless an annoying presence in the apartment. Her Buddhist piousness seems to annoy Nishmi. As the story develops, we come to realise that the mother is worried about Nishmi and wants her to attend a Bodhi Pooja she has arranged. It was somewhat later that we became aware of Nishmi’s serious illness and the appeal to the spiritual by the mother is because Nishmi is afflicted with HIV.
The flashforward to Nishmi going for a night out on the beach is sudden and leaves us somewhat bewildered. The first assumption is that she seems to have decided that she needs some excitement for her lonely life with the husband away. The way she readily (too readily) and coyly, befriends the beach boy Sachin, makes us wonder whether she is really in it for a good time – in vengefulness for the possible infidelities of her husband with foreign women.
The first turning point in the film comes with her discovery that she is pregnant and her decision to go all the way to Ella where her husband is on a group tour. She meets with an accident, and we find her in hospital with multiple injuries and bleeding heavily. The outcome is that she loses her pregnancy and is wheelchair bound.
The fact that she has had to have a blood transfusion is not clearly revealed at first. Later, she is found positive for HIV. She reacts with fury at the husband whom she suspects to have given her the virus through his ‘affairs’ with multiple foreign women. There is a severe showdown, and she insists that the husband leaves the house.
Nishmi goes through serious depression and loss of will to live knowing that her days are numbered. We see her gulping a handful of pills with her mother pleading outside the closed door. But we are not sure whether she is not willing to undergo immediate treatment that is now available, or whether the complete breakdown of her marriage makes her suicidal, or whether she is unaware of modern treatments. But we must dismiss the last possibility as, surely, she is a doctor.
I am left wondering whether she is unaware of her illness when she frolics with the beach boy and a growing warmth and intimacy develop between her and Sachin. Because we get to know that by this time, she is aware of her illness. The contrasting juxtaposition of her depression and her sense of joy in the presence of Sachin is not easy to unravel. I still can’t.
The next twist in the narrative comes with a phone call from her husband – who still proclaims his innocence and his love and loyalty to Nishmi – in which he gleefully announces that “It is negative” with a sense of being vindicated of her accusations. It takes a few moments before we realise that he is referring to an HIV test he has done. It is then that Nishmi’s attention turns to the blood donation she received during the accident. She goes looking to find who the donor is.
Let me digress a bit at this point.
I am aware of dramatic/artistic/cinematic license to deviate from the real world for narrative effect. The medical lapses observed in the film are stated here not to devalue this excellent film in any way. I must make a few observations in this regard. It seems that Sachin as a donor has escaped detection as a HIV carrier at several ‘checkpoints’ in the process adopted during blood donations. The lengthy and detailed questionnaire and the counselling interview before the donation would have shown that Sachin, as a beach boy with a highly probable history of multiple sex partners would have been at high-risk and his attempt at voluntary donation should have been rejected at the outset. Unless he lied in the questionnaire and the interview – which is informed in writing to donors as a punishable offence. All blood is serologically tested in Sri Lanka for HIV, Hepatitis B and C, syphilis and malaria.
I presume that it is neither irony nor a coincidence, that Nishmi is a paediatrician and she contracts HIV through a blood donation. The basis of this story has close similarities to an event in the past. Perhaps the seed of the story for the film comes from there.
On a dreary November day in 1995, Dr. Kamalika Abeyratne, Consultant Paediatrician, Lady Ridgeway Teaching Hospital, Colombo, her husband Dr. Micheal Abeyratne, Paediatric Surgeon and their son were travelling on the Galle Road for a medical meeting. The car skidded on a slippery road and hit a concrete post and Dr. Kamalika was badly injured. She was given two pints of blood at Karapitiya and 34 blood transfusions at SJP hospitals. Six months later she was found to be positive for HIV. But then, the procedure for detection of HIV in blood donors was not fully established.
