Features

Gaadi: An exercise in near perfection

Published

3 years ago

2023/02/10

By Uditha Devapriya

Prasanna Vithanage’s Gaadi takes place in the last year of the Kandyan Kingdom. It begins with an encounter between Ehelepola Adigar and John D’Oyly, and moves on to scenes of the two of them negotiating the transfer of power in Kandy and the deposal of the king, Sri Vikrama Rajasinghe. In the opening sequence, the Adigar informs the British emissary that, should he succeed Rajasinghe, he will allow the English to conduct trade in the highlands. He adds that this should not come at the cost of the social order in his realm: once they drive out the Vaduga king, they must do all they can to protect and preserve that order. He then exacts a promise from D’Oyly and makes the latter swear on the Bible.

Episodic as they may seem, these scenes lay the groundwork for the story at the heart of Vithanage’s film. One of Ehelepola’s allies is Bulathgama Dissave. The two of them despatch a missive to as many noblemen as they can. Several of them come to their support, and with their support Ehelepola and Bulathgama organise a coup. This, however, turns out to be abortive, and they and their troops flee from Kandy. That leaves their families at the mercy of the ruler and his loyalists. They suffer the fate typically reserved for the families of those accused of treason: either death, or the prospect of their caste being lowered. Most families choose death. Bulathgama’s wife Tikiri, however, does not.

From this deceptively simple set-up, Prasanna Vithanage charts the travails of a woman who chooses to live, but then has to put up with a society that would have preferred her to die. The director, the cast, and the crew all make us aware that this is not an easy decision: in the context of the social formations that dominated the Kandyan Kingdom, particularly in its last phase, case strictures were inflexible. Tikiri’s desire to live, and her willingness to lower her caste and marry into a shunned community, hence comes at an exorbitant cost: she is exiled from her old world, and finds it hard to enter her new. It is this conflict that forms the crux of Vithanage’s film, and makes it the fine, evocative film it is.

Gaadi operates at two levels: the historical and the personal. On both, it represents a break from the director’s previous work. Prasanna Vithanage’s films so far have been limited to a contemporary timeframe: the farthest he took us back to was in Pawuru Valalu (1999), and that was set somewhere in the 1960s. Gaadi takes us farther back to a period that has been the stuff of countless films, plays, and other objets d’art in the country. With the visual elan that one has come to associate with him, Vithanage conjures up a Kandyan society different from most popular reconstructions of it. In doing so, I think he charts a new path for a genre that has never been properly tapped into in Sri Lanka. What Gaadi achieves, in other words, is something of a miracle: it gives us a different kind of historical film.

Such an achievement cannot be overrated. The Sinhala historical film has always suffered from an excess of form over content. There is little to no human interest in the storyline: as I pointed out in this column not too long ago, the heroes of these films become instruments of the plot, driven by ideological predilections which tend to dominate the plot. This is true particularly of films set in the Kandyan Period. These latter typically dwell on three themes: the predominance of the Buddhist clergy, the cruelty (or the benignity) of the Kandyan King, and the oppressiveness of British rule. Utterly predictable, such works end up promoting an overwhelmingly ethno-religious view of history. On that count Gaadi achieves a significant, if unprecedented, break and departure from convention.

It’s not that other films have failed to achieve such a break. But even these have been unmitigated failures. Devinda Kongahage’s Girivassipura, for instance, attempts to depict a different Sri Vikrama Rajasinghe: not the cruel, oppressive, spendthrift playboy king that colonial propaganda and Sinhalese narratives promote, but the tragic figure of Gananath Obeyesekere’s reinterpretation. Kongahage’s film was essentially a visual transposition of Obeyesekere’s work – both Gananath and Ranjini Obeyesekere were present at its premiere in 2019 – but, in terms of its merits as a film and a work of art, it left much to be desired. That is what distinguishes Vithanage’s work from conventional historical epics like Ehelepola Kumarihamy and atypical exercises like Girivassipura: it does not dwell on the motifs which figure prominently in them. To get a sense of proportion here, consider that Gaadi features no Buddhist monk, depicts British colonial officials only elliptically, and excludes Sri Vikrama Rajasinghe from the plot, making us feel his presence by his absence.

