Features
First leg of my postgraduate engineering studies abroad
My journey from London to Toronto was on an Air Canada 747 jumbo jet. I had chosen a window seat while the middle seat beside me remained empty and a friendly woman sat on the aisle seat. Her English accent was unfamiliar, but I soon learned she was from Montreal, in Quebec—the French-speaking heart of Canada.
She spoke warmly about her country explaining its bilingual identity, its long winters, and its vast stretches of land. At that time, Canada had a population of only about 20 million (now over 40 million)—despite being the second-largest country in the world. She pointed out glaciers glistening beneath the plane, describing their majesty. Canadians, she assured me, were a welcoming people. Education, healthcare, and quality of life, she declared proudly, were all superior to what she believed one might find in the United States.
When she asked whether I had a winter coat, I admitted that a Lankan friend had lent me one although I had not packed it due to baggage weight limits. She nodded approvingly. “That’s wise. Styles change every year, and since it’s summer now, you’ll easily find a discounted one in Toronto.”
She explained that while parts of Canada endured some snow—especially in the central provinces—the west coast city of Vancouver enjoyed a gentler climate. Many Canadians dreamed of retiring there.
When we landed in Toronto, the kind lady stayed by my side, guiding me through immigration and even helping me find the right bus to the city. Before leaving for her connecting flight, she handed me her address and invited me to visit her in Montreal someday.
New life
After a week at New Hall in the University of Toronto, I was finally assigned a room at St. George College, where Siva and Surjeet also lived. This made life easier as I was no longer alone. I found that many Chinese students rented rooms in modest private homes nearby and to save money they often crammed two or three to a room—sometimes 10 in a house—sharing a single bathroom and a kitchen. Their meals were simple: dinner cooked as a group in the kitchen, breakfast skipped altogether, and lunch reduced to bread spread with peanut butter.
Watching them reminded me of the hardships faced by students in Maradana back in Sri Lanka. Yet, I admired the Chinese students deeply. They were disciplined and relentlessly hardworking, devoting nearly every waking hour to classes, libraries, or computer labs. Leisure was a luxury that they rarely allowed themselves to enjoy.
By contrast, my time at St. George was more colorful. Through Siva and Surjeet, I met others—among them Jim Retson from the Department of Law, his younger sister Mavis, a Master’s student in Speech Therapy, and Roberta, a fellow graduate student who was engaged to Jim. Our weekends filled quickly with outings, movies, road trips in Surjeet’s Volkswagen, and long hours of city exploration.
Pancake parties and beyond
Siva had a gift for cooking, often preparing sambar, a South Indian vegetable curry with a parippu base, which he served with white bread to anyone who dropped by his room. He was generous, never expecting anything in return. Yet one regular visitor, a South Indian day scholar named Paikyalingam, happily ate Siva’s food without ever offering reciprocal hospitality.
Sundays at St. George were special—pancake gatherings in a dorm kitchenette. Students brought flour, eggs, milk, and butter, flipped pancakes on the griddle, serving them with maple syrup. It was here I had my first taste of sweet pancakes alongside cured meats—bacon, ham, and sausage— to me a strange but intriguing combination. At these gatherings, Mavis grew particularly friendly toward me. Though I appreciated her warmth, I found her constant attempts to “correct” my English accent a little irritating.
From executive engineer to student
Before leaving Sri Lanka for graduate studies, I had risen to a permanent position of executive engineer at Richard Pieris and Co. Ltd. Shifting from the authority of that role to the humility of a student’s life in Canada was a difficult but necessary adjustment.
At the University of Toronto, my task was clear: complete the required coursework, and prepare and defend a research dissertation. Here, as a student, I found myself answering to people at every level. Back in Sri Lanka, I needed to obey only the chief engineer and the factory director. The contrast was striking.
Yet, my years as an engineer had been useful. Among my early projects was the development of a buffing system for rubber parts—an effort that would unexpectedly become my first brush with the field of Mechatronics.
My accidental exposure to mechatronics
When I was an engineering student in Sri Lanka, in the second half of the 1960s, we did not have digital computers in the university. When I was about to graduate, a main frame computer was installed in the faculty of engineering, University of Ceylon, Peradeniya. It was enormous in size and a large air conditioned room to accommodate it. Today’s desk-top personal computers (PCs) have more functionality, capability, and speed, and are far smaller and cheaper!
At that time, first we had to learn a programming language, typically FORTRAN, before we could use the computer. Even after that, we had to “punch” a deck of cards according to our program, hand it over to the person at the counter, and wait for many hours if not a day, to get a printout of the results. Often, such computer “outputs” showed errors (called, bugs) in the program, and the correct output would be forthcoming only after several iterations of correction, punching, re-submission and waiting.
To learn a programming language, we had to use the relevant manuals or books and unlike today, they were not freely available on line or even in library. The set of manuals for the university computer were kept under lock and key at the computer room of the University of Ceylon, and were carefully guarded by its manager.
Undeterred, I purchased a booklet on FORTRAN Programming, and carefully mastered it. Once I was ready to program the computer in FORTRAN, I had already graduated and was working as an engineer in a large factory. The company too did not have computers, but the chief engineer offered me a project related to computers soon after I joined the factory. Unbeknownst to me, that was my first and fortuitous exposure to rudimentary Mechatronics.