Whereas it is still possible that a HIV positive donor (false negative) can go undetected in serological testing, it is extremely rare today and they are thoroughly investigated. From Sachin’s character, where we find an innate humanism and an understanding of life and its mysteries, we may dismiss the possibility of him being a vengeful donor who deliberately donates blood under false pretexts to spread the disease. Such instances of vengeful donations are known the world over and Sri Lanka as well.
The donor of a positive transfusion transmission of HIV can be traced and followed up. But as shown in Ayu, there is still no definitive provision in Sri Lanka for the victim to be informed of the identity of the donor. Under the circumstances, why Sachin, being a high-risk donor remained undetected and not rejected as a donor, is cinematic license for dramatic effect and therefore, understandable.
Returning to the film, we come to realise that the identity of Sachin as the donor was given to Nishmi surreptitiously by an obliging doctor-colleague hastily written on a scrap of paper. It is then that we are shown how Nishmi goes in search of this donor and discovers Sachin and why she deliberately befriends him. The reason behind her going to beach nights is understood only at that point in the film.
There are many moments that Nishmi is reflective of life and talks about the indefinite destinies of individuals caught in the vicissitudes of life, and the metaphor of the endless sea comes into good effect. The paper boat that she builds also indicates the fragility of life in a mighty sea of random circumstance. She tells Sachin – “We are in the same boat”. But we come to realise later, that the boat carries critically important messages that connect critical points in the narrative – Sachin’s name and address given by the doctor and Sachin’s last testament which Nishmi reads while Sachin’s body is taken out of the church as the film slowly moves towards its conclusion.
Now, we come to the surreal that takes the film transcends a simple tragic love story to become a cinematic masterpiece. Who is ‘Ayu’ and what is she doing in the film? Why is she central to the film for it to be titled after her? I concluded, after much thought, that she doesn’t exist physically. Then, how do we see her? She is obviously a metaphor. Metaphor for what?
In the film, our first meeting with her is when Ayu is on the beach with a childhood toy that spins in the wind (bambare) which is later seen in the water damaged and being washed away in the waves. This toy could be symbolic of the cycle of life – the samsaric journeys that we traverse in Buddhist mythology. Is this opening a grim reminder – a metaphor – of the theme that permeates the film?
Of lives caught up in this cycle; of wasted youth? We come to understand that this film hangs on the Buddhist philosophy of the four sublime states – Metta, Karuna, Muditha and Upekka and the hoary traditions of Sinhala Buddhist culture.
We next see Ayu when Nishmi is doing her ward round in hospital, and she/we observe an empty bed with a bed sheet carelessly left behind. In clinical experience, when we see an empty bed, the first thought that rushes to our minds is death. A patient has died and has been removed to the mortuary. Only thereafter, on inquiry might we be told that the patient has been taken for investigations or else, just gone to the toilet. But death hangs there in that image until we find the occupant of that bed, Ayu, sitting by herself in an adjacent room. Does Ayu depict Nishmi’s loneliness – feeling alone, uncared for and as bewildered as a child whose grandmother has not come to see her?
While we see the developing relationship between Nishmi and Sachin, with moods fluctuating from joy to melancholy and uncertainties and the ‘slings and arrows of outrageous fortune’, a distinctly ‘Bollywoodian’ scene confronts us. Rain, wet clothes, gloom and dusk descending into night, cuddling closely in the cold for warmth in an isolated tree-hut in a desolate nowhere, leaves us as voyeurs of a close intimacy. As morning breaks, Nishmi suddenly observes Ayu skipping down the path. Nishmi’s joyous reaction is consonant with the happy demeanor of Ayu, but Ayu is far more subdued. Obviously, Nishmi is overjoyed with the outcome of that night. Sachin comes down and sees Ayu for the first time.