Against that backdrop, the director’s attention to detail, and his historical research, must be lauded. Gaadi does not pretend to present every aspect of the Late Kandyan Period. But it goes to remarkable lengths to depicting life as it may have been lived in those hard, harsh, tumultuous years. Consider the way Tikiri, on the verge of suicide, decides to lose her caste status instead. The choice is starkly clear: either she marries into a low caste community, or she must drown herself. If we are to believe colonial and popular Sinhalese accounts of the incident, Ehelepola Kumarihamy was given a similar choice. Writing of the Kandyan practice of caste degradation, for instance, Emerson Tennent notes that “[t]he most dreaded of all punishments… was to hand over the lady of a high caste offender to the Rodiyas.” This is intriguing, but what distinguishes Vithanage’s film is that it records the exact specifics of the process: “the mode of her adoption,” Tennent writes, “was by the Rodiya taking betel from his own mouth and placing it in hers, after which till death her degradation was indelible.” The sequence by the Mahaweli River depicts this, down to the last detail.

Equally impressive is the film’s depiction of the social practices in the Kandyan Period. On more than one occasion the Rodiyas, walking on the road, pass by high caste noblemen. Johann Heydt notes that in the event of such encounters, the low caste group “must go a few steps out of the way, whether [it] is loaded or not, and show due respect.” The film also makes it clear that once degraded, a high caste offender cannot be redeemed: he or she remains tethered to his or her fate. If the strictures governing these social codes are broken, then the community does not hesitate to retaliate through violence or personal vendettas: “a woman of the Padua caste,” Heydt notes, after coming upon a mob at a bazaar, “had been nearly killed by some indignant Wellales and Chandoos for ‘having presumed so far to forget her degraded lot in life as to throw a kerchief over her neck and shoulders’.” Such incidents may seem alien to us, even if caste remains an open secret. But Gaadi shows that it was a fact of life then. You could not escape it: you resigned yourself to it.

None of this is to say that Gaadi’s merits can or should be judged only on the basis of its fidelity to history. Indeed, what salvages Vithanage’s work from becoming a mere historical construction is its skilful incorporation of factual and fictional elements. To the best of my knowledge, there was no Bulathgama Dissave, still less an incident involving his treason or the punishment of his family. Yet by including Tikiri’s entry into the Rodiya community, and Vijaya’s infatuation with her, the director gradually makes us realise the complexities that would have governed the breach of Kandyan social strictures and taboos. On that account, Dinara Punchihewa and Sajitha Anuththara Anthony, who play Tikiri and Vijaya, capture the emotional nuances that a couple caught up in their situation would have had to put up with at that point in time. In capturing them, I think Vithanage achieves that rare combination of historical fact and humanist fiction which one sees in the films of Kenji Mizoguchi (especially The Life of Oharu, Ugetsu Monogatari, and Sansho the Bailiff).

At least one critic has suggested that when compared with Prasanna Vithanage’s earlier work, Gaadi’s characters fail to rise above their stereotypes – or, in other words, that they become one-dimensional. This critique is no doubt grounded in the fact that the characters remain, till the very end, bound to their caste position. To this my response would be two-fold: firstly, that against the backdrop of the social codes which governed and dominated the Kandyan era, the real-life prototypes of these characters would have found it hard it not impossible to be anyone other than who they were decreed to be by the ruling class; and secondly, that the two protagonists in Vithanage’s film do make an attempt, futile as it is, to pass off as someone other than their restricted selves. In that sense, the best sequence in the film is its middle-section, when Tikiri and Vijaya make it into the good books of a farmer, played by Ananda Kumara Unnahe, and make a living in the forest by trapping cattle. This is where the director points us to his own critique of caste: by showing us how such codes and taboos constrict our innate, basic capacity for empathy.

My only criticism of the film, as far as plot is concerned, is that it deserved better subtitles. All too often in Sri Lanka, one comes across films which have much to commend them, but are ultimately undone by poor if shoddy subtitling. This is as true for contemporary films as it is of those that top the “greatest ever made” lists.

My critique should not of course belittle the objet d’art being critiqued. By all accounts, Vithanage’s latest effort should be watched, not just for how well it communicates a timely, and timeless, message about the resilience of the human spirit, but also because visually it is an astonishing feat of craftsmanship. One can certainly expect nothing less from Vithanage. But coming from a director who in his recent work forayed into Bergmanesque chamber music (in particular, Akasa Kusum and Oba Nathuwa Oba Ekka), Gaadi represents a triumph of form and a visual feast, a film for all ages.

