Features
Childhood memories of Batticaloa and working there in the fifties
(Excerpted from Fallen Leave, an athology of autobiographical memoirs by LC Arulpragasam)
I have happy memories of Batticaloa as a boy. My father was posted there as Medical Officer of Health for a period of five years in the late 1930s, when I was between eight-12 years of age. Since I was attending school in Colombo, my days in Batticaloa were confined to the school holidays. But these were days which made a great impression on me, drawing me to my love of water and to the jungles and the great outdoors. In 1955, I was posted as Assistant Government Agent of the Batticaloa District, which gave me a wider view of the district’s problems and possibilities.
General Overview
The first thing that strikes an independent observer is the spatial distribution of population in relation to overall land availability in the district. Almost 80 per cent of the population is settled along the narrow (north-south) coastal littoral, sandwiched between the lagoon on the west, and the sea on the east. This is somewhat strange for two reasons: first, because this coastal land is relatively poor and sandy, except for places where a few rivers spread their fertile silt; but secondly, because this has resulted in some of the greatest population densities in the country, especially in the areas of Kattankudy and Kalmunai.
This settlement pattern may have been convenient because of the relative ease of communications along the coast, while also providing a stable livelihood from farming, fishing and trade. In the long run, however, it has had the negative consequence of not utilizing the most fertile lands of the district for cultivation. This in turn has enabled the subsequent appropriation of these lands by the Government for settlers from other parts of the country.
The second most striking feature is the abundant availability of land compared to the rest of Sri Lanka – especially compared to the miniscule holdings in Jaffna or to the very small holdings in the hill districts (except for the large tea estates). I was amazed and amused when a farmer asked me for more land, saying: ‘I am a poor man, your honour sir, I have only six acres and need more land to feed my family.’ It is true that the land is relatively sandy and receives rain in only one season; but it is also true that the Batticaloa district does have a more favorable land-man ratio than most other districts in the country.
This relative abundance of land has served, in my opinion, to inhibit, first, any great desire to intensify agricultural production. If one wanted more income, one merely had to acquire more land. Second, it inhibited enterprise, including a search for higher education or for higher jobs outside the district.
This is in sharp contrast to the situation in the Jaffna district, where the shortage of land forced the Jaffna Tamils to actively seek education and government jobs in other districts – or even other countries. The same applied to business or commercial ventures. There was no major industry in the district in 1956. Even the two top general stores in Batticaloa town were owned by Sinhalese merchants from Galle and Matara. More remarkable was the relative lack of higher education among the Tamils and Muslims of the district at that time.
A real anomaly and grievance during the 1950s was the near-monopoly of top government posts in the district by Jaffna Tamils. This was partly due to their higher education levels and seniority in the government service compared to the Battticaloa Tamils and Muslims at that time, while their Tamil-speaking skills gave them an advantage over eligible Sinhalese officers.
For instance in 1956, whereas there was one senior Sinhalese staff officer (the DLO) in the district, there was not a single staff officer who hailed from the Batticaloa district. Few Batticaloa Tamils or Muslims bothered to seek higher education or higher government positions at that time; they seemed to prefer to look after their own lands rather than to work outside their district. This near monopoly of higher government posts by Jaffna Tamils was naturally resented by the rising intelligentsia in the district.
Fortunately the balance has been rectified by the increasing number of graduates from the Batticaloa district who have since assumed high staff positions. This was greatly helped by the establishment of a University in the Eastern Province. This was neither the case in my father’s time in the 1940s, nor in my time in the 1950s.
Exaggerated Respect for Government Officials
Another related trait was the over-dependence on the government bureaucracy in times of need. There were no NGOs to speak of. This dependence manifested itself especially in times of crisis, such as during the communal riots of 1956 and 1958, as well as during the devastating floods of 1957/58. Whenever there was a crisis, they always looked to the Government Agent for a solution. This also led to the overly high respect accorded to high government officials – which is not so common in other districts. I know that this sounds patronizing now, but this was the situation in 1955, around 65 years ago when this was written.
Even the form of address to these higher government servants was usually overdone. At inquiries, I was often addressed as ‘Your honour, Sir’, while even senior clerks would address me in the respectful third person. This exaggerated respect for government office was also reflected in the local population. The Batticaloa Kachcheri happens to be located in the old Dutch Fort. When I drove through its portals each day, all the people in the large courtyard would stand up, although I was only 26 years old at that time, and was only passing through to park my wheezing old Morris Minor! They would continue standing as a show of respect for my official position, causing me to cringe past them guiltily, to reach my own office!
