Features

Maashooga (meaning beloved), my housekeeper in Sindh, Pakistan

Published

2 years ago

2024/11/17

Thilina Walpola

Jayantha P (left) and Maashooga

by Jayantha Perera

A young man was waiting at the wide-open gate of the university guest bungalow. The driver drove the van through the gate to the back foyer. The young man recognised Parvez, who was with me and smiled. When Parvez introduced me to him, he shook my hand and pronounced my name correctly. Parvez introduced him as Maashooga and smiled. He said Maashooga means ‘darling’ or ‘beloved.’ He was a charming young man, about six feet two inches tall, with a light moustache and penetrating eyes. His long hair partially covered his face, which had a few pimples. I thought he was in his early twenties. He wore a salwar kameez and a colourful Sindhi cap decorated with beads and threads. He looked like a polio victim as his right leg was about two inches shorter than his left leg.

Maashooga carried my suitcase to the master bedroom. It had been recently painted and had a brand-new air conditioner. The spacious bathroom had hot and cold water. The bed was large, and a new floral woollen blanket covered it. The room had two panels of large windows. I could see mango trees and several flower beds without any plants through the windows.

Parvez talked to Maashooga in Sindhi and left me at the bungalow, promising to visit me in the evening. I tried to speak to Maashooga; he knew very little English but understood me and responded. Maashooga wanted to prepare chapati, subji (vegetables) and mutton curry for dinner. He asked me whether I eat ‘double roti’ (bread)?’ I told him I like chapati. He understood and nodded with a smile. This was the beginning of our communication, which would later lead to a better understanding of each other’s culture and personality.

I slept two hours, and when I got up, the sun was setting. A cool breeze engulfed me in the large foyer of the bungalow. The front garden was a small mango orchard. The bungalow had a spacious sitting area, a wood-panelled office room and three bedrooms. Maashooga emerged from the kitchen with a hot cup of tea and a few biscuits on a wooden tray. He waited until I drank the tea and showed me the gate, indicating that I should go for a walk. The cool breeze and the lengthening shadows of the children playing cricket on the dirt road in front of the bungalow lifted my spirit.

The Director and several SDSC colleagues visited me in the late evening. Maashooga produced six half-pint bottles of Murray beer for the visitors! He sat on the floor, carefully poured cold beer into six glasses in equal measure and waited to serve the second round. When the six bottles of beer were consumed, my colleagues stopped the conversation. They left the bungalow, promising to revisit me often.

Maashooga served my dinner at 8 pm, and it was tasty. He held each chapati over the gas flame until it was cooked and looked like a balloon. He waited at the dining table until I had my dinner. He said I should buy a big-screen TV to watch Hindi movies. Then, he went to the kitchen, sat on the floor and ate a few chapatis. He gave several chapatis and a bowl of curry to the chowkidar (watchman) of the bungalow, who sat under a tree in the backyard. The chowkidar saluted me when he saw me and said, “Sir, I am your university guard.”

The following morning, I had the best breakfast I ever had. Maashooga prepared an authentic Sindhi breakfast – parathas (unleavened bread) with a generous spread of ghee on top of them, deep-fried bindi (okra) and slices of fried Panna (local salmon). After breakfast, he took me to a grocery shop across the main road. He introduced me to the shopkeeper, who was happy to have me as his new customer. As I browsed through the aisles, I felt a sense of discovery, finding new and unfamiliar items. I bought soap, shampoo, sugar, double roti, garam masala, lentils, salt, and basmati rice. The manager recorded the transaction in a ledger and told me to pay him at the end of each month.

In the evening, Maashooga showed me the university campus and the settlement where he lived. The campus was large and well-maintained. Beyond its boundary walls, I could see the desert I had seen earlier, spreading limitlessly to the dusty horizon. Maashooga’s brother, the van driver who drove me to Jamshoro from Karachi, was waiting for us. He invited me for a cup of tea. They did not have a chair for me to sit on. I sat on a log. I understood that Maashooga lived with his mother, brother, and brother’s family. Their house was just a hut, and the entire settlement looked like an overcrowded slum encroaching on the university park.