Ever since, Ayu has taken a role that connects Nishmi and Sachin to each other. Every following scene has the threesome together – on the beach and on the train. The train symbolizes the passage of time and Ayu watching the passing scenery in silent contemplation tells us that Nishmi and Sachin are now linked in life with Ayu the child – as a symbol of the little time – ayu’ (life) left for them. It is nevertheless a happy time of togetherness with Ayu holding their hands and ‘connecting’ Nishmi and Sahin to each other. They are bound together to the limited time of ‘ayu’ left – denoted by the little child that is Ayu.
The complete absence of emotion at all times in Ayu’s face, gradually leaves us with a frightful foreboding. We come to realise that Ayu is just a timekeeper. Ayu is the personification of time. The foreboding intensifies in the hospital scene where Sachin is seriously ill. Ayu walks in alone (Nishmi is not to be seen) and looks at Sachin and seems to know what he wants. She deliberately slowly opens the bedside drawer and takes Sachin’s purse almost on cue – knowing what Sachin wants and gives it to him. He takes out the small paper boat and gives it to her. We see a close up of the crumpled bed sheet as the waves of the sea and Ayu’s hand taking the boat on the crests and troughs of it. The boat is facing rough seas. Suddenly, again as in the early scene in the hospital ward, we are chillingly confronted with the symbolism of Ayu as death. Time is up to take Sachin away. Later, we see Ayu in the funeral scene with Nishmi. One gone, one to go.
And in the final scene we see Nishmi and Ayu in a boat in still waters and we hear Nishmi’s words in the background where we come to understand that Nishmi wills to live and will take treatment. She veers the boat and changes direction – and we see in that instance, that Ayu is no longer on the boat. We are left at the end of the film with a ray of hope that all is not lost.
I find this film to be extremely cerebral and visually rewarding. The direction and cinematography by this young team is exceptional. The glimmering lights on the receding waves on the beach, the fireworks in the dark as Nishmi walks drunkenly on the beach, the clarity of the contrasts in the colour palette, vivid use of close ups strategically of faces, shows a super mastery of the cinematic medium.
Jagath Manuwarna is excellent in giving life in a very realistic way to a beach boy. He seems to have endured a pierced eyebrow to add to the authenticity of the character. I first saw him in his own directorial debut Rahas Kiyana Kandu (whispering Mountains) in which he was the main actor as well. It too was a new genre. And he was exceedingly good there too.
Sandra Mack in her first cinematic role, acts with great feeling and maturity. The full spectrum and nuances of emotion demanded of her is dealt with exceptional finesse and subtlety as any veteran would have. What a great find for Sinhala cinema!
by Susirith Mendis ✍️
(susmend2610@mail.com)
Opinion
Thoughts for Unduvap Poya
Unduvap Poya, which falls today, has great historical significance for Sri Lanka, as several important events occurred on that day but before looking into these, as the occasion demands, our first thought should be about impermanence. One of the cornerstones of Buddha’s teachings is impermanence and there is no better time to ponder over it than now, as the unfolding events of the unprecedented natural disaster exemplify it. Who would have imagined, even a few days ago, the scenes of total devastation we are witnessing now; vast swathes of the country under floodwaters due to torrential rain, multitudes of earth slips burying alive entire families with their hard-built properties and closing multiple trunk roads bringing the country to a virtual standstill. The best of human kindness is also amply demonstrated as many risk their own lives to help those in distress.
In the struggle of life, we are attached and accumulate many things, wanted and unwanted, including wealth overlooking the fact that all this could disappear in a flash, as happened to an unfortunate few during this calamitous time. Even the survivors, though they are happy that they survived, are left with anxiety, apprehension, and sorrow, all of which is due to attachment. We are attached to things because we fail to realise the importance of impermanence. If we do, we would be less attached and less affected. Realisation of the impermanent nature of everything is the first step towards ultimate detachment.