This respect for government authority may be partly due to the quaint institution called dappu, which requires permission from the GA before any paddy land can be cultivated for any season. Can you imagine that everyone had to get permission to cultivate his or her own paddy land for each season? Not only did this cast a heavy burden on the GA’s office, but it greatly enhanced his authority. Especially in cases of cultivation disputes, lawyers would appear before me for each party, because the winning of cultivation rights was more than half the battle in later winning ownership rights in court. Given the frequency of these disputes, I just put my head down and worked, giving dappu decisions left and right. I must admit that in retrospect, I am now rather embarrassed that I did not question the rationale of this burdensome system – or try to abolish it altogether.
The colonial overhang of exaggerated respect for higher government officials was also reflected in the social scene. In British times, the latter was dominated by the Gymkhana Club, which was open only to higher level officials of the government service; this in practice ensured that it was open only to whites (the British). But in my father’s time in the district (1939-1944), the senior Ceylonese holding high-level government posts (of whom my father was one) were allowed to become members. Even then, as a boy, I wondered why the best tennis players in the district were not allowed into the Gymkhana Club.
When I assumed duties in the Batticaloa District in 1955, I was surprised to find that the Gymkhana Club still insisted on these same arcane and ancient rules. The Government Agent was still the ex-officio President of the Club, while I as Assistant Government Agent (at the age of 26 years) was automatically its ex-officio Vice President! I had no difficulty in persuading the GA at that time, Mr. A.B.S.N. Pullenayagum, an upright and unassuming gentleman, to jointly co-sponsor a motion to abolish the rules that made us automatically the President and Vice- President.
We also proposed another motion to open the Club to non-staff officers in the government service (such as police and excise inspectors), which would greatly increase the number of sportsmen in the Club. It did little, however, to bridge the gap between the higher social status of government servants and the public at large, who were still denied membership, which was reserved for government servants only. Fortunately, because of my work, I had professional and social dealings with lawyers and others in the district, among whom I had some friends.
Moreover, my work in agriculture and lands brought me into intimate contact with the farmers, who formed the backbone of the district: I cannot recount how much I learned from them. I was fortunately able to give something back in return. By working more hours per day, I was able to give out more land to the landless and land-poor than had been given out by any of my predecessors.
The natural beauty of the Batticaloa district
The last impression I would like to leave with you is the beauty and variety of this district: its people, its jungles, lagoons, and beaches, which were especially attractive to me, an outdoors man. To live in an old government bungalow immediately by the lagoon, as was my official residence in Batticaloa, was my idea of heaven. I used to get up to the calm of the lagoon in the mornings and sit up at night just to see the moonlight on the water and hear the lapping of its wavelets on the shore.
I happened to own a small skiff (made of aluminum) in which we used to row out from our house in the moonlight to hear the famous ‘singing fish’ of Battticaloa! I have swum and fished in its rivers and lagoons, and in the changing tides of its seas. I have ventured in my little boat to the farthest ends of lakes and reservoirs in the heart of the jungle, seeing tree upon tree of nesting birds. I have rowed within 30 feet of wild elephants, who although surprised, could not reach me – for I was in my little boat in deep water!.
The theory current in the 1950s was that the ‘singing fish’ could only be heard near the Kalladi Bridge, since the musical sounds were caused by the constriction of the tidal flow of water under the bridge on moonlight nights, and not by ‘singing fish’. But going in my little aluminum boat, whose metal conducted and magnified the sounds in the water, I have heard the notes (like a cacophony of instruments tuning up for a concert) in many other parts of the lagoon, far away from the bridge –and even opposite my own bungalow – but only on moonlight nights.
Although not a keen hunter, I have shot a leopard in the jungles off Arugam Bay. (It was ‘sportmanship’ in the1950s, although I regret it now). I have trekked through the jungles of Panama Pattu into the Yala Game Sanctuary in the Southern Province. I have seen the wild peacocks dance: I have walked to the jungle habitat of the Veddas in Bintenne – and more.
The Batticaloa District thus offered me not only opportunities for useful work, but also opportunities to enjoy life to the full. Both the happiest years of my childhood and the most rewarding years of my professional life were spent in that district – for which I am truly grateful. I find that the gratitude is mutual: I have just learned, after 65 years, (when this was written) that an entire tract of paddy land has been named after me, with the name: “Arulpragasamkandam”.
