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Deconstructing Ravi

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By Uditha Devapriya

A book on Ravindra Randeniya was long incoming, and now we have two. Full disclosure: I am the author of one of them. Gamini Weragama, arguably the most knowledgeable and reputed film critic writing in Sinhala today, has authored the other.

Weragama’s book was published by Sarasavi, mine by FastADS. Both were launched at a ceremony at the BMICH last Wednesday, June 5. The event, excellently put together by a hardworking, passionate team led by Dr Ranga Kalansooriya, witnessed a galaxy of actors, directors, critics, writers, MPs, even the president and prime minister. My friend Indunil put it in perspective: “the whole of Sinhala cinema was there that night.”

Ravindra is Ravi aiya to his colleagues, contemporaries, and juniors. He is by far the most distinguished, reputable actor alive in Sri Lanka. This is not to underplay or ignore any criticism we can make of him. Yet, as far as Sri Lankan actors go, he remains unmatched in the dazzling range and complexity he has embraced in role after role.

But there is more to Ravindra than the films he has been in and the roles he has taken on. Much more. To assess his career more carefully, I believe we need to look at him through a different lens and prism, specifically a sociohistorical one. This is the perspective I have adopted in parts of my book, but it is one which requires a radically different conception of actors and their place in our society.

Any assessment of Randeniya must, I think, begin from the fact that he came of age in 1956. That year has become pivotal for reasons which warrant a separate essay. More than anything, it launched the careers of an entirely different generation of artistes, including playwrights, filmmakers, musicians, and dancers.

While S. W. R. D. Bandaranaike was spreading the gospel of Sinhala Only throughout the country, Ravindra Randeniya was taking part in a Fifth Standard production of Sigiri Kashyapa at his school, St Benedict’s College, Kotahena. Incredibly, it was the only stage production he took part in at school. Indeed, he would not act in any production of any sort until more than a decade later, when he joined the Lionel Wendt Theatre Workshop. Why so? Because, in his own words, “I was more interested in literature than in theatre.”

Meeting Ravindra in 2014

A highly literate student, Ravindra immersed himself in the literature of his time, reading everyone from Martin Wickramasinghe to Siri Gunasinghe to Gunadasa Amarasekara to Mahagama Sekara. Though he watched films, he did so only occasionally, and was limited to standard Hollywood and Bollywood fare. Over time, he saw himself as a litterateur, though his larger ambition was to become a doctor.

For better or worse, Ravindra could not pursue his medical ambitions. He then got down to working for his father. By now, he was living through a completely different time. The Sinhala theatre was undergoing a revival, as was the cinema. Spurred on by the likes of Ediriweera Sarachchandra and Lester Peries, these mediums became more accessible to the Sinhala speaking masses, leading to the formation of independent theatre collectives which went against the grain and questioned accepted artistic conventions.

Ravindra’s entry into the cinema was preceded by three long but fateful years at the Lionel Wendt Theatre Workshop. The Workshop was a product of its time, and its impact on the country’s cultural community was considerable. However, for some reason, it has escaped the attention of critics. To understand its relevance for Ravindra, we ought to delve into the changes that were sweeping through Sri Lanka at that point.

In the 1950s and 1960s, a number of playwrights and theatre practitioners made their way to Western countries, through grants and scholarships. One of the first of these was Henry Jayasena, who travelled to both Russia and England. Gunasena Galappatti, who introduced García Lorca to Sri Lankan audiences, won a Fulbright Scholarship to the US, where he came under the influence of Uta Hagen and the Actors’ Studio. This was around the time that two other pioneering intellectuals – Gananath Obeyesekere and J. B. Disanayake – secured the Fulbright. The impact of these scholarships and exchange programmes on Sri Lanka’s cultural trajectory was massive, though it has never been researched in full.

Freed from the conventions of their predecessors, these dramatists experimented in different artistic forms and idioms. They fostered the growth of a bilingual cultural elite in Sri Lanka. They also attracted another group of playwrights, who hailed from a Sinhala-speaking lower middle-class and had found jobs in the country’s administrative service. Many among this group went on to form independent theatre collectives, the most popular of which was Sugathapala de Silva’s Ape Kattiya, along with Premaranjith Tillekeratne’s 63 Kandayama – a breakaway faction from Ape Kattiya – and G. D. L. Perera’s Kala Pela.

These playwrights were driven by an almost visceral aversion to Sarachchandra’s mixture of stylised and realist theatre. Premaranjith, in particular, took a strong dislike to what he saw as the great man’s opposition to Western theatrical forms. “When I once played for him a recording from West Side Story,” he related to me, “he just winced and said, ‘What is this cacophony?’” Such encounters persuaded Tillekeratne and his peers that the country was in need of a different conception of theatre and art.