One evening, while having dinner, I heard several gunshots nearby. Maashooga got excited, grabbed me by my arm, and took me to the bungalow’s backyard. He asked me to climb over the boundary wall to the neighbour’s garden. I hesitated. I could have climbed the wall but was scared to jump onto a stranger’s land. He understood my predicament and took me back to the bungalow. Parvez visited me later to tell me that a group of dacoits (armed robbers) had tried to abduct two doctors from the hospital, but university security guards foiled their attempt. He instructed Maashooga to make a step ladder, which I could use to climb the wall in an emergency. He told me that my neighbour was a university professor and promised to get his permission to keep a raised platform in his garden so I could escape in an emergency through his garden.

Three months later, I collected the Land Cruiser jeep, my official vehicle, from the Karachi Customs Office and moved with Maashooga to my apartment in Hyderabad. I was happy as the apartment was in a gated community in a high-end residential area. The apartment was two-storied with five bedrooms and ample space for a front garden. I boiled milk in a new aluminium pot in the sitting area, following the traditions of Sri Lanka. I watched happily when boiled milk overflowed in all directions. I thought it was a good omen.

In the afternoon, Maashooga and I shopped to buy a TV, radio, cleaning material, cutlery, and crockery for the new apartment. He was very proud to oversee a big house. When I assigned him a room, he told me he would sleep on the rooftop during the summer and autumn. I bought him a charpoy (light bed), and he kept it on the rooftop. One night, I went with him upstairs and was mesmerised by the clear sky, cool breeze, and total darkness. One could gaze into the universe for hours; only an occasional shooting star might disturb one’s trance.

One night, Maashooga came down from the rooftop, wholly covered with dust. I could not recognise him and thought a ghost was visiting me! White dust covered his face and hair. He started laughing. That night, a nasty dust storm had hit the area, covering everything with dust. Dust looked like ash and clung to anything. Maashooga took about two hours to remove the dust from his body, especially from his thick, curly hair.

When I returned to Hyderabad after my home leave, I was delighted to see a beautiful garden in front of the apartment. Maashooga had planted cannas of different colours and several red rose plants. But I was shocked when I went up to my bedroom. It was a mess. Thousands of tiny beads were strewn everywhere with different coloured yarns and long needles. My bedsheets and pillows were dirty. My toilet was messy and smelly. Maashooga came upstairs with a cup of tea. I asked him why he had used my bedroom and bathroom.

He smiled and said he watched TV while weaving Sindhi caps and garlands on my bed. He showed me two exquisite Sindhi caps he had woven for me. I asked him to change the bedsheets and pillowcases and clean the bathroom, which he did diligently. He did not come up to watch TV for a few days. When I invited him to watch TV, he did not bring beads and threads to my room or sit on my bed. He smiled and told me not to tell anybody about his “bad work.”

One day, he wanted to go with me to the old fort in Hyderabad. We took a public bus to the city and walked 30 minutes to reach the entrance of the Pakka Qilla Fort, an 18^th-century structure. I was amazed to see thousands of people moving in the fort. There were small cubicle-type rooms and houses. Residences could not be distinguished from shops. We walked to the interior of the fort. But we could not go far because thousands were walking on narrow roads or flocking to small business places. Maashooga knew some people at the fort, and we had tea with them. He brought six Sindhi caps for his friends. When I told my SDSC colleagues about my visit to the fort, they were dismayed. They said that the fort was notorious for sudden clashes among militant groups. Being a foreigner, I could have become a target for abduction.

At the periphery of Hyderabad city, there was a private hospital known as the American Hospital. Three Sri Lankan Catholic nuns ran it. It was well-known for its excellent patient care. Several Catholic organisations in the USA supported it by supplying free medicine and equipment and sending specialists on short-term visits. Every year, the hospital trains about 100 young rural women in midwifery. After the training, they returned to their villages as dais (midwives) to serve their communities.