It was on a day like this that Arahant Bhikkhuni Sanghamitta arrived in Lanka Deepa bringing with her a sapling of the Sri Maha Bodhi tree under which Prince Siddhartha attained Enlightenment. She was sent by her father Emperor Ashoka, at the request of Arahant Mahinda who had arrived earlier and established Buddhism formally under the royal patronage of King Devanampiyatissa. With the very successful establishment of Bhikkhu Sasana, as there was a strong clamour for the establishment of Bhikkhuni Sasana as well, Arahant Mahinda requested his father to send his sister which was agreed to by Emperor Ashoka, though reluctantly as he would be losing two of his children. In fact, both served Lanka Deepa till their death, never returning to the country of their birth. Though Arahant Sanghamitta’s main mission was otherwise, her bringing a sapling of the Bo tree has left an indelible imprint in the annals of our history.
According to chronicles, King Devanampiyatissa planted the Bo sapling in Mahamevnawa Park in Anuradhapura in 288 BCE, which continues to thrive, making it the oldest living human planted tree in the world with a known planting date. It is a treasure that needs to be respected and protected at all costs. However, not so long ago it was nearly destroyed by the idiocy of worshippers who poured milk on the roots. Devotion clouding reality, they overlooked the fact that a tree needs water, not milk!
A monk developed a new practice of Bodhi Puja, which even today attracts droves of devotees and has become a ritual. This would have been the last thing the Buddha wanted! He expressed gratitude by gazing at the tree, which gave him shelter during the most crucial of times, for a week but did not want his followers to go around worshipping similar trees growing all over. Instead of following the path the Buddha laid for us, we seem keen on inventing new rituals to indulge in!
Arahant Sanghamitta achieved her prime objective by establishing the Bhikkhuni Sasana which thrived for nearly 1200 years till it fell into decline with the fall of the Anuradhapura kingdom. Unfortunately, during the Polonnaruwa period that followed the influence of Hinduism over Buddhism increased and some of the Buddhist values like equality of sexes and anti-casteism were lost. Subsequently, even the Bhikkhu Sasana went into decline. Higher ordination for Bhikkhus was re-established in 1753 CE with the visit of Upali Maha Thera from Siam which formed the basis of Siam Maha Nikaya. Upali Maha Thero is also credited with reorganising Kandy Esala Perahera to be the annual Procession of the Temple of Tooth, which was previously centred around the worship of deities, by getting a royal decree: “Henceforth Gods and men are to follow the Buddha”
In 1764 CE, Siyam Nikaya imposed a ‘Govigama and Radala’ exclusivity, disregarding a fundamental tenet of the Buddha, apparently in response to an order from the King! Fortunately, Buddhism was saved from the idiocy of Siyam Nikaya by the formation of Amarapura Nikaya in 1800 CE and Ramanna Nikaya in 1864 CE, higher ordination for both obtained from Burma. None of these Niakya’s showed any interest in the re-establishment of Bhikkhuni Sasana which was left to a band of interested and determined ladies.
My thoughts and admiration, on the day Bhikkhuni Sasana was originally established, go to these pioneers whose determination knew no bounds. They overcame enormous difficulties and obtained higher ordination from South Korea initially. Fortunately, Ven. Inamaluwe Sri Sumangala Thero, Maha Nayaka of Rangiri Dambulla Chapter of Siyam Maha Nikaya started offering higher ordination to Bhikkhunis in 1998 but state recognition became a sore point. When Venerable Welimada Dhammadinna Bhikkhuni was denied official recognition as a Bhikkhuni on her national identity card she filed action, with the support of Ven. Inamaluwe Sri Sumangala Thero. In a landmark majority judgement delivered on 16 June, the Supreme Court ruled that the fundamental rights of Ven. Dhammadinna were breached and also Bhikkhuni Sasana was re-established in Sri Lanka. As this judgement did not receive wide publicity, I wrote a piece titled “Buddhism, Bhikkhus and Bhikkhunis” (The Island, 10 July 2025) and my wish for this Unduvap Poya is what I stated therein:
“The landmark legal battle won by Bhikkhunis is a victory for common sense more than anything else. I hope it will help Bhikkhuni Sasana flourish in Sri Lanka. The number of devotees inviting Bhikkhunis to religious functions is increasing. May Bhikkhunis receive the recognition they richly deserve.” May there be a rapid return to normalcy from the current tragic situation.”
by Dr Upul Wijayawardhana
Opinion
Royal Over Eighties
The gathering was actually of ‘Over Seventies’ but those of my generation present were mostly of the late eighties.
