Features
Listening to T.m
By Uditha Devapriya
I first encountered T. M. Jayaratne through the films of K. A. W. Perera. Most of them were scored by Premasiri Khemadasa, who, in more than one sense, introduced Jayaratne to popular audiences. Together with Sanath Nandasiri, Sunil Edirisinghe, Mervin Perera, and of course Victor Ratnayake, Jayaratne belongs to a third generation, the successors of a long line of vocalists that begins with Rukmani Devi and flows over to Amaradeva. Quoting Ajith Samaranayake, it is rather difficult to locate them on the social map, because they touch it at several points. The biographer hence confronts an impossible task.
Jayaratne emerges from roughly the same milieu as Amaradeva, a bilingual Sinhala middle-class. It would be wrong, however, to situate them in the same social environment. While Amaradeva’s emergence as an artiste coincided with the bureaucratisation of the arts, in particular music, Jayaratne’s generation emerged at a time when that process had reached its fruition. A number of factors, prominently free education, but also the conversion of two pirivenas to State universities, had laid the groundwork for these developments. Jayaratne and his colleagues figured in an interregnum of sorts: free education and the nationalisation of the arts had emancipated swabasha speaking folk, but these artistes hailed from a social and cultural environment partly moored in the pre-swabasha era.
This was true particularly of Jayaratne. Born in the village of Dodanwala, Kandy, in 1944, he was first sent to St Anthony’s College in Katugastota. At St Anthony’s, he forayed into Western music. “What we did in our music class,” he told me, “was to gather around our teacher and her piano and sing ‘Row Row Row Your Boat’ and ‘Under the Spreading Chestnut Tree’.” Eventually, he admitted, “we became more inclined towards Western music, even Western culture.” It hardly needs adding that, as with all missionary schools, St Anthony’s taught in the English medium. Of the teachers at school, Jayaratne remembered the Rector, Reverend Father Rosati, the best. A graduate of the University of London, Father Rosati epitomised an education system that was soon to pass.
“We adored him,” Jayaratne recalled. ‘It was hard to escape him. He used to visit our classes and ask questions, out of the blue. If we answered correctly, he would praise us and give us lozenges. After handing them, he’d turn around to those who hadn’t answered rightly and say, ‘And for those who didn’t get the correct answer, don’t be annoyed with me, I have lozenges for you as well.’ It was impossible not to like the man.”

A key motif that runs through the careers of Jayaratne’s contemporaries is their middle-class origins. While cut off from the Westernised bourgeoisie, they were nevertheless part of an emerging, articulate Sinhala middle-class. Their financial status, not surprisingly, depended on the careers of their fathers and forebearers. This was true of Jayaratne as well: his father worked as a government servant. As with almost all government servants, he was prone to being transferred from one region to another. Barely two years after his son had been enrolled to St Anthony’s, he was requested to leave for Nuwara Eliya.
Jayaratne remembers this as the beginning of a particularly hectic period. “Father would leave for work on Monday morning and come back on Friday evening to spend the weekend with us. He endured this routine for two years, after which he got another transfer, this time to Anuradhapura. He pushed for a delay. He got it delayed for two years.” Once those two years were up, Jayaratne recalls, the transfer request was renewed. “We obviously needed to act fast. I had an aunt who lived in Kurunegala. So father quickly got himself a transfer to Kurunegala. This meant enrolling at and attending another school. I was thus taken out of St Anthony’s and introduced to Maliyadeva Vidyalaya. I started at Grade Seven.”
Started in 1888 at the heyday of the Buddhist Revival, Maliyadeva Vidyalaya stood out as a leading boys’ school in not just Kurunegala and the North-Western Province, but the whole country as well. While a far cry from St Anthony’s, it retained the curriculum in operation at Christian schools. However, its social and cultural environment differed considerably from missionary schools: students spoke in Sinhala and most of them professed Buddhism. By Jayaratne’s own confession, “it was difficult to get used to this shift. English was limited to one subject, and in every respect the subjects we learnt were indigenised, more in tune with Sinhala and Buddhist culture. I noticed this during our music classes too. We no longer sang English nursery rhymes, we only performed ragas and Hindustani melodies.”