Features
Tusker Kavantissa’s death exposes Sri Lanka’s wildlife conservation crisis
by Prof. Ranjith Bandara,
Emeritus Professor, University of Colombo
This article examines why community exclusion, excessive bureaucratic control, unequal distribution of conservation benefits, weak institutional accountability, and short-sighted political leadership continue to undermine wildlife conservation in Sri Lanka.
The death of Tusker Kavantissa is more than the loss of one of Sri Lanka’s most remarkable wild elephants. It exposes uncomfortable questions about how we protect our natural heritage, how conservation decisions are made, and why repeated warnings have failed to produce meaningful reforms. His death should compel us to examine not only what happened to one extraordinary animal, but also the deeper weaknesses in our wildlife conservation system.
Tusker Kavantissa, one of Sri Lanka’s most prominent wild tuskers, died on 16 October, 2026, after receiving veterinary treatment for an injury, reportedly caused by gunfire. Although the wound had shown some improvement, his health subsequently deteriorated. The precise cause of death requires confirmation through a proper post-mortem examination. Nevertheless, the circumstances raise serious questions about preventive protection, wildlife management, and institutional preparedness.
The wider picture is equally disturbing. According to recently reported figures, Sri Lanka has lost an average of approximately 402 elephants and 138 people annually, since 2019, due to human–elephant conflict. These figures reflect a continuing national tragedy affecting both wildlife and rural communities.
What Sri Lanka faces today is not merely a wildlife conservation problem. It is also a crisis of environmental governance, shaped by institutional weaknesses, political decisions, and the failure to recognise the economic and social realities of conservation.
Conservation without communities
One of the fundamental weaknesses of our conservation approach is that local communities are often treated as subjects of regulation rather than partners in conservation. They are expected to bear the risks, respect restrictions, and cooperate with government programmes, yet their influence over decisions affecting their lives remains limited.
For rural families living alongside wild elephants, conservation is not an abstract environmental objective. It directly affects their safety, agricultural income, property, and everyday lives.
Farmers frequently possess valuable knowledge about elephant movements, vulnerable locations, seasonal changes, and practical protection measures. Yet conservation interventions are sometimes designed without adequately considering this experience.
When decisions are imposed from above, communities may feel excluded from programmes they are expected to support. This weakens trust, reduces cooperation, and ultimately undermines conservation outcomes.
We must recognise that protecting elephants and protecting farmers are not conflicting objectives. Both are essential. A conservation policy that safeguards wildlife while neglecting human security cannot be considered successful.
The real challenge is to replace conservation imposed on communities with conservation undertaken alongside them. Meaningful participation requires more than consultation meetings. Communities must have a genuine role in planning, implementing, monitoring, and evaluating conservation activities.
Bureaucratic authority versus public accountability
Wildlife conservation requires strong institutions, professional expertise, and effective regulations. However, excessive bureaucratic control can become an obstacle when administrative authority takes precedence over practical outcomes.
Decision-making in Sri Lanka’s conservation system remains heavily dependent on central institutions. Administrative procedures, overlapping responsibilities, and limited coordination can delay responses to urgent problems.
More importantly, excessive centralisation can discourage local innovation and prevent communities from contributing practical solutions.
When administrative authority becomes more important than results, conservation risks becoming an exercise in controlling people rather than protecting nature.
This criticism should not be confused with questioning the dedication of frontline wildlife officers and veterinarians. Many work under difficult conditions with limited resources. The efforts undertaken to save Tusker Kavantissa deserve recognition.
However, individual commitment cannot compensate indefinitely for institutional weaknesses.
We must ask whether our conservation institutions have the capacity to identify risks early, protect vulnerable animals, coordinate emergency responses, and evaluate the effectiveness of their interventions.
Public accountability should, therefore, extend beyond compliance with administrative procedures to measurable conservation outcomes.
Who bears costs, and who receives benefits?
Perhaps the most neglected dimension of wildlife conservation in Sri Lanka is the unequal distribution of its economic costs and benefits.
Wild elephants contribute substantially to tourism, biodiversity, cultural heritage, and the country’s international image. Their conservation generates benefits enjoyed by society as a whole.
Yet the financial and personal costs are concentrated among rural communities living within elephant habitats.
A study published in 2023, involving 300 farming households in southern Sri Lanka, revealed a striking imbalance. Although these households lived near two national parks, none received economic benefits from tourism. Meanwhile, 57 percent had experienced elephant-related crop damage.