Of course, to limit the Lionel Wendt Theatre Workshop to the efforts of these innovators alone would be to credit one group, when there was in fact several other groups involved in its establishment and founding. Sarachchandra himself became a founding figure, as did scholars like Percy Colin-Thomé, A. J. Gunawardena, and Wimal Dissanayake, together with artistes from other fields, like Chitrasena, Manjusri, and Amaradeva.

Looming above all of them was Dhamma Jagoda. A dramatist, connoisseur of the arts, and fiery radical, Jagoda was instrumental in formulating a syllabus for the Workshop. Together with Harold Peiris, he came up with a curriculum which could impart the best and the latest in Western, European, and Asian theatre to students.

Jagoda himself had travelled abroad on a grant. In 1967-1968, following his production of Tennessee Williams’s A Streetcar Named Desire – Sinhalised as Ves Muhunu and starring the likes of Roma de Zoysa, Rukmani Devi, and Sunethra Sarachchandra – he had secured a scholarship from the British Council. Visiting more than 15 countries, and ending up in New York, he had not just met Lee Strasberg but also talked with Marlon Brando.

Jagoda was tempestuous and unpredictable, a Picasso-like genius who resorted to the most unconventional methods. “He gave up everything to dedicate himself to teaching,” his wife Manel, who became involved in the Workshop, first as a student and then as an organiser, recalls. Ravindra’s senior by four years, he mentored the budding actor well. “He was an almost fanatical stickler for time,” Ravindra remembered him. “Once I got five minutes late, and he put me out, telling me that we should be five minutes early.”

If these anecdotes and encounters put Ravindra in the background, that is because Ravindra was a product of his times, and there is no use deconstructing him without deconstructing the period he hailed from. Moreover, Ravindra’s forays into the cinema were conditioned by his experience in the theatre, for at least two reasons.

First, the Workshop made him more receptive to the intricacies of acting: he had signed up originally for backstage work, among other subjects, but Dhamma pulled him into acting classes. “It made me more sensitive to the art of acting, which I had not seen as an art until then.” Second, because it involved the leading cultural figures of the day, the Workshop attracted the interest of filmmakers, actors, and critics. By 1972, when he passed out with a Diploma, Ravindra was hence getting offers from the likes of Lester Peries.

All these points have been laid bare in the two books on Ravindra. The man’s achievements cannot be emphasised enough. Ravindra redefined what it meant to be an actor in Sri Lanka. The stage had already been set for him by Gamini Fonseka, Joe Abeywickrema, and Tony Ranasinghe. Ravindra continued their legacy while breaking with their tradition: in effect, by cultivating a range almost unparalleled among his predecessors.

It is thus wrong to pigeonhole Ravindra into one type of role and to overlook his diversity. That diversity is what makes the man tick. The Lionel Wendt Theatre Workshop, and the developments of the 1960s, had a huge say on his evolution. It would be wrong to overlook those developments too. This is the point of our books.

Uditha Devapriya is a writer, researcher, and analyst who writes on topics such as history, art and culture, politics, and foreign policy. He is one of the two leads in U & U, an informal art and culture research collective. He can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com.


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Relief without recovery

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A US airstrike on an Iranian oil storage facility

The escalating conflict in the Middle East is of such magnitude, with loss of life, destruction of cities, and global energy shortages, that it is diverting attention worldwide and in Sri Lanka, from other serious problems. Barely four months ago Sri Lanka experienced a cyclone of epic proportions that caused torrential rains, accompanied by floods and landslides. The immediate displacement exceeded one million people, though the number of deaths was about 640, with around 200 others reported missing. The visual images of entire towns and villages being inundated, with some swept away by floodwaters, evoked an overwhelming humanitarian response from the general population.

When the crisis of displacement was at its height there was a concerted public response. People set up emergency kitchens and volunteer clean up teams fanned out to make flooded homes inhabitable again. Religious institutions, civil society organisations and local communities worked together to assist the displaced. For a brief period the country witnessed a powerful demonstration of social solidarity. The scale of the devastation prompted the government to offer generous aid packages. These included assistance for the rebuilding of damaged houses, support for building new houses, grants for clean up operations and rent payments to displaced families. Welfare centres were also set up for those unable to find temporary housing.