There is one somewhat jarring note towards the end, though: the film’s admission that the fall of the Kandyan Kingdom, and the British takeover, spelt out the end of the caste system. Such a message may be warranted by the triumph of humanism at the end, as epitomised by Tikiri’s acceptance of Vijaya. But regardless of the vindication of humanist ideals there, we must acknowledge that life after the deposal of the Kandyan king was not as positive as the film’s ending may have us believe: British rule did not eradicate caste, but revived it in a different form. One may welcome the triumph of colonial “modernity” over feudalism here. Yet, as so many sociologists and anthropologists have observed, the modernity we celebrate today, in this country, has in fact retained many of the elements of that same system which Vithanage critiques so well in his film. On that basis, the moral in Gaadi cannot be forgotten still less neglected. It remains as valid in its time as it does in ours.

The writer is an international relations analyst, researcher, and columnist who can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com

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Features

Cricket and the National Interest

Published

5 hours ago

2026/05/5

Sahan Weerasooriya

The appointment of former minister Eran Wickremaratne to chair the Sri Lanka Cricket Transformation Committee is significant for more than the future of cricket. It signals a possible shift in the culture of governance even as it offers Sri Lankan cricket a fighting possibility to get out of the doldrums of failure. There have been glorious patches for the national cricket team since the epochal 1996 World Cup triumph. But these patches of brightness have been few and far between and virtually non-existent over the past decade. At the centre of this disaster has been the failures of governance within Sri Lanka Cricket which are not unlike the larger failures of governance within the country itself. The appointment of a new reform oriented committee therefore carries significance beyond cricket. It reflects the wider challenge facing the country which is to restore trust in public institutions for better management.

The appointment of Eran Wickremaratne brings a professional administrator with a proven track record into the cricket arena. He has several strengths that many of his immediate predecessors lacked. Before the ascent of the present government leadership to positions of power, Eran Wickremaratne was among the handful of government ministers who did not have allegations of corruption attached to their names. His reputation for financial professionalism and integrity has remained intact over many years in public life. With him in the Cricket Transformation Committee are also respected former cricketers Kumar Sangakkara, Roshan Mahanama and Sidath Wettimuny together with professionals from legal and business backgrounds. They have been tasked with introducing structural reforms and improving transparency and accountability within cricket administration.

A second reason for this appointment to be significant is that this is possibly the first occasion on which the NPP government has reached out to someone associated with the opposition to obtain assistance in an area of national importance. The commitment to bipartisanship has been a constant demand from politically non-partisan civic groups and political analysts. They have voiced the opinion that the government needs to be more inclusive in its choice of appointments to decision making authorities. The NPP government’s practice so far has largely been to limit appointments to those within the ruling party or those considered loyalists even at the cost of proven expertise. The government’s decision in this case therefore marks a potentially important departure.

National Interest

There are areas of public life where national interest should transcend party divisions and cricket, beloved of the people, is one of them. Sri Lanka cannot afford to continue treating every institution as an arena for political competition when institutions themselves are in crisis and public confidence has become fragile. It is therefore unfortunate that when the government has moved positively in the direction of drawing on expertise from outside its own ranks there should be a negative response from sections of the opposition. This is indicative of the absence of a culture of bipartisanship even on issues that concern the national interest. The SJB, of which the newly appointed cricket committee chairman was a member objected on the grounds that politicians should not hold positions in sports administration and asked him to resign from the party. There is a need to recognise the distinction between partisan political control and the temporary use of experienced administrators to carry out reform and institutional restructuring. In other countries those in politics often join academia and civil society on a temporary basis and vice versa.

More disturbing has been the insidious campaign carried out against the new cricket committee and its chairman on the grounds of religious affiliation. This is an unacceptable denial of the reality that Sri Lanka is a plural, multi ethnic and multi religious society. The interim committee reflects this diversity to a reasonable extent. The country’s long history of ethnic conflict should have taught all political actors the dangers of mobilising communal prejudice for short term political gain. Sri Lanka paid a very heavy price for decades of mistrust and division. It would be tragic if even cricket administration became another arena for communal suspicion and hostility. The present government represents an important departure from the sectarian rhetoric that was employed by previous governments. They have repeatedly pledged to protect the equal rights of all citizens and not permit discrimination or extremism in any form.

The recent international peace march in Sri Lanka led by the Venerable Bhikkhu Thich Paññākāra from Vietnam with its message of loving kindness and mindfulness to all resonated strongly with the masses of people as seen by the crowds who thronged the roadsides to obtain blessings and show respect. This message stands in contrast to the sectarian resentment manifested by those who seek to use the cricket appointments as a weapon to attack the government at the present time. The challenges before the Sri Lanka Cricket Transformation Committee parallel the larger challenges before the government in developing the national economy and respecting ethnic and religious diversity. Plugging the leaks and restoring systems will take time and effort. It cannot be done overnight and it cannot succeed without public patience and support.