Even of them I shall mention only those whom I know at least by name. But, first, to those few of my years and older with whom speech was possible.
First among them, in more sense than one, was Nihal Seneviratne, at ninety-one probably the oldest present. There is no truth to the story that his state of crisp well-being is attributable to the consumption of gul-bunis in his school days. It is traceable rather to a life well lived. His practice of regular walks around the house and along the lane on which he lives may have contributed to his erect posture. As also to the total absence of a walking stick, a helper, or any other form of assistance as he walked into the Janaki hotel where this gathering took place.
Referencing the published accounts of his several decades-long service in Parliament as head of its administration, it would be moot to recall that his close friend and fellow lawyer, J E D Gooneratne, teased him in the following terms: “You will be a bloody clerk all your life”. He did join service as Second Assistant to the Clerk to the House and moved up, but the Clerk became the Secretary General. Regardless of such matters of nomenclature, it could be said that Nihal Seneviratne ran the show.
Others present included Dr. Ranjith de Silva, Surgeon, who was our cricket Captain and, to the best of my knowledge, has the distinction of never engaging in private practice.
The range of Dr. K L (Lochana) Gunaratne’s interests and his accomplishments within each are indeed remarkable. I would think that somebody who’d received his initial training at the AA School of Architecture in London would continue to have architecture as the foundation of his likes /dislikes. Such would also provide a road map to other pursuits whether immediately related to that field or not. That is evident in the leadership roles he has played in the National Academy of Sciences and the Institute of Town Planners among others. As I recall he has also addressed issues related to the Panadura Vadaya.
My memories of D L Seneviratne at school were associated with tennis. As happens, D L had launched his gift for writing over three decades ago with a history of tennis in Sri Lanka (1991). That is a game with which my acquaintance is limited to sending a couple of serves past his ear (not ‘tossing the ball across’ as he asked me to) while Jothilingam, long much missed, waited for his team mates to come for practices. It is a game at which my father spent much time both at the Railway sports club and at our home-town club. (By some kind of chance, I recovered just a week ago the ‘Fred de Saram Challenge Cup’ which, on his winning the Singles for the third time, Koo de Saram came over to the Kandana Club to hand over to him for keeps. They played an exhibition match which father won). D L would know whether or not, as I have heard, in an exhibition match in Colombo, Koo defeated Frank Sedgman, who was on his triumphant return home to Oz after he had won the Wimbledon tournament in London.
I had no idea that D L has written any books till my son brought home the one on the early history of Royal under Marsh and Boake, (both long-bearded young men in their twenties).
It includes a rich assortment of photographs of great value to those who are interested in the history of the Anglican segment of Christian missionary activity here in the context of its contribution to secondary school education. Among them is one of the school as it appeared on moving to Thurstan road from Mutwal. It has been extracted from the History of Royal, 1931, done by students (among whom a relative, Palitha Weeraman, had played a significant role).
As D L shows, (in contra-distinction to the Catholic schools) the CMS had engaged in a largely secular practice. Royal remained so through our time – when one could walk into the examination room and answer questions framed to test one’s knowledge of Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism and Islam; a knowledge derived mostly from the lectures delivered by an Old Boy at general assembly on Friday plus readings from the Dhammapada, the Bhagavad Gita, the St. John’s version of the Bible or the Koran recited by a student at senior assembly on Tuesday / Thursday.
D L’s history of Royal College had followed in 2006.
His writing is so rich in detail, so precise in formulation, that I would consider this brief note a simple prompt towards a publisher bringing out new editions at different levels of cost.