What is fascinating here is that, despite these shifts, Maliyadeva failed to nativize Jayaratne or his friends. It in fact made them more cosmopolitan. “What I came to appreciate more than
anything else at Maliyadeva was that there was no essential difference between the music I had learnt and the music I was being taught now. I saw no wide chasm between the ‘Do Re Mi’ I had sung with relish at St Anthony’s and the ‘Sa Ri Ga Ma Pa’ I had to imbibe at Maliyadeva.” In other words, the new learning environment failed to inhibit him or to make him more insular. It merely made him dig deeper, in search of his roots.
The senior music master at Maliyadeva, K. M. Dayapala, noticed Jayaratne’s penchant for singing earlier on. He encouraged him to sit the music exams while pursuing their studies. “He was a persistent teacher and a persistent man. He strived to keep us a cut above the rest. Eventually he managed to get us through all three stages of the music exams conducted by the Gandharva Sabhawa and held in Kandy. The exams were based on two categories: vocal and instrumental. I passed in both categories and at all three stages.”
Dayapala’s endeavours did not end there. While the university entrance exams were around the corner, the government published a Gazette Notification calling for applications from those who aspired to teach music. “Mr Dayapala asked us to sit the entrance exams and apply for music teaching vacancies after them. By some stroke of luck, I was called to the Education Department at Kollupitiya, where some officials interviewed me. Initially I felt I had not been selected, so I soon abandoned all hopes I had of teaching music. But then, not long afterwards, the Director of Education personally informed me that I had been selected. I would be posted to a school near Colombo. I was obviously overwhelmed.”
Through the Department of Education, Jayaratne entered a new world and a new environment, one moulded by new values. Interestingly, his appointment to his first school – Hewawitharana Maha Vidyalaya in Rajagiriya – was made on the same day (September 7) that five other aspiring teachers were given their first appointments: Victor Ratnayake (Aththalapitiya Maha Vidyalaya in Bandarawela), Sanath Nandasiri (Uhana Maha Vidyalaya in Ampara), Mervin Perera (Kohombara Maha Vidyalaya in Ampara), Shelton Perera (Sri Pada Maha Vidyalaya in Hatton), and Sarath Dassanayake (Niwaththakachethiya Maha Vidyalaya in Anuradhapura). These were to be his contemporaries in a few years time, and as he himself put it to me, “our careers converged frequently thereafter.”
While engaged in his job, Jayaratne got involved with various stage dramas and concerts, supplementing his income. “I would get up to Rs. 20 a show. It was not much by today’s standards, but a lot back then, considering my monthly rent was Rs. 55.”
Those shows eventually got him into a vivida prasangaya organised at the Teachers’ Training College in Maharagama, where he once had to perform in place of a singer who hadn’t turned up. The organiser of that prasangaya, C. de S. Kulathilaka, was subsequently appointed as the Head of the Folk Music Research Unit at the SLBC. He had been impressed with Jayaratne’s voice, and soon afterwards, he took him into the unit to perform refined, accompanied versions of various folk songs he was tasked with recording from across the country. “One of the songs I performed, Badda Watata, was heard by a man who called the SLBC. He got to know that I taught at a school located near his house. I started working with him soon after.” That man was Premasiri Khemadasa.
Jayaratne’s collaboration with Khemadasa has been charted many times before. Suffice it to say that Khemadasa opened him up to popular audiences, thereby establishing him at the centre of the country’s musical landscape. Of his erstwhile colleague, Jayaratne remembers that he was “quite a mercurial man, prone to losing his temper if he didn’t and couldn’t get what he wanted out of you.” Despite this, two of us got on very well with each other, even as Jayaratne continued to work at the Education Ministry and, later, at Sacred Heart College in Rajagiriya, where he taught for five years before retiring.
Retirement has not, of course, hindered Jayaratne from singing. He still sings, and occasionally, performs. “One of the last from his generation” comes nowhere close to describing the worth and merit of this man, but for now, it will do. What more can one say, or choose to say, about such personalities, when all one can do is borrow the cliches of the newspaper tribute and cultural essay when dwelling on them?
The writer is an international relations analyst, researcher, and columnist
who can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com.
Features
‘There are no private universities in Sri Lanka’ – some considerations for higher education reform
Academics involved in education policy like to say that there is no such thing as a private university in Sri Lanka. The only ‘universities’ in the country are state universities; anything else offering degrees is a private higher education institution (HEI). This position is technically accurate. Yet, in the discourse and imagination of the public, private universities are very real – people teach in them, students register in them, families pay fees, and such degree holders enter job markets in Sri Lanka and outside.