I discussed with the hospital’s mother superior the possibility of correcting Maashooga’s polio-affected leg. At that time, a well-known American orthopaedic consultant was visiting the hospital. After examining Maashooga’s leg, he told me that the length of the twisted short leg could be adjusted by surgery. He explained that at least 1.5 inches could be regained after resetting his ankle bones, leg ligaments, tendons, and affected leg muscles. It was good news. The surgery would cost about US$ 800. The sisters agreed to give Maasooga a room and food at the hospital free of charge. I wrote to my supervisor in the UK requesting him to contribute. He sent $500 as a contribution.

The nuns contacted a surgeon in Karachi and fixed a date for the surgery at the American Hospital. Maashooga’s brother told me that his mother was distraught but respected my decision on the surgery. I consoled and assured him that the surgery would not harm Maashooga but enable him to walk without much limping. He asked me to sign the declaration as Maashooga’s guardian.

After the operation, Maashooga and his family brought sweets to thank me. His brother told me he could not have even dreamt of his brother’s leg recovery. I took them to the hospital to meet the nuns and the medical staff. We all enjoyed the sweets Maashooga’s mother had brought as we basked in a glorious sunset in the hospital compound.

Maashooga started cycling regularly to regain the strength of his legs. Six months later, the surgeon checked his leg and told me the surgery was successful, although the leg was about ½ inch short. Maashooga was happy with his new appearance. I bought him a pair of orthopaedic sandals to correct the length of the leg.

Soon after the northeast monsoons, Maashooga’s brother invited me to Maashooga’s wedding. I was happy but surprised. He had never mentioned his wedding plan to me. I asked him about the wedding after his brother had left. He just coyly smiled and went away. His brother borrowed money from me and promised to repay the loan over two years. The wedding was a grand affair. There were two separate tents for men and women, and about 80 invitees attended the wedding.

The bride was a young woman with a pretty face and dark complexion. She was in a saree draped in Sindhi style and wore some head jewellery linked to her nose by a gold chain. She was with her parents and never raised her head during the wedding ceremony. All those who attended the ceremony stayed for lunch. Lunch was served at 2 pm when mutton biriyani in giant cauldrons were brought in. Two elders served food first to the men. Women waited patiently in their tent for their turn to get biriyani. After lunch, young men and women danced separately and sang Sindhi songs until the evening.

Maashooga did not turn up at the apartment for three days after his wedding. He had arranged for one of his colleagues to prepare my food in his absence. Maashooga returned on the fourth day as if nothing had happened in his life. He smiled and started house cleaning and cooking. I told him he could go home after preparing my dinner early. He said he would stay at the apartment and go home to his wife for one night on Fridays. I increased his salary by 50 per cent so he would have enough money for himself and his wife. I tried to talk to him about his new life. Still, Maashooga was reluctant to engage in a conversation on the topic. On several occasions, he brought some sweets prepared by his wife. I watched him, and I thought he was happy. I also thought he was too shy to discuss his wife and family matters.

One early morning, Maashooga’s brother informed me that Maashooga’s wife had died while giving birth to twins. Maashooga had never mentioned to me that his wife was pregnant. I went to his hut where the body of the wife was. I looked for Maashooga and found him helping several women in preparing tea. At 11am, the body was buried at the public cemetery. Maashooga stood next to me with a blank and pensive look on his face. He looked tired and confused. He watched the rituals and the closing of the grave. At that point, he rested his left elbow on my right shoulder. He shivered briefly and told me, “We go to Hyderabad.” His brother told him to take me to their home for lunch before going to my apartment.