In my daily “walk through” in the factory, I noticed an alarming and hazardous situation. The factory had about ten “buffing stations” where the workers manually held rubber parts (the factory produced consumer items made of rubber, plastic, aluminum and steel among other things, in large scale) to spinning emery wheels, at buffing stations, and removed any minor artifacts in the parts, and also polished them in the process. The whole buffing area was full of rubber dust, and even though the buffing workers wore masks I was sure that they inhaled some of that dust daily. I asked the chief engineer whether we could improve the situation, and suggested two options: 1. Install a good ventilation system, 2. Redesign the buffing machines to be less hazardous. Fortunately, the chief engineer agreed, and told me “I will take care of the ventilation system, and you redesign the buffing machines.” He said that he would assign a foreman for the project, and I could acquire the needed parts and other material from the company’s Stores.
Little did I know, the particular foreman was typically a disaster, known to be lazy, did not want to do any work, and above all, did not like to take instruction or advice from others. The chief engineer just wanted me to somehow change the foreman’s habits and make him at least a bit productive, I suppose. Even though I was young and somewhat naïve, I resorted to some trickery with the foreman. I told him that I did not know much engineering, and I wanted to learn from him (even though I had a first class honors degree, with a practical final-year project, and topped the entire class of engineering at the university). He was quite flattered. I told him that I would recommend him for a bonus on completion of the project. During the project, I did not question his decisions, but tactfully corrected any of his errors that I noticed. So, gradually, he became a changed man and was quite friendly with me, while boasting to others that he could teach a thing or two to “these highly-paid engineers.” He was correct indeed.
The powers who designed the engineering curriculum at my university in Sri Lanka, had the foresight to plan for the future, proactively. The first two years of our engineering program were common to all engineering students (consisting of just Mechanical, Electrical, and Civil engineering students, at the time). Fortunately I learned electrical engineering and electronics as a result, even though my specialization in the final two years was mechanical engineering. So, in my main practical project after graduation, I embarked on Mechatronics.
I refreshed my knowledge in electrical engineering, and learned how to select an electric motor (particularly an induction motor), to properly match it to a load (which is the object that would be rotated by the motor). I learned the types of control that were available for induction motors. I brushed up my knowledge on the analysis of rotating bodies and particularly how to determine the torque versus speed curve of a load, using Mechanics of Machines that I learned in the university. Most of this study was done in the evenings, outside the normal working hours. Then I designed a hexagonal drum of appropriate capacity (doing some guesswork, based on the number of parts that were buffed in five existing stations in one hour and assuming that the new buffing machine would run for an hour to complete a batch of rubber parts) with the hope of gluing suitable emery paper in the interior. Then I estimated, with the help of the foremen, the weight of the drum with a full load of rubber parts. Finally, I calculated the moment of inertia of the loaded drum about its axis of rotation, and also determined a torque versus speed curve for it. That was the easy part.
A suitable shaft and bearings for the drum had to be selected from the company stores. The support structure for the drum had to be designed and fabricated, and a suitable induction motor had to be chosen. With eager help (and rigorous advice forthcoming) from the foremen, much of the design was completed except the selection of the motor. The motor selection was particularly difficult for several reasons. We had to depend on a few available induction motors (about four, as I recall) at the factory’s stores. No data sheet, manual, or even a standard torque versus speed curve were available (unlike today, when we can simply obtain all that information on line). Motor control involved simple start and stop, and at best, two-speed, “pole-changing” control. Unlike today, no sophisticated, variable speed, frequency control and field vector (magnetic flux vector) control were available then. Besides, an induction motor has to operate in its stable region, and the corresponding torque depends on the “slip,” which in turn depends on the motor speed. I had studied the analytical formula for the steady-state speed-torque characteristic of a 3-phase induction motor. I fitted all the available information of the available motors and estimated (crudely) the torque versus speed curve and the stable region of the motors. By painstakingly matching this curve with the load curve and allowing for a good factor of safety (to account for the numerous unknowns and uncertainties) I selected the best motor for the job, from what was available. The fabrication, assembly, and installation were the tasks of the foreman, technicians, and other workers. My job was primarily of supervisory nature during that activity. The enclosure and the ventilation system with a powerful exhaust fan were installed as well, but no “Mechatronics” knowledge was needed for that.
Fortunately, the project was a success, the workers and the management were very happy, and the foreman received a bonus (and a gratuity from me) and retired. A summary of the buffing process is as follows: Steam-cured sheets of latex is molded into rubber parts using a molding system. After cooling, the parts are placed in the drum. The motor is started and the exhaust system is operated. After an hour, the machine is stopped and a vacuum system is operated to clean the interior of the drum and its contents. A masked worker removes the parts into bins. The buffed (polished) parts are sent for inspection and packing. Many years later, I heard that the company had developed several such buffing machines and expanded the operation, but I was not involved in those activities as I was at the University of Toronto, carrying out graduate studies.
Paying Back to the Motherland
Computers, after all, are ubiquitous. Even at the Grade 8 level, rural students can be introduced to simple, computer-integrated projects in Mechatronics—at minimal cost. A computer education can be easily provided even to rural students. Figure below is just one example, where I had provided a computer room with several laptop computers to the rural school of Morahela, in the Badulla district. Beyond just the knowledge of using a computer, it is not difficult or costly to provide computer-integrated projects in Mechatronics even to Grade 8 students.