It was also a pleasure to meet Senaka Amarasinghe, as yet flaunting his Emperor profile, and among the principal organisers of this event.
The encounter with I S de Silva, distinguished attorney, who was on Galle road close to Janaki lane, where I lived then was indeed welcome. As was that with Upali Mendis, who carried out cataract surgery on my mother oh so long ago when he was head of the Eye Hospital. His older brother, L P, was probably the most gifted student in chemistry in our time.
Most serendipitous perhaps was meeting a son of one of our most popular teachers from the 1950s, – Connor Rajaratnam. His cons were a caution.
by Gamini Seneviratne
Opinion
“Regulatory Impact Assessment – Not a bureaucratic formality but essentially an advocacy tool for smarter governance”: A response
Having meticulously read and re-read the above article published in the opinion page of The Island on the 27 Nov, I hasten to make a critical review on the far-reaching proposal made by the co-authors, namely Professor Theekshana Suraweera, Chairman of the Sri Lanka Standards Institution and Dr. Prabath.C.Abeysiriwardana, Director of Ministry of Science and Technology
The aforesaid article provides a timely and compelling critique of Sri Lanka’s long-standing gaps in evidence-based policymaking and argues persuasively for the institutional adoption of Regulatory Impact Assessment (RIA). In a context where policy missteps have led to severe economic and social consequences, the article functions as an essential wake-up call—highlighting RIA not as a bureaucratic formality but as a foundational tool for smarter governance.
One of the article’s strongest contributions is its clear explanation of how regulatory processes currently function in Sri Lanka: legislation is drafted with narrow legal scrutiny focused mainly on constitutional compliance, with little or no structured assessment of economic, social, cultural, or environmental impacts. The author strengthens this argument with well-chosen examples—the sudden ban on chemical fertilizer imports and the consequences of the 1956 Official Language Act—demonstrating how untested regulation can have far-reaching negative outcomes. These cases effectively illustrate the dangers of ad hoc policymaking and underscore the need for a formal review mechanism.
The article also succeeds in demystifying RIA by outlining its core steps—problem definition, option analysis, impact assessment, stakeholder consultation, and post-implementation review. This breakdown makes it clear that RIA is not merely a Western ideal but a practical, structured, and replicable process that could greatly improve policymaking in Sri Lanka. The references to international best practices (such as the role of OIRA in the United States) lend credibility and global context, showing that RIA is not experimental but an established standard in advanced governance systems.
However, the article could have further strengthened its critique by addressing the political economy of reform: the structural incentives, institutional resistance, and political culture that have historically obstructed such tools in Sri Lanka. While the challenges of data availability, quantification, and political pressure are briefly mentioned, a deeper analysis of why evidence-based policymaking has not taken root—and how to overcome these systemic barriers—would have offered greater practical value.
Another potential enhancement would be the inclusion of local micro-level examples where smaller-scale regulations backfired due to insufficient appraisal. This would help illustrate that the problem is not limited to headline-making policy failures but affects governance at every level.
Despite these minor limitations, the article is highly effective as an advocacy piece. It makes a strong case that RIA could transform Sri Lanka’s regulatory landscape by institutionalizing foresight, transparency, and accountability. Its emphasis on aligning RIA with ongoing national initiatives—particularly the strengthening of the National Quality Infrastructure—demonstrates both pragmatism and strategic vision.
At a time, when Chairmen of statutory bodies appointed by the NPP government play a passive voice, the candid opinion expressed by the CEO of SLSI on the necessity of a Regulatory Impact Assessment is an important and insightful contribution. It highlights a critical missing link in Sri Lanka’s policy environment and provides a clear call to action. If widely circulated and taken seriously by policymakers, academics, and civil society, it could indeed become the eye-opener needed to push Sri Lanka toward more rational, responsible, and future-ready governance.
J. A. A. S. Ranasinghe,
Productivity Specialty and Management Consultant
(rathula49@gmail.com)
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