Maashooga continued to be with me and never discussed his wife’s death and the loss of two sons. He stopped going home on Fridays. Instead, he paid more attention to his flower beds in the front garden. He stopped playing football. I heard from his brother that Maashooga had assaulted two men in the village over an argument. He started sleeping on the rooftop and doing his favourite hobby – weaving Sindhi caps. I found him asleep several times with beads and threads on his lap. He lost weight and looked depressed.

I consulted the nuns at the American Hospital. They said that he needed counselling, and the hospital could get a therapist. They cautioned me that his relatives might interpret such therapy as a way of converting young people to Christianity. He attended several sessions at the hospital. I dropped him and collected him from the hospital. The nuns told me he had shown good progress in returning to everyday life.

When I left Sindh in 1996, after living in Hyderabad for five years, Maashooga came to the airport to see me off. He had never been to Karachi. His brother drove us to the airport, and we stopped for tea at a roadside kiosk. While tea was prepared, I walked around the kiosk. Suddenly, I remembered my arrival in Jamshoro from Karachi. Then, I had thought I would not survive five years in a desert. But now, sand dunes and the blurred horizon looked enchanting. I felt sad to leave Jamshoro. Maashooga held his brother’s hand and cried. His brother explained that Maashooga was very sad to see my departure. He wanted to know whether I would return to Jamshoro. I did not have the guts to tell him that I might not. I wondered whether I would ever see him again.

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Features

Addressing human rights needs multi-pronged approach

Published

14 hours ago

2026/09/15

Sahan Weerasooriya

Volker Türk

by Jehan Perera

The ongoing 63rd session of the United Nations Human Rights Council, which runs from September 7 to October 7, 2026, in Geneva is important to Sri Lanka. Its outcome will send a signal to other international actors, including the European Union, as to whether Sri Lanka’s reform policy is on track. The written update on Sri Lanka, prepared by the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights under High Commissioner Volker Türk and presented by Deputy High Commissioner Nada Al-Nashif, has taken a more holistic approach to the government’s performance over the past year. It acknowledged the progress Sri Lanka has made under the NPP government in relation to accountability for financial fraud and other economic crimes. At the same time, the High Commissioner’s update made clear that progress in relation to economic crime cannot be equated with progress in relation to accountability for grave human rights violations committed during the armed conflict and in other periods of political violence.

The government may have felt sufficiently confident that its response to the High Commissioner’s update could be handled by its representative in Geneva and did not require the attendance of Foreign Minister Vijitha Herath. Sri Lanka’s representative Sumith Dassanayake called for a fundamental review of country-specific mandates within the UN Human Rights Council. Sri Lanka has been facing repeated scrutiny in the form of successive UNHRC resolutions from 2012 onwards. Ambassador Dassanayake argued that such mandates should not continue indefinitely and must be regularly assessed against measurable objectives and tangible outcomes. This may reflect confidence that its record of reform is beginning to receive recognition internationally. The reports and statements at the Human Rights Council acknowledged progress in the government’s efforts to address corruption and economic crime.

The government’s anti-corruption drive has included investigations into allegations involving individuals who held the highest political offices in the country. The arrest of former President Ranil Wickremesinghe in connection with alleged misuse of public funds, and the investigation into the controversial SriLankan Airlines Airbus transaction involving former President Mahinda Rajapaksa’s son, are examples of the reach of these investigations. The arrest of SLPP National Organiser and Member of Parliament Namal Rajapaksa in connection with allegations relating to the Airbus purchase scandal has also demonstrated that the government is willing to pursue cases involving politically powerful figures.

Wide Range

The ongoing investigations appear to encompass a wide range of parliamentarians and government members, both past and present. They suggest that accountability for corruption is not being confined to lower-level officials or to individuals who lack political influence. This is precisely the kind of accountability that the public has long demanded and that previous governments have too often failed to deliver. The government is also reaching into the upper levels of the military hierarchies of the past. The case in which 11 young men, most of them Tamil, disappeared after being abducted in Colombo between 2008 and 2009 involved allegations that some families were asked to pay ransoms. The investigation into this case has reached senior military figures. The willingness to pursue such cases is important because it challenges the assumption that those who exercised power during the war are beyond the reach of the law. Such cases would provide a practical test of whether the government’s commitment to accountability for economic crimes is part of a broader commitment to the rule of law.