New Recognition

There is also a need for realism. The appointment of Eran Wickremaratne and the new committee does not guarantee success. Reforming deeply flawed institutions is always difficult. Besides, Sri Lanka is a small country with a relatively small population compared to many other cricket playing nations. It is also a country still recovering from the economic breakdown of 2022 which pushed the majority of people into hardship and severely weakened public institutions. The country continues to face unprecedented challenges including the damage caused by Cyclone Ditwah and the wider global economic uncertainties linked to conflict in the Middle East. Under these difficult circumstances Sri Lanka has fewer resources than many larger countries to devote to both cricket and economic development.

When resources are scarce they cannot be wasted through corruption or incompetence. Drawing upon the strengths of all those who are competent for the tasks at hand regardless of party affiliation or ethnic or religious identity is necessary if improvement is to come sooner rather than later. The burden of rebuilding the country cannot rest only on the government. The crisis facing the country is too deep for any single party or government to solve alone. National recovery requires capable individuals from across society and from different sectors such as business and civil society to work together in areas where the national interest transcends party politics. There is also a responsibility on opposition political parties to support initiatives that are politically neutral and genuinely in the national interest. Not every issue needs to become a partisan battle.

Sri Lanka cricket occupies a special place in the national consciousness. At its best it once united the country and gave Sri Lankans a sense of pride and international recognition. Restoring integrity and professionalism to cricket administration can therefore become part of the larger task of national renewal. The appointment of Eran Wickremaratne and the new committee, while it does not guarantee success, is a sign that the political leadership and people of the country may be beginning to mature in their approach to governance. In recognising the need for competence, integrity and bipartisan cooperation and extending it beyond cricket into other areas of national life, Sri Lanka may find the way towards more stable and successful governance..

by Jehan Perera

Features

From Dhaka to Sri Lanka, three wheels that drive our economies

Published

5 hours ago

2026/05/5

Sahan Weerasooriya

Court vacation this year came with an unexpected lesson, not from a courtroom but from the streets of Dhaka — a city that moves, quite literally, on three wheels.

Above the traffic, a modern metro line glides past concrete pillars and crowded rooftops. It is efficient, clean and frequently cited as a symbol of progress in Bangladesh. For a visitor from Sri Lanka, it inevitably brings to mind our own abandoned light rail plans — a project debated, politicised and ultimately set aside.

But Dhaka’s real story is not in the air. It is on the ground.

Beneath the elevated tracks, the streets belong to three-wheelers. Known locally as CNGs, they cluster at junctions, line the edges of markets and pour into narrow roads that larger vehicles avoid. Even with a functioning rail system, these three-wheelers remain the city’s most dependable form of everyday transport.

Within hours of arriving, their importance becomes obvious. The train may take you across the city, but the journey does not end there. The last mile — often the most complicated part — belongs entirely to the three-wheeler. It is the vehicle that gets you home, to a meeting or simply through streets that no bus route properly serves.

There is a rhythm to using them. A destination is mentioned, a price is suggested and a brief negotiation follows. Then the ride begins, edging into traffic that feels permanently compressed. Drivers move with instinct, adjusting routes and squeezing through gaps with a confidence built over years.

It is not polished. But it works.

And that is where the comparison with Sri Lanka becomes less about what we lack and more about what we already have.

Back home, the three-wheeler has long been part of daily life — so familiar that it is often discussed only in terms of its problems. There are frequent complaints about fares, refusals or the absence of meters. More recently, the industry itself has become entangled in politics — from fuel subsidies to regulatory debates, from election-time promises to periodic crackdowns.

In that process, the conversation has shifted. The three-wheeler is often treated as a problem to be managed, rather than a service to be strengthened.

Yet, seen through the experience of Dhaka, Sri Lanka’s system begins to look far more settled — and, in many ways, ahead.

There is a growing structure in place. Meters, while not perfect, are widely recognised. Ride-hailing apps have added transparency and reduced uncertainty for passengers. There are clearer expectations on both sides — driver and commuter alike. Even small details, such as designated parking areas in parts of Colombo or the increasing standard of vehicles, point to an industry slowly moving towards professionalism.

Just as importantly, there is a human element that remains intact.

In Sri Lanka, a three-wheeler ride is rarely just a transaction. Drivers talk. They offer directions, comment on the day’s news, or share local knowledge. The ride becomes part of the social fabric, not just a means of getting from one point to another.