Exploring Mystic Toronto and Arrival of Winter
Toronto offered many attractions and activities. Public transportation—modern subways, trams, trolleys, and buses—made it easy to get around. For a small fare of twenty-five cents (at the time), one could explore the entire city, transferring between modes of transportation as needed. Weekend trips often took us to Ontario Place, a recreational park with open-air theaters, water parks, and a 3D IMAX theater. We also visited nearby islands, riding boats while enjoying “hot dogs” (sausages in buns). Jim, Mavis, Roberta, the French Canadian student Elizabeth (Liz) Campeau, and Anette Schiferl an American student who studied for a Master’s degree in Anthropology at the University of Toronto, often joined us in these explorations.
As winter approached, I bought a discounted coat, scarf, hat, and gloves from a store called Tip Top, just as the kind woman on the airplane had advised. The first snowfall thrilled me more than it chilled me—I ran outside, scooped up snow, and rubbed it against my face like a child discovering magic.
Groceries were affordable at the nearby open-air “Jewish Market.” One winter’s day, I walked there and back, with my gloves removed because my hands felt warm. When I returned to St George College, my fingers and ears had frozen stiff. Only after a hot bath and coffee did I feel normal again. Then I collapsed into bed. On that day I decided to buy earmuffs, a hat and scarf, as Mavis and Anette had wisely advised me to wear when venturing outdoors.
In Sri Lanka, I often suffered from sinus infections and allergies, but Canada brought me relief. What I did experience, however, was the common winter cold and nosebleeds. Alarmed one day at the sight of blood in a tissue, I hurried to the campus clinic (Canada had excellent healthcare. As a student, I could use any hospital or clinic at any time, free of charge). The kind doctor examined me in a fully equipped room, with the assistance of a nurse, carefully and thoroughly, and took me to his office after that.
“I know the problem” he explained gently. “Many Asian students face it in the winter. When you sneeze or clean the nose, your blood vessels can easily rupture. It’s nothing serious” he explained gently. “There is no medicine for a common cold, which you have. I will give you something to ease the pain.” The doctor handed me a bottle of Dimetapp syrup.
“As well, you can buy it over the counter, in a pharmacy” he said.
“How much is this?” I asked.
“Nothing. These are free samples that we get. In any case, the medicine is free for students” the attending nurse responded with a smile.
Friendship and Humor
Life in Canada became easier as friendships deepened. Over time, I adjusted to the Canadian life, including learning to cook basic Sri Lankan dishes for my friends, inventing recipes cautiously balancing spices, lime, and salt. In Sri Lanka, I went into the kitchen only when I felt hungry. I did not know how to cook. In Canada, often I treated the friends with “invented” dishes. Siva taught me how to make sambar. White Canadians rarely use spicy ingredients such as chili powder in their meals. My friend Bob, an Australian student, prided himself on his ability to eat spicy food. To test this, I prepared an exceptionally spicy meal. Although tears streamed down his face, he finished the meal, while cursing me in jest.
In the socials of St George, ballroom dancing and square dancing were common. We all participated enthusiastically in those activities. Notable here were Siva, Surjeet, Mavis, Liz, and Anette. Even though Bob used to be a chain smoker, he gave up smoking after peer pressure from our group. “If I don’t die from lung cancer, I am going to kill you” Bob joked.
Bob was a notorious beer drinker, who could easily beat all of us in it. One weekend I went to nearby pub with Bob. We ordered some beer, while Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” played on the jukebox. Young couples drifted onto the dance floor and engaged in ballroom dancing.
“Ask someone to dance,” I urged Bob.
“No, no, I can’t, you go,” he muttered. Despite his jovial spirit, Bob never associated women—dancing and romance seemed foreign to him. Mavis joked about this, and Siva scolded her for being unkind. Quietly, I agreed with Siva.
Rogues Like No Other
In Sri Lanka, I had not used computers. The coursework and research all were computer-based, in my new university in Toronto. This compelled me to learn at least two programming languages and become adept at using a computer. Consequently, I spent many evenings after dinner at the university’s computer center, familiarizing myself with this versatile tool. In interactive computing, which was a luxury then, typing commands into the computer felt akin to operating a typewriter, often straining my fingers after long sessions.
A course in modal control, taught by the respected Professor Edward Davison in the Department of Electrical and Computer Engineering needed a good knowledge in interactive APL programming. Since a homework assignment that needed APL was due the next day, I went to the computer room after dinner and used one of its interactive workstations to do the computations. Since the needed keying in of program commands was excessive, I decided to remove my Orient wristwatch and place it in my briefcase. After a while, I needed to use the nearby washroom. I went there after leaving the workstation on and keeping my briefcase near it. When I returned, I realized that someone had gone through the briefcase and stolen my wristwatch. I was quite disturbed, not because of the financial loss, but for the sentimental value of the watch. My parents had gifted it when I entered the university in Sri Lanka. I was looking for an Orient watch of similar model, and decades later found one at Hudson’s Bay shop at Richmond Mall in Vancouver.
Eyeing the South
“South,” for Canadians, means the United States (US). Siva made no secret of his wish to move there. My friend Anette Schiferl—warm, kind, mature, and from the US—told us a great deal about the US. I will never forget her kindness, for example, she volunteered to type my M.A.Sc. (Master of Applied Science) thesis, which was full of engineering analysis, on an IBM Selectric typewriter with changeable character balls.