The government also appointed a Presidential Task Force to lead post-cyclone rebuilding efforts. The mandate of the Task Force is to coordinate post-disaster response mechanisms, streamline institutional efforts and ensure the effective implementation of rebuilding programmes in the aftermath of the cyclone. The body comprises a high-level team, led by the Prime Minister, and including cabinet ministers, deputy ministers, provincial-level officials, senior public servants, representing key state institutions, and civil society representatives. It was envisaged that the Task Force would function as the central coordinating authority, working with government agencies and other stakeholders to accelerate recovery initiatives and restore essential services in affected regions.

Demotivated Service

However, four months later a visit to one of the worst of the cyclone affected areas to meet with affected families from five villages revealed that they remained stranded and in a state of limbo. Most of these people had suffered terribly from the cyclone. Some had lost their homes. A few had lost family members. Many had been informed that the land on which they lived had become unsafe and that they would need to relocate. Most of them had received the promised money for clean up and some had received rent payments for two months. However, little had happened beyond this. The longer term process of rebuilding houses, securing land and restoring livelihoods has barely begun. As a result, families who had already endured the trauma of disaster, now face prolonged uncertainty about their future. It seems that once again the promises made by the political leadership has not reached the ground.

A government officer explained that the public service was highly demotivated. According to him, many officials felt that they had too much work piled upon them with too little resources to do much about it. They also believed that they were underpaid for the work they were expected to carry out. In fact, there had even been a call by public officials specially assigned to cyclone relief work to go on strike due to complaints about their conditions of work. This government official appreciated the government leadership’s commitment to non corruption. But he noted the irony that this had also contributed to a demotivation of the public service. This was on the unjustifiable basis that approving and implementing projects more quickly requires an incentive system.

Whether or not this explanation fully captures the situation, it points to an issue that the government needs to address. Disaster recovery requires a proactive public administration. Officials need to reach out to affected communities, provide clear information and help them navigate the complex procedures required to access assistance. At the consultation with cyclone victims this was precisely the concern that people raised. They said that government officers were not proactive in reaching out to them. Many felt they had little engagement with the state and that the government officers did not come to them. This suggests that the government system at the community level could be supported by non-governmental organisations that have the capacity and experience of working with communities at the grassroots.

In situations such as this the government needs to think about ways of motivating public officials to do more rather than less. It needs to identify legitimate incentives that reward initiative and performance. These could include special allowances for those working in disaster affected areas, recognition and promotion for officers who successfully complete relief and reconstruction work, and the provision of additional staff and logistical support so that the workload is manageable. Clear targets and deadlines, with support from the non-governmental sector, can also encourage officials to act more proactively. When government officers feel supported and recognised for the extra effort required, they are more likely to engage actively with affected communities and ensure that assistance reaches those who need it most.

Political Solutions

Under the prevailing circumstances, however, the cyclone victims do not know what to do. The government needs to act on this without further delay. Government policy states that families can receive financial assistance of up to Rs 5 million to build new houses if they have identified the land on which they wish to build. But there is little freehold land available in many of the affected areas. As a result, people cannot show government officials the land they plan to buy and, therefore, cannot access the government’s promised funds. The government needs to address this issue by providing a list of available places for resettlement, both within and outside the area they live in. However, another finding at the meeting was that many cyclone victims whose lands have been declared unsafe do not wish to leave them. Even those who have been told that their land is unstable feel more comfortable remaining where they have lived for many years. Relocating to an unfamiliar area is not an easy decision.

Another problem the victims face is the difficulty of obtaining the documents necessary to receive compensation. Families with missing members cannot prove that their loved ones are no longer alive. Without official confirmation they cannot access property rights or benefits that would normally pass to surviving family members. These are problems that Sri Lanka has faced before in the context of the three decade long internal war. It has set up new legal mechanisms such as the provision of certificates of absence validated by the Office on Missing Persons (OMP) in place of death certificates when individuals remain missing for long periods. The government also needs to be sensitive to the fact that people who are farmers cannot be settled anywhere. Farming is not possible in every location. Access to suitable land and water is essential if farmers are to rebuild their livelihoods. Relocation programmes that fail to take these realities into account risk creating new psychological and economic hardships.

The message from the consultation with cyclone victims is that the government needs to talk more and engage more directly with affected communities. At the same time the political leadership at the highest levels need to resolve the problems that government officers on the ground cannot solve. Issues relating to land availability, legal documentation and livelihood restoration require policy decisions at higher levels. The challenge to the government to address these issues in the context of the Iran war and possible global catastrophe will require a special commitment. Demonstrating that Sri Lanka is a society that considers the wellbeing of all its citizens to be a priority will require not only financial assistance but also a motivated public service and proactive political leadership that reaches out to those still waiting to rebuild their lives.