Success in prosecuting corruption cannot substitute for justice for those who were unlawfully killed, disappeared, tortured or otherwise victimised. The UN report noted that there had been no recognition or accountability for crimes under international law, gross human rights violations and serious violations of international humanitarian law committed by all parties during the war. The government has yet to establish a credible and effective process to address the many cases of enforced disappearance, extrajudicial killing, torture and other serious violations. The government needs to take the international commitments it has inherited on human rights issues seriously. It needs to adopt a multi-pronged approach and go beyond focusing primarily on financial and corruption-related accountability.

Need Action

As a member of the international community, Sri Lanka has a responsibility to abide by the commitments it has made. It cannot selectively uphold international obligations postponing those that are politically difficult. Also, as a small country, Sri Lanka has a self-interest in ensuring the survival of international law, which is all that it has to protect it from the depredations of the bigger international actors. The erosion of international law by powerful states makes it all the more important that smaller states uphold the principles on which the international system is based. Sri Lanka cannot credibly appeal to international law when it is threatened from outside while disregarding its own obligations within. Sri Lanka also needs to win the confidence of its own population that it is committed to justice and equality for all. Public opinion polls and community-level research have disclosed that ethnic and religious minorities are appreciative of the sense of greater security they enjoy under the present government from ethnic or religious extremists.

But a sense of security is not the same as the fulfilment of rights. As far as the Tamil people are concerned, the government has yet to deliver on several of its specific promises. These include the long-standing problems of missing persons, the release of political prisoners who have been members of Tamil militant organisations, and the return of land taken over for military purposes during the war. The issue of Buddhist statues and archaeological sites found on their properties which are then taken from their control continue to trouble them especially as they see no signs of resolution of those disputes. The issue of pastureland in the east of the country in Mylathamadu is particularly concerning to them as they see orders by successive presidents, both President Ranil Wickremesinghe and President Anura Kumara Dissanayake, being disregarded on the ground. The Mylathamadu pastureland dispute is where traditional Tamil dairy farmers have engaged in multi-year protests against the ongoing encroachment of their ancestral grazing lands by Sinhalese crop cultivators relocated under government development schemes.

The government’s failure to hold Provincial Council elections is particularly troubling. The provincial council system is the only one that can provide the Tamil people and other ethnic minorities the opportunity to wield political power and exercise a measure of self-determination in the areas in which they are the numerical majority. The continued postponement of Provincial Council elections therefore has consequences that go beyond an ordinary electoral delay. It deprives communities of an important constitutional avenue for democratic participation and power-sharing. The ethnic and religious minorities appreciate what the government is doing in the larger national interest, but they must not be made to feel that their special concerns are being ignored. The government cannot resolve Sri Lanka’s entire legacy of rights violations overnight. But it does need to demonstrate that it is willing to move forward on multiple fronts, not only on a few.

Features

The emptying university: why are academics leaving?

Published

14 hours ago

2026/09/15

Sahan Weerasooriya

by Hasini Lecamwasam

Brain drain in Sri Lanka is at an all-time high. The latest Human Flight and Brain Drain Index for 2024 shows that we are 16^th of 175 countries on this count, and first in South Asia. That this is a crisis goes without saying. Brain drain affects all sectors, and is a huge strain on the resources of a developing country. Particularly in Sri Lanka, where considerable public investment is made in the moulding of professionals through the system of free education, this amounts to transferring the resources of poorer countries to richer ones with top migration destinations. It is, therefore, important to consider the push and pull factors behind skilled outmigration, specifically from the public university system of Sri Lanka, a key focus of the Kuppi column.