In Dhaka, the scale of the city leaves less room for that. The interaction is quicker, more direct, shaped by urgency. The service is essential, but it is under constant pressure.

What stands out, across both countries, is that the three-wheeler is not a temporary or outdated mode of transport. It is a necessity in dense, fast-growing Asian cities — one that fills gaps no rail or bus system can fully address.

Large infrastructure projects, like light rail, are important. They bring efficiency and long-term capacity. But they cannot replace the flexibility of a three-wheeler. They cannot reach into narrow streets, respond instantly to demand or provide that crucial last-mile connection.

That is why, even in a city that has invested heavily in modern rail, Dhaka still runs on three wheels.

For Sri Lanka, the lesson is not simply about what could have been built, but about what should be better managed and valued.

The three-wheeler industry does not need to be politicised at every turn. It needs steady regulation — clear fare systems, proper licensing, safety standards — alongside encouragement and recognition. It needs to be seen as part of the solution to urban transport, not as a side issue.

Because for thousands of drivers, it is a livelihood. And for millions of passengers, it is the most immediate and reliable form of mobility.

The tuk-tuk may not feature in grand policy speeches or infrastructure blueprints. It does not run on elevated tracks or attract international attention. But on the ground, where daily life unfolds, it continues to do what larger systems often struggle to do — show up, adapt and keep moving.

And after watching Dhaka’s streets — crowded, relentless, yet functioning — that small, three-wheeled vehicle feels less like something to argue over and more like something to get right.

(The writer is an Attorney-at-Law with over a decade of experience specialising in civil law, a former Board Member of the Office of Missing Persons and a former Legal Director of the Central Cultural Fund. He holds an LLM in International Business Law)

by Sampath Perera recently in Dhaka, Bangladesh

Features

Dubai scene … opening up

Published

5 hours ago

2026/05/5

Sahan Weerasooriya

Seven Notes: Operating in Dubai

According to reports coming my way, the entertainment scene, in Dubai, is very much opening up, and buzzing again!

After a quieter few months, May is packed with entertainment and the whole scene, they say, is shifting back into full swing.

The Seven Notes band, made up of Sri Lankans, based in Dubai, are back in the spotlight, after a short hiatus, due to the ongoing Middle East problems.

On 18th April they did Legends Night at Mercure Hotel Dubai Barsha Heights; on Thursday, 9th May, they will be at the Sports Bar of the Mercure Hotel for 70s/80s Retro Night; on 6th June, they will be at Al Jadaf Dubai to provide the music for Sandun Perera live in concert … and with more dates to follow.

These events are expected to showcase the band’s evolving sound, tighter stage coordination, and stronger audience engagement.

With each performance, the band aims to refine its identity and build a loyal following within Dubai’s vibrant nightlife and event scene.

Pasindu Umayanga: The group’s new vocalist

What makes Seven Notes standout is their versatility which has made the band a dynamic and promising act.

With a growing performance calendar, new talent integration, and international ambitions, the band is definitely entering a defining phase of its journey.

Dubai’s music industry, I’m told, thrives on diversity, energy, and audience connection, with live bands playing a crucial role in elevating events—from corporate shows to private concerts. Against this backdrop, Seven Notes is positioning itself not just as another band, but as a performance-driven musical unit focused on consistency and growth.

Adding fresh momentum to the group is Pasindu Umayanga who joins Seven Notes as their new vocalist. This move signals a strategic upgrade—not just filling a role, but strengthening the band’s front-line presence.

Looking beyond local stages, Seven Notes is preparing for an international tour, to Korea, in July.

Bassist Niluk Uswaththa: Spokesperson for Seven Notes

According to bassist Niluk Uswaththa, taking a band abroad means: Your sound must hold up against unfamiliar audiences, your performance must translate beyond language, and your discipline must be at a professional level.

“If executed well, this tour could redefine Seven Notes from a local band into an emerging international act,” added Niluk.

He went on to say that Dubai is not an easy market. It’s saturated with highly experienced, multi-genre bands that can adapt instantly to any crowd.

“To stand out consistently you need to have tight rehearsal discipline, unique sound identity (not just covers), strong stage chemistry, audience retention – not just applause.”

No doubt, Seven Notes is entering a critical growth phase—new member, multiple shows, and an international tour on the horizon. The opportunity is real, but so is the pressure.

However, there is talk that Seven Notes will soon be a recognised name in the regional music scene.