 

by Jehan Perera

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Supporting Victims: The missing link in combating ragging

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A recent panel discussion at the University of Peradeniya examined the implications of the Supreme Court’s judgement on ragging, in which the Court recognised that preventing ragging requires not only criminal penalties imposed after an incident occurs but also systems and processes within universities that enable victims to speak up and receive support. Bringing together perspectives from law, university administration, psychology and students, the discussion sought to understand why ragging continues to persist in Sri Lankan universities despite the existence of legal prohibitions. While the discussion covered legal and institutional dimensions, one theme emerged clearly: addressing ragging requires more than laws and disciplinary rules. It requires institutions that are capable of supporting victims.

Sri Lanka enacted the Prohibition of Ragging and Other Forms of Violence in Educational Institutions Act No. 20 of 1998 following several tragic incidents in universities, during the 1990s. Among the most widely remembered is the death of engineering student S. Varapragash at the University of Peradeniya in 1997. Incidents such as this shocked the country and revealed the consequences of allowing violent forms of student hierarchy to persist. The 1998 Act marked an important legal intervention by recognising ragging as a criminal offence. The law introduced severe penalties for individuals found guilty of engaging in ragging or other forms of violence in educational institutions, including fines and imprisonment.

Despite the existence of this law for nearly three decades, prosecutions under the Act have been extremely rare. Incidents continue to surface across universities although most are not reported. The incidents that do reach university administrations are dealt with internally through disciplinary procedures rather than through the criminal justice system. This suggests that the problem does not lie solely in the absence of legal provisions but also in the ability of victims to come forward and pursue complaints.

The tragic reminders; the cases of Varapragash and Pasindu Hirushan

Varapragash, a first-year engineering student at the University of Peradeniya, was forced by senior students to perform extreme physical exercises as part of ragging, resulting in severe internal injuries and acute renal failure that ultimately led to his death. In 2022, the courts upheld the conviction of one of the perpetrators for abduction and murder. The case illustrates not only the brutality of ragging but also how long and difficult the path to justice can be for victims and their families. Even when victims speak about their experiences, they may not always disclose the full extent of what they have endured. In the case of Varapragash, the judgement records that the victim told his father that he was asked to do dips and sit-ups. Varapragash’s father had testified that it appeared his son was not revealing the exact details of what he had to endure due to shame.

More than two decades after the death of Varapragash, the tragedy of ragging continues. The 2025 Supreme Court judgement arose from the case of Pasindu Hirushan, a 21-year-old student of the University of Sri Jayewardenepura, who sustained devastating head injuries at a fresher’s party, in March 2020, after a tyre sent down the stairs by senior students struck him. He became immobile, was placed on life support, and returned home only months later. If the Varapragash case exposed the deadly consequences of ragging in the 1990s, the Pasindu Hirushan case demonstrates that universities are still failing to prevent serious violence, decades after the enactment of the 1998 Act. It was against this background of continuing institutional failure that the Supreme Court issued its Orders of Court in 2025. Among the key mechanisms emphasised by the judgement is the establishment of Victim Support Committees within universities.

Why do victims need support?

Ragging in universities can take many forms, including verbal humiliation, physical abuse, emotional intimidation and, in some instances, sexual harassment. While all forms of ragging can have serious consequences, incidents involving sexual harassment often present additional barriers for victims who wish to come forward. Victims may hesitate to complain due to weak institutional mechanisms, fear of retaliation, or uncertainty about whether their experiences will be taken seriously. In many cases, those who speak out are confronted with questions that shift attention away from the alleged misconduct and onto their own behaviour: why did s/he continue the conversation?; why did s/he not simply disengage, if the harassment occurred as claimed?; why did s/he remain in the environment?; or did his/her actions somehow encourage the accused’s behaviour? Such responses illustrate how easily victims can be subjected to a second layer of scrutiny when they attempt to report incidents. When individuals anticipate disbelief, minimisation or blame, silence may appear safer than disclosure. In such circumstances, the presence of a trusted institutional body, capable of providing guidance, protection and support, become critically important, highlighting the need for effective Victim Support Committees within universities.