From frustration to exit

Several bitter realities in our crumbling public university system act as push factors in the migration decisions of academics. Many essays on this column have, over several years, attempted to highlight numerous aspects of this erosion. Perhaps, primary among them is the lack of adequate funding, which has debilitating ramifications for the system: very little investment is made in the up-keep of infrastructure (and even less in its expansion), resulting in serious constraints in accommodating growing batches of students and the wellbeing of the staff (particularly in regional universities); research funding is negligible, severely curtailing academics’ ability to effectively discharge their primary duty of teaching which should ideally be informed by their research (and the research of others, access to which is also, unfortunately, mediated by funding); a funding crunch also means a slash in (or greater constraints on) recruitments, increasing the workloads of academics, currently in service, and eating into the quality of their teaching and research.

What recruitments are done frustrate those with any faith in merit. As many of our interventions in this column have shown, recruitment processes are characterised by archaic selection criteria that place very little weight on a candidate’s postgraduate growth and the advantages of interdisciplinary training. Added to this is the general preference for ‘culturally compliant’ candidates who would not rock the boat too much. The combined effect is that those with the capacity and spirit to try out innovations in education are discouraged from joining or staying on in the public university system. Some, or many, of them may instead seek appointments abroad.

A thread that binds all of these problems together is pervasive hierarchy which, again, many interventions on this column have sought to highlight. It is the interest in preserving hierarchy that leads to the preference for alumni in recruitment processes. Hierarchy within universities can be particularly frustrating for younger faculty and women, who typically have to bear the brunt of the workload of their senior, often male, colleagues. In a context of funding, and, therefore, recruitment, restrictions, this translates into a disproportionate burden being placed on junior (usually female) faculty, seriously hindering their prospects of growing into successful academics due to the time constraints within which they have to operate. Junior academics, therefore, are more likely to look to educational institutions abroad for what they hope would be a different work culture that respects them more.

Ideological ruses

On top of these structural frustrations are also the workings of neoliberal ideology. For one, the nature of relations between the global metropole and peripheral countries like Sri Lanka largely dictates what is desirable and what is not. The apparent lifestyles of Western countries – from food to clothing, housing, appliances, and so on – have continued to lure people from the periphery with the promise of a ‘better’ life, alongside better career advancement opportunities. This, of course, masks much of the struggle that goes on behind the scenes to survive in Western societies. For instance, in most cases highly attractive public infrastructure such as roads, public transport, clean air, quality control of food, and so on belie the astronomical privatised costs of healthcare and education. Health insurance is usually mandatory and steep in most high-income settings, while even subsidised education (for which eligibility criteria are strict) creates a serious dent in household earnings. Of course, the happy images of glossy trams and gleeful international travellers don’t convey this.

A second ideological ruse is the myth of greater opportunities and recognition abroad. While there is no denying that local skilled sectors – be it higher education, health, civil service, or private white-collar positions – are replete with issues that inhibit merit-based professional advancement, the notion that things are fundamentally different in Western countries stems from an uninformed optimism. As is now increasingly known and discussed, Western labour markets are notoriously racialised, and equivalent skills are rarely treated as such. Instead, it is usually demanded that skilled migrants clear certain formal examinations in their host countries. In fields like medicine, this is followed by an interview that may also be racially prejudiced. Once these initial steps are cleared, remuneration reverts to square one irrespective of experience accumulated abroad, not to mention the many subtle aggressions, rejections, and trials one has to go through in the negotiation of everyday life. In the many cases where professional qualifications are used as leverage for a move abroad, sights are set on a better future for one’s children, which again is informed by the misplaced faith in greater opportunities and a lack of awareness of the factors outlined above. Needless to say, in the global swing to the Right, things have become even more challenging. In such a context, considering the few rare cases where skilled migrants live extremely comfortable lives as the norm becomes a dangerous misconception.