The findings raise a fundamental economic question: if the entire country benefits from elephant conservation, why should a relatively small and vulnerable section of society bear a disproportionate share of its costs?
Conservation cannot remain economically sustainable when its benefits are widely enjoyed but its costs are concentrated among those least able to bear them.
A separate study, published in 2024, involving 439 affected farming households, examined the possibility of financing compensation through tourism revenue. It demonstrated the potential for tourism-based financial mechanisms to support human–elephant coexistence.
The policy implications are significant
A proportion of wildlife tourism revenue could be directed towards affected communities through transparent benefit-sharing arrangements. Such measures could support compensation, village protection, local employment, community enterprises, and agricultural improvements.
However, financial compensation alone is insufficient. The 2023 study also indicated that fear of elephants and concerns about crop damage strongly influenced community attitudes. People must feel safe in their homes and farms, not merely receive payment after suffering losses.
Equitable benefit-sharing is, therefore, more than an act of generosity. It is an economic and social requirement for sustainable conservation.
Political decisions and absence of long-term vision
The weaknesses in wildlife conservation cannot be attributed solely to public officials. Political leadership must accept its share of responsibility.
Poor land-use planning, habitat fragmentation, obstruction of elephant movement corridors, and development decisions that inadequately consider environmental consequences have contributed to human–elephant conflict.
Political decisions made for immediate gains can create environmental and economic costs lasting for decades.
Another weakness is the preference for visible, short-term interventions.
Constructing electric fences, relocating elephants, and launching emergency operations can attract considerable publicity. However, such interventions should be evaluated according to their effectiveness, not their visibility.
Political leadership should be judged not by the number of conservation programmes announced, but by the lives protected, conflicts prevented, and long-term improvements achieved.
There is also a serious problem of policy continuity. Conservation cannot be governed according to electoral cycles or changing political priorities.
Elephant habitats, migration patterns, and ecological processes do not change with governments. Successful conservation, therefore, requires consistent national commitments extending beyond individual political administrations.
Without such continuity, public investment may be wasted while the underlying problems remain unresolved.
Problem is not always a lack of policy
Sri Lanka’s conservation crisis cannot be explained simply by a shortage of scientific knowledge or policy recommendations.
In many instances, the greater challenge lies in translating available knowledge into coordinated, adequately funded, and politically supported action.
The National Action Plan for the Mitigation of Human–Elephant Conflict, prepared in 2020, proposed a science-based approach that emphasised community participation, protection of villages and agricultural land, and more effective conflict-management strategies.
Yet an important question remains: how much of this plan has been implemented successfully?
Have implementation difficulties arisen from inadequate resources, weak institutional coordination, administrative resistance, or insufficient political commitment?
An independent assessment of the plan’s implementation would help identify these obstacles and establish clear responsibilities.
We must also recognise that a substantial proportion of Sri Lanka’s wild elephants live outside protected areas. Attempting to confine all elephants within national parks and forest reserves is, therefore, neither realistic nor sustainable.
Effective conservation requires land-use policies informed by elephant ecology, settlement patterns, agricultural needs, and the practical realities of human–wildlife coexistence.
A sound policy that remains largely unimplemented offers little protection to either elephants or people.
Towards more responsible conservation system
Sri Lanka needs a fundamental change in how wildlife conservation is governed.
Four priorities deserve immediate attention.
First, local communities must become genuine partners in conservation management, with meaningful responsibilities and decision-making opportunities.
Second, conservation benefits must be distributed more fairly. Wildlife tourism should contribute directly to protecting the livelihoods and safety of communities that bear conservation costs.
Third, existing national conservation plans should be independently reviewed to identify implementation gaps and establish a realistic timetable for corrective action.
Fourth, conservation institutions must become more accountable for measurable outcomes, including reductions in human deaths, elephant mortality, crop losses, and property damage.
These reforms require cooperation among wildlife, forestry, agriculture, land, irrigation, and local government institutions.
They also demand political leadership willing to prioritise long-term results over short-term publicity.
For exceptional animals, such as Tusker Kavantissa, improved risk monitoring, preventive protection, and timely veterinary responses are particularly important. However, conservation should not be limited to protecting a few well-known animals.
Every wild elephant has ecological value, just as every person living alongside elephants has an equal right to safety.
The objective must be a system that protects both.
Lesson tusker Kavantissa leaves behind
The death of Tusker Kavantissa should not become another moment of national sorrow that gradually fades from public memory. It should mark a turning point in how Sri Lanka approaches wildlife conservation.