Siva’s journey was unique. Unable to enter a university in Sri Lanka, he had joined the University of Birmingham in the United Kingdom, for the first degree and then had moved to Canada as a permanent resident. His desire was to join Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) and obtain an MBA. He described MIT as the world’s leading engineering university. It was very foolish for Sri Lankans to covet Cambridge and Oxford universities in England when MIT and Harvard universities in the US were much better, he quipped. I remember that as a kid I too had wanted to get my PhD degree from the University of Cambridge in UK, but when I grew up and entered the School of Engineering at the University of Ceylon, I preferred to get my PhD from MIT.
Even though I came first among all engineering departments at the University of Ceylon the leading university in Sri Lanka, obtained a first-class honors degree in engineering, and won the University Prize for Best Performance in Engineering, I did not get a scholarship to Cambridge. Siva’s response was blunt: “That’s your luck.” Indeed, fate has its quirks. It is an ironic twist of fate that Siva went to MIT years later and obtained an MBA, while I went to MIT and obtained a PhD, and years later went from US on a Senior Fulbright Fellowship to Cambridge, and obtained my second PhD and also ScD—the so-called higher doctorate from there. That is another story for another time.
Journey to New York
Siva loved the newspaper New York Times, buying it daily and reading it religiously. One day, he proposed a road trip to New York City in Surjeet’s Volkswagen Beetle. He corrected my pronunciation along the way: “peetza” not “pissa,” “Nu York” and “Folkswagen,” not “New York” and “Volkswagen.” Since I hadn’t driven in Canada and Siva lacked a driver’s license, Surjeet would drive the whole journey. Siva slept in the back seat while I rode up in the passenger seat, navigating by paper maps—this was long before cell phones and GPS. We left Toronto early in the morning.
Since we had to stop twice on the way for food and fuel (“fule” not “fooel” as Siva explained), and also because we had to repair an engine problem too, it was the early morning of the next day when we reached the city of New York. Even though it was a tiring trip, it was relieving that we reached New York without accidents. Our fate could have been disastrous, however. While driving to New York, Surjeet grew tired and momentarily fell asleep at the wheel. The car swerved to the median of the road, but I quickly grabbed the steering wheel, preventing a disaster. This close call shook us, and we made sure to stay awake for the rest of the journey, stopping for coffee and chewing gum, playing loud music, and talking continuously.
In New York, we stayed in the house of one of Surjeet’s Indian friends, who was very tidy and methodical. He scolded us for our carelessness during driving. We went to sleep without any food. In the late morning when we woke up, there were bread, butter, jam, and chicken curry for breakfast. Reheating and eating food that had been cooked before is a common practice among Canadians and Americans.
“The first slice of the loaf has to be eaten at the very end, or the bread will become dry” Surjeet’s friend advised us. “Hey man, would there be anything left to spoil after the four of us eat a loaf of bread?” Surjeet scolded the friend.
In the evening, we went to see an Indian cultural festival. That was held in a nearby field. There were chairs for the spectators. The stage was made of tables covered with carpets. Dressed in traditional attire, Punjabis performed martial art and dances. Surjeet explained that historically, Punjabis were heavily involved in military and defense of India and Britain. Religiously the soldiers were predominantly Sikh, not Hindu. The festival featured stalls selling Indian fare like poori, paratha, samosa, gulab jamun, halwa, barfi, kulfi (Indian ice cream), and drinks like sweet lassi, which we indulged in heartily.
The next day, we visited Times Square, Central Park, and walked along Broadway, renowned for its theater. Although tickets to Broadway shows were expensive, we managed to watch a play at an off-Broadway venue and also enjoy street food before returning to Surjeet’s friend’s home. There, we discovered a cabinet stocked with various liquor. When Surjeet inquired if we could try some, his friend offered him a glass of “Drambuie,” a honey-flavored liqueur. Surjeet, however, grabbed the entire bottle and quickly finished it, prompting his friend to lock the cabinet.
To show our gratitude for the friend’s hospitality, we prepared lunch the next day with ingredients that we purchased from a nearby grocery shop. For dinner, we explored Chinatown, where the food was exceptionally delicious. Enclaves like Chinatown are a common feature in major Western cities.
Return to Toronto
Early the following morning, we began our journey back to Toronto. Along the way, we encountered yet another mishap. A piercing siren echoed, and glancing through the rearview mirror, we spotted a police car approaching us swiftly, its red and blue lights flashing in an unrelenting rhythm. Surjeet veered off the highway and brought the car to a halt. A police officer, stepping out with measured precision, inspected us closely. Holding a phone near his mouth and muttering something unintelligible, he first noted down our vehicle’s number. He wore aviator sunglasses, and a pistol hung visibly on his left side. Unlike most Americans, there wasn’t even a hint of a smile on his face.
He demanded Surjeet’s driver’s license and the vehicle registration papers, and then asked, “Do you know the speed limit on this road?” Surjeet offered a sheepish smile without responding. The officer continued, “It’s 55 miles per hour, but you were driving at 80. The fine is $50. Pay it now.” Surjeet explained that we were Canadian students and had no cash. The officer mentioned that payment could be made using check or credit card, but when we admitted that we had neither, he stated, “In that case, mail $60 within a week, or face legal action.” He handed Surjeet a citation slip and left.
As we resumed our journey, Surjeet reassured us with confidence that American authorities had no jurisdiction to enforce fines on Canadian vehicles and would not proceed with any legal action. However, a month later, Surjeet received a letter from the New York State Court, informing him that he had been charged for non-payment of the fine and was required to appear in court. The letter also mentioned that he could settle the case by mailing $100 immediately. Sharing the cost among ourselves, we pooled the amount and mailed it to the New York court.