The two ideological pull factors mentioned above are complemented by a push factor, which has to do with a highly classed understanding of what a white-collar professional is due in their society. Many of these aspirations are clearly articulated in academic trade union action demanding separate quotas for school entry, increased fuel allowances, winning back the presently stalled vehicle permit scheme, salary hikes, and so on. While working people have every right to agitate for better material conditions, insofar as it remains unconnected to a broader movement for improving the conditions of the lot of the working class, it remains self-serving and very much within the class logic of capitalist society. Since these demands are articulated as a means of maintaining distinction, it is clear that they are not envisaged as part of a class movement. The frustration of not having these needs for distinction satisfied may push some to seek greener pastures abroad, at least financially, (perhaps as a means of social mobility based on it), only to be disappointed on most occasions.

What is to be done?

Addressing the systemic push factors listed above requires, first and foremost, greater allocations for free public higher education. This would immediately translate into more recruitments and less work per academic, and better research and teaching in the long haul. An increase in funding would also ideally lead to greater infrastructural investments, especially including improving the living conditions of those who work in regional universities amid untold hardships. Next, fairer, more creative, and, therefore, more effective recruitment policies are badly needed to attract talented individuals to university positions. Rather than carving out a ‘special category’ for academics to achieve this purpose, which is informed by a classed logic, this needs to be done through fundamental reforms in recruitment processes. Third, a persistent attack on the entrenched hierarchy within universities through internal reform is much called for. Reforming recruitment practices will go a long way towards addressing this. Measures should also be taken to introduce more stringent policies against SGBV (not to mention ragging, even though it is not directly connected to brain drain). Such measures would create a safer, fairer, and more attractive workplace, which would give more reasons for people to stay.

On top of greater allocations, we also need a transformation of our aspirations themselves if this situation is to change. That necessitates a kind of education capable of questioning the ‘paradise’ conception of Western societies, and lays bare their colonial material and ideological dimensions, in both their historical and contemporary manifestations. These colonial understandings of the ‘good life’, moreover, have devastating ecological implications for the planet, not to mention social justice. An education with the ability to transform this mindset would hopefully prove to be more than a mere path to social mobility, rather being a tool of social emancipation that renders mobility moot.

(Hasini Lecamwasam is with the Department of Political Science, University of Peradeniya)

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

Features

Friends favourite Suzi Croner returns for Oktoberfest 2026

Published

14 hours ago

2026/09/15

Sahan Weerasooriya

Charming audiences in Switzerland as Suzi Flückiger, Sri Lanka’s own Suzi Croner is coming home… for a very special occasion.

The bubbly former frontline vocalist of 90s band Friends will take the stage at a popular venue in Colombo for Oktoberfest 2026.

Known in Europe for her country and classic hits, Suzi has remained a much-loved name back home. This will be a rare chance for local fans to see her live and celebrate the voice behind so many Friends memories.

Oktoberfest 2026 in Colombo promises an evening of live music, traditional Bavarian food and beer, colourful dirndls and lederhosen, folk dancing, and plenty of community cheer.

Suzi Croner (Flückiger)

Against this lively backdrop, Suzi will take the stage for a special solo set, featuring her own pre-recorded music. She performed at the event last year too, as a solo artiste, but a German band providing the music.

This year, however she says, it’s a different scene.

“The novel attraction will be the dancers from Germany — all girls, clad in German outfits,” Suzi said. She added that the event will also highlight the activities generally connected with Oktoberfest, which should generate a lot of fun and excitement for those who join her in Colombo next month.

Suzi has become a much-in-demand artiste in Europe, and has even performed Down Under, in Melbourne.

In Switzerland, where she has been based for the past 42 years, she continues to charm audiences with country and classic hits, performing at private events and community nights across Europe.

“My weekends are generally loaded with my work as a singer,” she said. “And I also play tennis three times a week, because I need to keep fit to entertain my audience in an active way.”

Her repertoire is made up mainly of Swiss, German and English songs.

And true to form, Suzi loves springing surprises.

“So watch out when you join me at Oktoberfest 2026, in Colombo!” she said.