For decades, activists concerned for public higher education have ignored or resisted looking at private HEIs, as if such scrutiny would taint them. Others have worked in both types of institutions, carrying practices from each to the other. The apex body governing state universities, the UGC, has, meanwhile, ignored the concept of conflict of interest and appointed individuals in private higher education in committees and leadership positions. It is unsurprising then that some of the ideologies informing private higher education appear in reform agendas in the state sector.
This is a good time then to consider the varying types of private HEIs around us, and to take a look at some of the issues within them in the hope that higher education reform agendas will include private, as well as state higher education.
What is a ‘private university’?
First, some clarifications. In the public imaginary, a ‘private university’ is typically an institution that provides a foreign or local degree for which the student makes a payment. But this broad classification encompasses a host of diverse institutions and types of degrees which I detail below.
The Non-State Higher Education Division (NSHE) of the Ministry of Education has recognised 295 degrees by 32 institutions. Most of these are private companies and include a handful of established, well-known private HEIs that are ‘university like’. The degrees are local degrees conferred by the institutions accredited by the NSHE Division. While private HEIs conferring local degrees must be accredited by the NSHE Division, there appears to be no legal consequence for not doing so. In addition, there are several permutations of the private degree that miss the net of this Division and the Standing Committee on Accreditation and Quality Assurance (SCAQA) that assists this Division.
For one, degrees conferred by foreign universities offered, via these same private HEIs, are not vetted by the NSHE Division. Secondly, there is a growing plethora of private HEIs which have either no physical presence locally or only a dubious presence. The University Grants Commission has notified the public, through their website, that foreign universities listed in the Commonwealth Universities Yearbook and the World Higher Education Database are recognised, but refrained from giving any other details – which degrees? Offered by what modes? These details are not known. Some of the foreign universities in the lists may be legitimate entities in their own land but the degrees conferred locally, in their name, may not adhere to curriculum or teaching specifications of the NSHE Division or the UGC.
Another troubling phenomenon is the ‘top up degree’, which appears to work on the same principle as that of a pre-paid mobile connection: if I have a Diploma or an HND of a sort, I am eligible to complete a course of study which provides me with a degree, usually from a foreign university. The idea that someone who does not initially qualify for a degree programme should be able to work their way towards one is a progressive notion. This is the concept that open and distance learning (ODL) was based on initially, but which is now sadly exploited. ODL models are expected to provide opportunity for learning for those who may be excluded from traditional learning institutions. In Sri Lanka, however, we have seen ODL become a marketplace offering easy to obtain, for-fee qualifications by institutions with little commitment to superior teaching and learning.
Finally, a perusal of the many types of private HEIs and their varied degrees bring to mind another question – how should the private degrees, provided by state institutions (that are not educational institutions), be regulated? Who should do so?
All of these create a host of problems for the public – for hopeful students and parents and trusting employers. For the higher education sector, recruitment of academic staff, too, has become difficult due to this plethora of ambiguous higher education qualifications, as I discussed in a previous Kuppi article (‘Recruiting academics to state universities’).
Some issues in private HEIs – a bellwether for change in state universities
In this second part of this article, I will discuss some aspects of work in private HEIs – albeit the more established institutions – given that such issues may appear in reform agendas in future.
Across state universities, all permanent staff of a specific category are paid according to the same criteria. The picture is not so clear when it comes to private HEIs since they are different entities legally, typically companies. Private HEIs have salary scales and financial incentives that are different to each other. The more established private HEIs reportedly have attractive renumeration packages, possibly a reason for academics of state universities migrating eagerly to such institutions during sabbatical years and on retirement. This may not of course be the case with other less established, or improperly registered HEIs of which we know little. Academic staff of these more accepted private HEIs seem to value the high financial remuneration they receive (in comparison to state universities) as something that makes their work rewarding.
Attractive remuneration is important to sustain the good life and is at times seen as the institution’s way of encouraging good work. Yet, this has implications for the future of the institution: to continue to deliver on promised financial packages, institutions must continue to have large profit margins. One strategy has been to enroll multiple cohorts of students per year, even up to three or four intakes per year. This can result in exploitative work conditions, since staff must cater to all these cohorts in that same year. If there is inadequate staff, employees are further burdened. On the other hand, if there is a sudden drop in enrolments (degrees can go out of fashion) unexpected layoffs occur. Similar to other sectors that employ short-term contract staff – including state universities – in private HEIs, too, individual teachers, who are on short term contracts that need regular renewal, can feel pressured to work under difficult or exploitative conditions.