Reflections on New York
New York City lacked the cleanliness and charm of Toronto (at the time). Yet, upon our return, we realized it had an inexplicable allure. To a youthful and restless mind, the city represented a sense of joy despite its chaos. Knowing the challenges, the three of us resolved that living in the United States was worth pursuing.
After returning to Toronto, we discussed the allure of living in the United States. Highly motivated, we visited the US Consulate in Toronto and submitted applications for permanent residency (green card) in the United States. Three months later, Siva and Surjeet received letters of regret, stating that their applications had been declined. I received no response. Assuming that the response to my application had been lost in mail, I wasn’t particularly bothered. Then, about a month subsequent, a letter arrived from the US Department of Immigration, informing me that the first stage of my application had been approved. They requested additional documents for the second stage. I couldn’t understand why the applications of Siva and Surjeet had been rejected. Nevertheless, they genuinely wished me well.
After completing the second stage, including an in-person interview, I was granted permanent residency in the United States. However, I needed to relocate there to legalize my status. I hastily submitted the thesis for my Master’s degree (MASc) and successfully completed all the exams, including the PhD Qualifying exam, which was a requirement, at the University of Toronto. Then, skipping the graduation ceremony, I boarded a Greyhound bus to Cincinnati, Ohio, with dreams of a new beginning. Siva, Surjeet, Annette, and a few other friends accompanied me to the bus terminal to bid me farewell. Leaving Anette Schiferl behind left a heartache in me. I recalled that Anette, painstakingly, had typed my MASc thesis at the University of Toronto on an IBM Selectric typewriter. The typewriter came with character balls for special mathematical characters and Greek letters, which were needed for typing analytical research documents. Those days, there were no PCs, laptops or tablets. Also, Anette advised me to go to Cincinnati, not Boston first, because the University of Cincinnati was rich and I could easily secure a research assistantship from them. I too was eager to go to Cincinnati before Boston because Neil Armstrong, the first man who set foot on the moon, was a Professor of Aerospace Engineering at the University of Cincinnati.
Vancouver and Other Canadian Cities
British Columbia is a vast province in Canada, and Vancouver is its most prominent city, an incredibly picturesque place. That region enjoys Canada’s warmest winters, thanks to the “El Niño” phenomenon, which brings mild weather through the tranquil Pacific Ocean. Summers, too, are not excessively hot. Vancouver is surrounded by natural beauty, with the serene Pacific Ocean to the west, the Fraser River to the south, and mountains to the north and the east. The enormous Stanley Park is located in the city, similar to Central Park in New York.
Within minutes, one could be kayaking along the coast, rowing on a river, skiing on Whistler Mountain, or hiking up Grouse Mountain. Vancouver International Airport is a major hub of air travel, offering direct flights to key destinations in Asia and Europe. A short 15-minute drive takes one to the US border in the State of Washington. These factors make Vancouver a popular destination for vacationers. With Hong Kong’s return to the People’s Republic of China, wealthy Hong Kong entrepreneurs have relocated to Vancouver (mostly its suburb called Richmond) with money, causing a surge in real estate prices.
Victoria is the capital city of the province of British Columbia (BC), and is located at the end of an island called Victoria Island, off Vancouver. One needs to take a ferry or an airplane to go there from Vancouver. The provincial parliament of BC is located there. The architecture in Victoria is Victorian, and is similar to that of England. Victoria boasts the picturesque view of its harbor, China Town, Royal BC Museum, and a variety of fine restaurants.
Canada’s top universities are known to be Toronto, British Columbia, and McGill. McGill University is located in the city of Montréal, within the French-speaking province, Québec. I had the opportunity to visit Montréal for conferences. Québec is the only province where French is given priority. Road signs, advertisements, restaurant menus, everything is in French. Locals address you in French first and switch to English only if you cannot respond in French.
Despite this, most residents in Québec speak English fluently but prefer not to display it. The food, drink, and customs all follow French traditions. Montréal itself is a delightful city, home to over 2,000 restaurants offering cuisines from 30 different countries. Its notable landmarks include the St. Lawrence River, Mount Royal and Laurentian Mountains, and Notre-Dame Basilica. Winters bring heavy snow to Québec, while summers are warm and vibrant.
Ottawa, pronounced “Otawa” but sometimes referred to by foreigners as “Otāwa,” is the capital city of Canada, and is located in the province of Ontario. It is relatively close to Toronto and Montreal and is known for its cold climate. Country’s Parliament buildings are located in Ottawa, and are particularly striking and a key attraction.
Edmonton is the capital city of the province of Alberta and is also situated in a cold region. Known for its wealth of oil and mineral resources, Alberta is a prosperous province with a lower cost of living and taxation. Traveling by car from Vancouver to Edmonton takes approximately 14 hours via the Trans-Canada Highway. Along the way, it is common to spot wildlife such as bear and moose, which often approach the roadside, gazing at the people who stop their vehicles to admire them. It’s as if they are observing us, imagining our world to be part of their vast sanctuary. Interestingly, it is not uncommon for humans to act more uncivilized than these creatures. Feeding the wildlife is strictly prohibited. Edmonton is also home to a massive shopping complex that features a hotel and a water park. I had the privilege of visiting the University of Alberta in Edmonton as an invited guest speaker and also as an external examiner for PhD.