What Victim Support Committees must do

As expected by the Supreme Court, an effective Victim Support Committee should function as a trusted institutional mechanism that places the safety and dignity of victims at the centre of its work. The committee must provide a safe and confidential point of contact through which victims can report incidents of ragging without fear of intimidation or retaliation. It should assist victims in understanding and pursuing available complaint procedures, while also ensuring their immediate protection where there is a risk of continued harassment. Recognising the psychological harm ragging may cause, the committee should facilitate access to counselling and emotional support services. At a practical level, it should also help victims document incidents, record statements, and preserve evidence that may be necessary for disciplinary or legal proceedings. The committee must coordinate with university authorities to ensure that complaints are addressed promptly and responsibly, while maintaining strict confidentiality to protect the identity and well-being of those who come forward. Beyond responding to individual cases, Victim Support Committees should also contribute to broader awareness and prevention efforts, within universities, helping to create an environment where ragging is actively discouraged and students feel safe to report incidents. Without such support, the process of pursuing justice can become overwhelming for individuals who are already dealing with the emotional impact of abuse.

Making Victim Support Committees work

According to the Orders of Court, these committees should include representatives from the academic and non-academic staff, a qualified counsellor and/or clinical psychologist, an independent person, from outside the institution, with experience in law enforcement, health, or social services, and not more than three final-year students, with unblemished academic and disciplinary records, appointed for fixed terms. Further, universities must ensure that committees consist of individuals who possess both expertise and genuine commitment in areas such as student welfare, psychology, gender studies, human rights and law enforcement, in line with the spirit of the Supreme Court’s directions, rather than consisting largely of ex officio positions. If treated as routine administrative positions, rather than responsibilities requiring specialised knowledge, sensitivity and empathy, these committees risk becoming symbolic rather than functional.

Greater transparency in the appointment process could strengthen the credibility of these committees. Universities could invite expressions of interest from individuals with relevant expertise and demonstrated commitment to supporting victims. Such an approach would help ensure that the committees benefit from the knowledge and dedication of those best equipped to fulfil this role.

The Supreme Court judgement also introduces an important safeguard by giving the University Grants Commission (UGC) the authority to appoint members to university-level Victim Support Committees. If exercised with integrity, this provision could help ensure that these committees operate with greater independence. It may also help address a challenge that sometimes arises within institutions, where individuals, with relevant expertise, or strong commitment to addressing issues, such as violence, harassment or student welfare, may not always be included in institutional mechanisms due to internal administrative preferences. External oversight by the UGC could, therefore, create opportunities for such individuals to contribute meaningfully to Victim Support Committees and strengthen their effectiveness.

Ultimately, the success of the recent judgement will depend not only on the directives it issued, the number of committees universities establish, or the number of meetings they convene, or other box-checking exercises, but on how sincerely those directives are implemented and the trust these committees inspire among students and staff. Laws can prohibit ragging, but they cannot by themselves create environments in which victims feel safe to speak. That responsibility lies with institutions. When universities create systems that listen to victims, support them and treat their experiences with seriousness, universities will become places where dignity and learning can coexist.

(Udari Abeyasinghe is attached to the Department of Oral Pathology at the University of Peradeniya)

Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.

by Udari Abeyasinghe

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Big scene … in the Seychelles

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Mirage: Off to the Seychelles for fifth time

Several of our artistes do venture out on foreign assignments but, I’m told, most of their performances are mainly for the Sri Lankans based abroad.

However, the group Mirage is doing it differently and they are now in great demand in the Seychelles.

Guests patronising the Lo Brizan pub/restaurant, Niva Labriz Resort, in the Seychelles, is made up of a wide variety of nationalities, including Russians, Chinese, French and Germans, and they all enjoy the music dished out by Mirage, and that is precisely why they are off to the Seychelles … for the fifth time!

The band is scheduled to leave this month and will be back after three weeks, but their journey to the Seychelles will continue, with two more assignments lined up for 2026.

In August it’s a four-week contract, and in December another four-week contract that will take in the festive celebrations … Christmas and the New Year.

Donald’s birthday
celebrations

According to reports coming my way, it is a happening scene at the Lo Brizan pub/restaurant, Niva Labriz Resort, whenever Mirage is featured, and the band has even adjusted its repertoire to include local and African songs.

They work three hours per day and six days per week at the Lo Brizan pub/restaurant.

Donald Pieries:
Leader, vocalist,
drummer

Led by vocalist and drummer Donald Pieries, many say it is his

musical talents and leadership that have contributed to the band’s success.

Donald, who celebrated his birthday on 07 March, at the Irish Pub, has been with the group through various lineup changes and is known for his strong vocals.

He leads a very talented and versatile line up, with Sudham (bass/vocals), Gayan (lead guitar/vocals), Danu (female vocalist) and Toosha (keyboards/vocals).

Mirage performs regularly at venues like the Irish Pub in Colombo and also at Food Harbour, Port City.

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