At the same time, even in the more established private HEIs, work norms differ from those of state universities in that they include promotional work that keeps the institution’s name in the eye of the public. The Marketing (or similarly named) unit comes up in conversations as one of the most important departments. It appears to weigh in on decision-making related to the number of staff, the amount of re-sits per exams, and other pedagogically important matters. This is a worrying example of how financial rationales interfere with pedagogically or academically sound processes, resulting in problematic results in the classroom. On the plus side, junior colleagues, who had experience in both state and private HEIs, also felt that they faced less harassment in private HEIs – primarily due to the private HEIs ability to take swift action in reported cases of harassment. This is a real indictment on state institutions and their reluctance to address chronic issues of harassment in our universities.
Yet, while we hear much about problems in state universities, we hardly hear of problems that staff in private HEIs face. One rationale for a lack of public expressions by staff is that expressions of discontent might lead to trouble given the importance of reputation for private HEIs. The worry about reputational damage is a growing concern in state universities, too, as evidenced by social media policies and internal conversations on reputational damage, consequent to negative publicity. Institutional worries of reputational damage are harmful in the long run since these impact not only freedom of expression by student and staff, but also research that is possible in and about the education sector.
Some thoughts at the end…
A close look at the private higher education sector is important given its strong presence in the country. Impending reform needs to regulate this diverse array of higher education offerings in the private sector, as well as the state institutions that offer privately-funded options of higher education (a topic for a separate Kuppi on its own). It is time we carefully considered how to build a whole system of higher education out of this broken mess.
Kaushalya Perera is a senior lecturer at 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
Ready for solo spotlight
Singer Nish Peiris is set to take the next big step in her music journey.
The talented vocalist, who has been seen and heard in the scene here for a short while, and was also featured with the now-defunct band, Inner Vision, has announced that she will be fully committing to her solo career, after completing her degree this year.
“I’m finishing my degree this year, and after that I’ll be fully committing to my solo music career,” Nish told The Island.
“I’ve already got a few tours lined up for next year, so I’m really excited for what’s ahead.”
Fans, no doubt, will remember Nish for her smooth voice and stage presence, and the good news is that she is now ready to chart her own path and bring new music to audiences at home and abroad.
With tours already planned for 2027, the year 2026 promises to be an exciting year for the young artiste as she steps into the spotlight on her own.
We wish Nish every success in this new chapter!
Features
Exclusive musical evening for Sri Lankans in Toronto
While Sri Lankan music lovers, in Dubai, are eagerly looking forward to being a part of the action on Saturday, 25th July, with Rajiv Sebastian in the limelight, Sri Lankans, in Toronto, Canada, are equally excited and are anxiously awaiting the arrival of Sri Lanka’s famous singer/entertainer Sohan Weerasinghe.
Having done the needful with The X-Periments, the legendary performer has now embarked on an exciting new chapter – a solo career – and Toronto, Canada, will see him do the needful, on Friday, 31st July, 2026, from 8.00 pm to 12.00 am, at the Angus Glen Golf Club.
Reports indicate that it’s a ‘sold out’ event – naturally with Sohan in the spotlight.
Having built his reputation through years of unforgettable performances, and hits that became part of our musical fabric, Sohan is ready to bring his own vision, sound, and stories directly to the audience, in Toronto, Canada, backed by the phenomenal Toronto Ceymphony Live Band.
Says Gamini Hemalal, who has been instrumental in reviving the Sri Lankan entertainment scene, in that part of the world:
“The countdown begins for the most exclusive musical event of the summer! Join us for a premium night of incredible music, elite hospitality, and a lavish buffet as the legendary Sohan Weerasinghe takes the stage live in Toronto!
“This is a high-end event, designed for those who appreciate exceptional entertainment and great food.”
Gamini, who is also a member of the Toronto Ceymphony Live Band, mentioned that it’s going to be an intimate musical evening with the celebrated Sohan Weerasinghe.
From packed auditoriums to intimate shows, Sohan continues to prove why he remains one of Sri Lanka’s most beloved entertainers.
For decades, Sohan Weerasinghe has been a household name in Sri Lankan entertainment.
Known for his captivating smooth voice and charismatic stage presence, Canada will experience it all on Friday, 31st July.
Next on the list of events, Gamini Hemal is working on, is Halloween night and he says “what we plan to do will be very interesting and unique … with a surprise guest star, as well!”
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