Saskatoon, the principal city of Saskatchewan, a central province in Canada, is notable for its large population of First Nations people (occasionally and incorrectly referred to as Red Indians). The city is surrounded by vast, flat plains and is known for its extremely cold climate. I was fortunate to visit the University of Saskatchewan in Saskatoon as an external examiner for doctoral programs.
The other cities that I have visited in Canada include Halifax and Truro in the province of Nova Scotia, St John’s in Newfoundland, and Winnipeg in Manitoba, mainly for conferences and visits to universities.
This ends my story about Toronto and Canada.
by Clarence de Silva
Features
From the missing to the missing truth and beyond
by Jehan Perera
The government is preparing to meet the challenge of the UN Human Rights Council next month. A Sri Lankan delegation led by Foreign Minister Vijitha Herath is expected to attend the 63rd session of the UNHRC in Geneva, where the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights will present a written update on Sri Lanka. The government has already submitted its response to the advance version of the report prepared by the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights. The Foreign Minister, accompanied by officials from Colombo and Sri Lanka’s Permanent Mission in Geneva, is expected to explain the progress made on reconciliation, accountability and human rights. This is therefore an important moment for the government. It is an opportunity not merely to defend its record but to make new commitments.
The government has been criticised, as were its predecessors, for the manner in which it has dealt with past human rights violations, especially those connected with the thirty year war. The vexed issue of thousands of missing persons remains at the centre of this criticism. The government has sought to strengthen the Office on Missing Persons by providing it with additional staff and resources. It has also given support to the excavations at the Chemmani mass grave. Justice and National Integration Minister Harshana Nanayakkara has told Parliament that the government has allocated Rs. 57 million for the excavations and related legal work, though that figure has not been set against the cost of comparable forensic operations elsewhere.
The government also took the significant step of holding a national event in Jaffna to mark the International Day of the Victims of Enforced Disappearances. Minister Harshana Nanayakkara attended the event together with the Chairman of the Office on Missing Persons (OMP), Mahesh Katulanda, and other senior officials and political representatives. Their presence was meant to demonstrate the government’s commitment to addressing the issue. But on the victims’ side there is continuing dissatisfaction. The commemoration in Jaffna was met by a protest outside the District Secretariat, organised by families of the disappeared, who demanded to know what happened to relatives who, according to their accounts, surrendered to or were taken away by the military and were never heard from again.
Jaffna Protests
The protests in Jaffna are a reminder of the gap that remains between what the government is trying to do and what the victims expect. For these families, compensation and death certificates are not substitutes for knowing what actually happened to those they lost. The protests, and the police action taken against some of those who demonstrated, were reported by the international and Tamil media and by international human rights organisations, and overshadowed much of what the government had hoped to showcase at the Jaffna event. The OMP’s mandate is to establish the fate and whereabouts of missing persons, clarify the circumstances in which they went missing, and provide redress and assistance to their families. Accordingly, it has sought to verify complaints, remove duplicate entries, encourage people who have not yet made complaints to come forward, and facilitate compensation and other forms of assistance. The families of victims expect the OMP to do more to clarify the circumstances in which their loved ones went missing. An example would be the disappearance of 158 displaced Tamil persons from the Eastern University campus in Vantharumoolai, Batticaloa District, who were rounded up and forcibly removed in front of thousands of other similarly displaced persons, including the officer in charge Prof T Jayasingam.
The government has also increased the support available to families of the missing, and says it is accelerating the OMP’s investigations. But the scale of what remains undone is stark. There are around 11,000 complaints remaining to be investigated, according to the Justice Minister, while the OMP has reported that final information has been established in only 31 cases, communicated privately to the families concerned. On the government’s own figures, that puts the clearance rate for establishing fate and whereabouts at well under one percent of the outstanding caseload. There is a limit to what the OMP can do even with more resources and time. Its mandate is primarily to establish the fate and whereabouts of individual missing persons. It was not intended to produce the comprehensive, public account of the past that victims and the country as a whole require.
In 2015, the government headed by President Maithripala Sirisena and Prime Minister Ranil Wickremesinghe committed itself to establishing such a commission as part of a comprehensive approach to dealing with Sri Lanka’s past. Human Rights Council Resolution 30/1, which the government co-sponsored, specifically welcomed the proposed establishment of a “commission for truth, justice, reconciliation and non-recurrence”, together with an Office on Missing Persons and an Office for Reparations. However, the commitment to a truth-seeking mechanism was never fulfilled. The government should consider setting one up now. There is a growing feeling among Tamil people in the North and East that the government is failing to deliver on promises that are important to them. On issues important to them, they feel this is once again a Sinhala-dominated government like all the ones that came before.
Establish Truth
For the past two years the government has been concentrating on problems that it deems are important to the country as a whole such as the economy, development, poverty alleviation and corruption and criminality. However, the government needs to demonstrate that national unity means addressing the concerns of all communities, including those whose wounds from the war remain unhealed. Some of its own institutions have begun to act on this. The Office for National Unity and Reconciliation recently staged a drama entitled From Yakaweva to Nandikadal, depicting relationships between people that transcend the destruction caused by war. The drama portrayed the sufferings as well as the prejudices on both sides of the divide, from the Kebithigollewa bus bombing to the final days of the war around the Nandikadal lagoon. Its central message is that without forgiveness there cannot be reconciliation.