A proper investigation into his death is essential. Equally important is an honest examination of the conservation system within which such tragedies continue to occur.
The real challenge is not choosing between people and elephants. It is creating a system in which both can coexist safely, and where the responsibilities, costs, and benefits of conservation are shared fairly.
This requires more than scientific expertise and stronger regulations. It demands accountable institutions, meaningful community participation, economic fairness, and political leadership guided by a clear long-term vision.
Our greatest failure would not be the loss of Tusker Kavantissa alone. It would be allowing the same weaknesses in our conservation system to claim more lives while we continue to avoid the reforms that could prevent them.
Features
Equality before the Law as foundation of Sri Lanka’s recovery
by Jehan Perera
The government appears set to overcome the first major challenge to one of its foundational principles. It has faced down demands from sections of the Buddhist clergy and opposition parties to release Ven. Galagodaatte Gnanasara from his prison sentence for contempt of court.
Ven Gnanasara is best known as the general secretary of the Bodu Bala Sena, a nationalist Sinhala grouping. The government seemed unfazed by a protest march organised by Buddhist monks and the opposition parties and its supporters organised an even bigger march to support the government’s position. It is notable that the general population did not get involved in either march in any substantial number. The issue has now become a test of whether the government will uphold its commitment to apply the law equally, irrespective of a person’s position or status, even when doing so brings it into conflict with a powerful constituency.
The case has a specific legal history. Ven. Gnanasara was sentenced to six years’ imprisonment by the Court of Appeal in 2018 for contempt of court in a case involving former military personnel where he disrupted the proceedings. The Supreme Court rejected his appeal in 2018. Former President Maithripala Sirisena subsequently granted him a presidential pardon in 2019. Last month, the Supreme Court invalidated that pardon. The initial demand by Buddhist monks and their lay supporters was that Ven. Gnanasara should be permitted to wear his Buddhist robes when appearing in public before the courts. The government has indicated its willingness to examine the procedures governing the treatment of Buddhist monks in prison, in consultation with the relevant religious authorities. However, the initial demand has now been escalated into a demand for a presidential pardon.
One of the central promises of the National People’s Power (NPP) during its election campaign two years ago was to apply the law equally to all. This commitment has shaped the government’s approach to allegations of corruption and criminality involving individuals who previously wielded political power. The NPP government was swept into power on a wave of antipathy towards those in previous governments who were perceived to have abused their positions for private gain. The economic collapse Sri Lanka experienced in 2022, and the hardships endured across society, remain vivid in the public memory. The past two years have seen the government pursuing those accused of corruption and other offences. Several high-ranking members of previous governments have faced arrest and legal proceedings and been sentenced to jail.
Religious Concerns
The ability of opposition parties to mobilise widespread resistance against proceedings involving their leaders has been limited, as much of the general population continues to favour accountability for past financial crimes. However, the case of Ven. Gnanasara is different. It does not concern allegations of financial corruption, but the relationship between religious authority, the courts and the law of the land. This is where the distinction between respecting religious traditions and upholding the law becomes crucial. There is a sense among sections of the general population that Buddhist monks should not be treated on a par with others and that requiring Ven. Gnanasara to appear in court without his robes was unjust and contrary to the national ethos. Such sentiments reflect the special place Buddhism occupies in Sri Lanka’s history and society. Sinhala Buddhist nationalism has been a potent political force throughout the country’s history, drawing on a heritage that extends back more than two millennia. The question is whether respect for Buddhism needs to also entail the exemption of individual monks from the ordinary requirements of the law and thereby treat them differently.
The challenge would be to accommodate legitimate religious concerns through rational and lawful procedures without allowing religious status to become a source of legal privilege. The government has been amenable to addressing the issue of monastic robes, but has so far resisted the demand to release Ven. Gnanasara through a new pardon. President Anura Kumara Dissanayake and government members have made it clear that the government would not bend the law to accommodate any individual. They have taken the position that any shortcomings in existing rules should be addressed by changing the rules through proper procedures, rather than by making an exception for a particular individual. If the government holds its position, it will demonstrate that its commitment to the rule of law extends even to constituencies that have historically enjoyed considerable political influence.