Particularly moving was the fact that the actors themselves came from families touched by the violence on both sides. The son of an LTTE Black Tiger leader and the daughter of an Army officer were among those who performed, alongside others who had experienced and survived some of the sites of carnage. The fact that a state institution is taking this message of reconciliation forward is itself a testament to the government’s openness to dealing with the past. A government institution can reach a population far larger than any civil society campaign could reach on its own, simply because the machinery of the state is so much more extensive. It is in this context that the government needs to give serious thought to setting up a Truth and Reconciliation Commission as the next step in the truth-seeking process. Special care will need to be taken to ensure that those who are appointed are not only politically non-partisan, but are acceptable to all the communities.
A Truth and Reconciliation Commission cannot by itself resolve all the wounds of the past. Nor can it replace criminal investigations or judicial proceedings where these are necessary. But it can provide something that existing institutions cannot provide on their own. This would be a comprehensive national process through which victims can be heard and the truth can be established. The general population needs to understand what happened, so that the country can begin to acknowledge its past without passing it on indefinitely to future generations. The government has already taken several steps. It is supporting the search for the truth at Chemmani. It has begun reaching out to families of the disappeared. Its own institutions are producing messages of reconciliation. But these are still not delivering the results that the victims and their families want. The next step should be to bring these efforts together to begin the journey from the missing to the missing truth, and from there to comprehensive justice.
Features
The long road to educating Sri Lanka’s Bhikkhunis
A robe without recognition:
by Anushka Kahandagamage
Education is the right of every child. Yet somewhere between childhood and the robe, that right becomes precarious for many Buddhist women in Sri Lanka, threatening not only their social standing, but their fundamental access to learning and the institutional discrimination they face. This piece is not about Buddhist disciplinary rules, which discriminates women, rather about how the state’s refusal to fully recognise bhikkhunis as bhikkhunis quietly determines what they are, and are not, permitted to learn.
Unlike dasasil mathas, who occupy a distinct and unofficial category within Buddhist renunciation, bhikkhunis belong to a formally ordained order recognised within Buddhist monastic tradition itself. Dasa sil mata means ‘ten-precept mother.’ They are women who observe the ten precepts (rather than the fuller Vinaya) and live a renunciant, celibate life, often in robes, but formal ordination has not translated into formal recognition by the state. Even after a Supreme Court ruling affirmed their right to be identified as bhikkhunis on their National Identity Cards, many still do not hold one. This stems from the hesitation of the male-dominated Buddhist hierarchy to recognise these women as part of the Theravada tradition, specifically refusing to validate their higher ordination. The identity card lists her title as Dasa Sil Mata. The ruling exists on paper, but they are still waiting for their identity cards. This is not a small bureaucratic oversight. It is the first link in a longer chain, one that reaches, eventually, into the classroom.
A Name Withheld
In Sri Lanka, there are 827 pirivenas, traditional monastic colleges that have, for centuries, served as the primary institutions of Buddhist education. Of these, only 12 are dedicated to female renunciants at all, and of those 12, just five serve fully ordained nuns specifically. The imbalance is stark on its face: 827 institutions for monks, five for fully ordained nuns. But the discrimination here is not only a matter of numbers, but it is also written into the very language used to name these institutions. Monks’ schools are called pirivena, a term carrying centuries of institutional weight, historical continuity, and state recognition under Sri Lanka’s education laws. Bhikkhunis’ schools, by contrast, are not called pirivenas at all. They are designated Buddha Sravika Meheni Adhyapana Ayathanaya (Institute for the Education of Buddha’s Female Disciples), a separate, parallel term that, however similar in function, withholds from bhikkhuni institutions the same legal and institutional status that the word ‘pirivena’ confers. Since there are ten-precept mothers, the institutes have not given the same name as the pirivena and lack the official as well as social recognition they deserve.
A Pattern a Century in the Making
Following the decline of the Buddhist nun (bhikkhuni) order after the Polonnaruwa period, the first woman to be robed again was ordained in 1905 as a dasasil matha. Although dasasil mathas have long served important religious and societal roles, they have historically lacked access to formal education. Unfortunately, today also, this pattern continuous to exist. Education, in this context, is never just about literacy or dhamma study. It is the currency of religious authority. A bhikkhuni denied equivalent education or educated in an institution the state refuses to name a pirivena, is denied that religious authority. She may know the Tipitaka as well as any monk yet will lack the institutional stamp that would make a lay community trust her reading of it. It was not indifference from the public; it was the accumulated effect of a system that has spent centuries teaching devotees, implicitly, that a woman’s robe does not carry the same weight as a man.
The female renunciants, both dasasil mathas and bhikkunis, although they wear robes, have not been regarded as individuals capable of comprehending or preaching dhamma, simply because they are women. This is most visible in education, the pirivena system, developed historically to train bhikkhus, offered dasasil mathas and bhikkunis no equivalent institutional pathway, no comparable curriculum, certification, or state recognition. This exclusion is notable because it runs counter to Sri Lanka’s broader educational trends, where women have historically outnumbered men in general university enrolment, the gap here is specific to monastic/religious education rather than a reflection of wider societal restrictions on women’s schooling. The country’s National Education Commission Policy has a section on Pirivena education. However, it does not address the education of Buddhist nuns, nor does it mention nuns within the policy. I recently learned that the policy was being reviewed, with a committee appointed by the Ministry of Education, scheduled to begin the review on the 1st of September. This presents an important opportunity to raise the issue of nuns’ education and advocate for its inclusion in the revised policy.
The monks and nuns’ education institutes are funded by the government, which allocates only 5,000–6,000 LKR per student for the entire year. This sum is grossly inadequate to cover even basic institutional needs, accommodation, food, learning materials, and the maintenance of the physical premises, let alone to support any meaningful expansion of the curriculum. With this level of funding, these education institutes are struggling to sustain themselves, and many are forced to rely almost entirely on external support simply to remain operational. This is where the disparity becomes most visible. As female renunciants have historically not been taken seriously, regarded neither as authoritative teachers of dhamma nor as figures worthy of the same reverence extended to their male counterparts, their education centres receive far fewer lay offerings than those for male renunciants. The result is a widening resource gap that mirrors and reinforces the very discrimination that caused it. Underfunded institutions produce fewer well-trained female scholars, which in turn reinforces the perception that female renunciants are less capable, a perception that then justifies continued underinvestment. Without deliberate intervention, either through equitable government allocation or targeted lay support, this cycle is likely to persist rather than resolve on its own.
Sitting Alone at the Bo Tree
I was at Jaya Sri Maha Bodhi in Anuradhapura, where a few monks sat preaching in the shade of the Bo Tree, each surrounded by small clusters of lay devotees. Nearby, I noticed a few female Buddhist renunciants, though I could not immediately tell whether they were bhikkhunîs or dasasil mathas, since visually, in their robes and demeanour, they appeared indistinguishable to an outside observer. Most of them sat alone, without the small crowds of devotees gathered around the monks nearby. This, too, is not incidental. Because women cannot enter the sâsana through the same pathway to ordination, available to men, many Buddhist female renunciants remain dasasil mathas, a status that carries the appearance of monastic life without its legitamised spiritual standing. They observe the 10 precepts, wear robes, and live in renunciation, yet occupy a lower, unofficial rung in the religious hierarchy, one that grants them neither the ordination lineage nor the institutional recognition given to monks. However, in June last year, the Supreme Court of Sri Lanka delivered a landmark majority ruling in SC/FR/218/2013, affirming that fully ordained Buddhist nuns have the fundamental right to use the title ‘Bhikkhuni’ on their National Identity Cards, legally recognising the de facto existence of the Bhikkhuni Sanga.
A Closed Loop
Social discrimination and educational discrimination feed each other in a closed loop. Because bhikkhunis have fewer, less recognised institutions, fewer are formally trained to a standard the public recognises. Because fewer are recognised as authoritative teachers, fewer devotees seek them out or support them. Because they attract fewer devotees, the education institutions of female renunciants remain under-resourced and easy to overlook in state budgets and in popular imagination alike. A dasasil matha or bhikkhuni without an active following also lacks the economic support that following brings, since in Sri Lanka’s monastic economy, devotees are patrons as much as students. The precarity is not only spiritual or bureaucratic; it is material, and it compounds across a lifetime spent in robes.
Until bhikkhunis’ education is named, funded, and recognised on the same terms as that of bhikkhus, this will remain a story not only about missing ID cards or under-resourced schools, but about an education system that continues to decide, quietly and continuously, which students are worth investing in. Education was supposed to be the one place where the women can speak for themselves, instead, for these women, it has become just another place where women have to ask permission to be heard.
(Anushka is a Sociologist who is working on contemporary Buddhist movements. She was formerly attached to the University of Colombo)
Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.
Features
‘Memories of Milton – Live in Concert’ to enchant Dubai
Sri Lankan music knows no borders. Wherever our people go, our melodies follow — and our musicians make sure of it.
From Qatar’s Exit, to Melbourne’s EBONY, to Toronto’s Ceymphony, and Dubai’s Seven Notes, Sri Lankan bands abroad continue to keep the community connected to home, through song.
In July, Rajiv Sebastian set the Dubai stage alight with the band Seven Notes, creating an unforgettable night for Sri Lankans in the UAE. And the live-wire behind that magic? Niluk Uswaththa of Seven Notes.
Well, Niluk says he isn’t stopping there.
Now, Dubai is preparing for something truly special — ‘Memories of Milton – Live in Concert’, a grand musical tribute to one of Sri Lanka’s most beloved voices: Milton Mallawarachchi.
For more than a decade, Milton Mallawarachchi was a trending force in Sri Lankan music. With nearly 850 songs and over 35 albums to his name, he gave us melodies that became the soundtrack to our lives — songs of love, longing, and life itself.
On Saturday, 26th September 2026, from 8:00 PM to 3:00 AM, the Mercure Hotel, Al Barsha Heights, Dubai, will transform into a space of nostalgia.

Ranil Mallawarachchi; Carrying forward his father’s legacy / Yenuli Neriah
With the spotlight on Ranil Mallawarachchi — Milton’s eldest son, carrying forward his father’s legacy — along with Yenuli Neriah and Tharaka, the evening will certainly bring Milton’s timeless classics back to life … on one stage.
Seven Notes will do the needful, providing the live music that made Dubai dance before.
According to Niluk, this isn’t just a concert.
“It’s designed as a nostalgic musical journey — to bring cherished memories and beloved songs back to life,” he says.
And he promises: 26th September will be a night to remember.
In fact, Niluk Uswaththa has become a driving force for Sri Lankan entertainment in Dubai.
Through Seven Notes, he ensures the community always has something special to look forward to — especially when it comes to music that feels like home.
The success of these overseas shows naturally raises one big question back in Sri Lanka.
Yes, music lovers, in Sri Lanka, are keen to know whether the Seven Notes band will pop up in Colombo, sometime soon, for a live performance?
Music lovers, island-wide, will be watching … and waiting!
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