This is important not only for the country’s democratic institutions but also for its economic future. Sri Lanka is seeking to recover from its economic collapse and establish the foundations for sustained growth. The International Monetary Fund’s analysis of Sri Lanka’s governance weaknesses has repeatedly emphasised the economic costs of corruption and institutional deficiencies. Its 2024 analysis of governance and growth concluded that comprehensive and coherent reforms could bring significant macroeconomic benefits. The IMF’s 2025 assessment also highlighted the importance of sustained governance reforms in unlocking the country’s growth potential. Investors, both domestic and foreign, need confidence that public institutions function according to predictable rules, that contracts and property rights are protected, and that political connections or social status will not determine how the law is applied.
Sensitive Issue
Sri Lanka has long sought the leap towards prosperity that has proved elusive under successive governments. Economic reform alone will not achieve it. The connection between the rule of law and economic prosperity is direct. Businesses are more likely to invest when they can expect disputes to be resolved fairly, public resources to be managed transparently and regulatory decisions to be made on rational grounds. No country can achieve a durable economic take-off if its institutions are perceived to operate according to political favour, inherited privilege or communal pressure. Sri Lanka cannot afford to return to a political culture in which powerful interests are shielded from accountability while ordinary citizens bear the costs.
Changing a political culture that has evolved over the decades if not centuries is a difficult undertaking, particularly in a country where political leaders have long relied on religious and communal identities to consolidate their support. It requires not only firmness but also sensitivity, dialogue and a willingness to reform laws and institutions where genuine deficiencies exist. The present controversy offers an opportunity to demonstrate that these objectives need not be in conflict. The government can respect the Buddhist clergy’s concerns about the treatment of monks in prison while refusing to grant an individual an exemption from a judicial sentence. It can recognise the importance of Buddhism to the country while maintaining that no religious or political authority stands above the law.
The question is whether national traditions and ethos are interpreted in ways that strengthen justice, responsibility and social harmony, or invoked to defend privileges that undermine them. The country needs a transformation in public expectations from privilege to accountability, from communal claims to equal citizenship, and from personal discretion to institutions governed by law.
The government’s handling of the case involving Ven. Gnanasara is therefore about more than one monk or one sentence. This particular case will determine whether the government can build a system in which no government, religious authority or politically influential individuals can place themselves beyond the law. A just society must be able to honour both its traditions and its commitment to equality before the law.
Features
Lure of old hometown too hard to resist
Lanka was his homeland, and now it’s Australia, based in Sydney. But for legendary performer Roger Menezes, the lure of his old hometown is just too hard to resist — and he keeps coming this way, ever so often!
Roger is in town at the moment — his fourth trip for this year alone! In fact, for the last few years, he has been checking out Sri Lanka on a very frequent basis.
This time, he says, he will be here for just two weeks, as he has heavy commitments, Down Under, as a performer.
On the 24th of this month, he will be seen in action at Broadway Dehiwela, celebrating their second anniversary. It’s a homecoming of sorts, as he was the very first artiste to perform live at this venue, on their opening night!
He goes back to Sydney in November for an early Christmas party, and will be back, in Colombo, in December, for more performances, with a pre-New Year’s Eve party at the Broadway, on 30th December.
Roger says he also takes the opportunity, whenever he visits Sri Lanka, to soak in the beauty of our country, especially the serene scenes away from the hustle and bustle of Colombo!

Roger Menezes: Fourth trip for this year
Roger Menezes is truly a remarkable talent, and it is always a sheer pleasure to look into the careers of musicians who have left such a lasting, indelible mark on Sri Lanka’s rich musical heritage.
Known for his signature “hits and memories” performance style — a nostalgic, heart-warming blend of jazz, pop, and classic rock — he remains a foundational figure of Sri Lanka’s golden era of music.
He was deeply integrated into Colombo’s swinging 1960s and 70s music scene.
He played drums for iconic groups like The Savages, Thunderbirds, and Fireflies, played guitar for Sam the Man, and joined the legendary band The Jetliners as their keyboardist, saxophonist, and guitarist (additionally recording bass guitar tracks). He also fronted his own much-loved ensemble, Roger and the Webs.
He migrated to Sydney, Australia, in the early ’70s and the legend only grew.
In Australia, he founded the highly successful corporate and event bands Eastern Spice and Stay Tuned (alongside his wife Cheryl and family). Under his leadership, Stay Tuned was heavily involved in providing entertainment for corporate functions, organised by the Sydney 2000 Olympic Committee. The group also headlined the New Year’s Eve festivities at Sydney’s iconic Centrepoint Tower for five consecutive years!
Today, he is widely celebrated as a highly adaptive one-man band, simultaneously navigating vocals, keyboards, guitar, saxophone, and drums — a one-man orchestra who truly does it all!
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