Features
Marriage and some amazingly accurate astrological forecasts
Excerpted from the Memoirs of a Cabinet Secretary by BP Peiris
(Continued from last week)
On my return from England as a fledgling barrister, I found that my kind father and mother had selected a bride for me, a close relative of mine. After about two months, he informed me of the fact, but I was reluctant to agree to marriage at so early an age because I was not earning enough at the Bar, not even enough to support myself.
Francis de Zoysa’s average of four guineas a month might, theoretically, have been a good yardstick, but for all practical purposes, my father had to give me money for my food and traveling which, for an advocate in those days meant first class travel by train.
In the meantime, every foreign mail was bringing me about six or seven letters from the girls amongst whom I had lived at Sutton and Ealing in England. They had all returned to their homes and the envelopes carried the stamps of their respective countries. They were harmless letters reminding me of old times, but parents probably feared that I might be under a promise of marriage to one of the letter-writers.
My mother was worried and her blood-pressure was rising. My father, to whom I had never lied since the caning I received from him for smoking in school and lying about it, asked me whether I had given a promise of marriage to any girl and said that, if I had done so, he would pull me out of the mess. I said I had given no such promise. Father then asked me why I was persistently refusing any offer of marriage and told me that my horoscope, which was a very difficult one to match, had been compared with the girl’s and had ‘agreed’ almost one-hundred per cent. I gave my consent. At the time of revising this (1976), I have been very happily married for 42 years.
My wife-to-be, Adeline, was related to me, but this relationship was extremely complicated. Her father, a simple and honest businessman, K. C. J. de Silva of Galle, was a highly respected man in the Southern province. The initials ‘K. C. J.’ were well known all the way from the Bentota Bridge down to Tissamaharama and the other way beyond Deniyaya.
I had an 18-month engagement. My father-in-law died three months after my marriage. He used to tell me stories about his rise to ‘power’, of his wealth and of the hard work which he had put in to earn that wealth. Of his integrity there was no doubt. This quality must have been ingrained in him; he expected it of others and he never forgave an ingrate. He held no university degree. But it could have been said of him that he had graduated in our local School of Business.
In the middle of my engagement, came one of the Supreme Court vacations. My normal visits to my fiancee was on Sunday by train. I had no car at the time, which was inconvenient as the train got to Galle at about 10 a.m. and I had to take the train back at 5 p.m. When the Supreme Court adjourned for the August vacation, I asked my father whether he could spare his car for me to go to Galle, and he agreed. I had arranged with my fiancee to come and spend the vacation at her house if her parents approved; but I had not asked her parents’ prior approval. The family had been brought up in a strict and conservative way.
On the morning following the commencement of the vacation, I had packed my suitcase for a two weeks stay at Galle. The suitcase was standing in the front verandah and the car was in the porch. I was about to leave when my father came out and asked me what the suitcase was for. I replied that it was the Supreme Court vacation. My father asked what the vacation had to do with the suitcase and I tactfully explained to him that the weekly Sunday train trips to Galle were wearing me out and that I proposed to spend my vacation with my fiancee.
He asked me whether I had obtained the permission of her parents, reminded me that I was not in England but going to the Southern province among very conservative people. I told him that I would take the bag, and that if I was not invited to stay at the house I would stay at the Hikkaduwa Resthouse. I reached the house at Galle at about 10 a.m. and my bag was taken out of the car and into a room. I asked the driver to take the car back to Panadura.
The home people knew that my only way of returning was by the 5 O’clock train. I was watching the clock – 4.30, 4.45 – not a hint from my mother-in-law-to-be, a kind woman, that I should get ready for the train. Five o’ clock. The train whistled and with it went my means of return. Seven-thirty, and I was asked to wash and be ready for dinner. And lo! I parked there for the next two weeks. The old couple were extremely hospitable. I received the impression that both of them liked me. They bought a piano specially for me; my fiancee did not know how to play.
And finally, came the wedding, June 8, 1934, with all the elaborate arrangements usually expected of weddings in the Southern province, in keeping with the status of the parties concerned. My father had reserved the hostel at the Manning Race Course at Boosa for the bridegroom’s party. We arrived there, changed and proceeded at the auspicious time to the bride’s house for the poruwa ceremony.
We were received with the customary honours and conducted inside by the parents of the bride to the place where the ceremony was to be held. Jayamangala gathas were sung by half a dozen girls while the bride’s step-brother was tying our thumbs with gold thread and pouring water on them. The ceremony over, I was a married man according to the customary law of Ceylon.
After the ceremony, our party returned to the Boosa Hostel for lunch. The wedding was in the afternoon. I had done only two things – booked the Police Band and booked the photographer. To the Bandmaster, I gave the programme to be played. I had no control over the speeches and, unfortunately for me, Mr G. K. W. Perera, who was asked to propose the toast of the young couple preferred to speak in Sinhala, a speech which I understood but could not reply to in that language. I thanked him in English in one sentence.
And then for our 10-day honeymoon on a quiet rubber estate which Mr Alfred Dias of Panadura placed at our disposal. The bungalow was beautiful and one of the most modem type. An excellent cook had produced an excellent dinner. We had a lovely, quiet holiday there, at the end of which we paid a visit to my wife’s parents. After two days at Galle, my wife and I returned to my father’s house at Panadura where we were to live for the next two years.
On our return, my parents were “At Home” to about 1,000 friends. During a traffic block on the narrow road in front of the house, Joseph Light, Assistant Government Agent, directed the drivers in such classical Sinhala that the drivers were unable to understand him. In the course of the evening, Francis de Zoysa made a speech and presented me with a purse from my colleagues in the Law Library.
Though my parents were of the view that, after marriage, a child should live in his or her own house away from the ancestral home, still, as I had no house of my own at the time, they readily agreed to park the two of us. There was never any unpleasantness during the two years we spent with them. My brother-in-law, Dick Dias, was building a house in Panadura. When I saw the plan, I felt the house would suit me and said I would take it when the building was completed. It was a neat, comfortable and compact house into which we moved.
Soon after my marriage, my wife and I went to consult Proctor Clifford Pereira who had given up his practice as a proctor and taken to astrology on the Occidental system. He worked from four-figure logarithm tables and charged his fees by the guinea as a lawyer. Our first visit to Clifford lasted several hours. He was a meticulous man and had a good astrological library. I had taken with me my horoscope written on an ola leaf.
He asked me several questions for over one hour – when I entered school, when I passed each of my examinations here and abroad, when I returned to Ceylon, when I was called to the Bar, when I married, etc. He worked for long with his log tables, my wife and I sitting silently before him. He then said, “The time on your ola leaf, tested with the information you have just given me, is wrong by nine minutes. I will cast your horoscope on the corrected time. Come and see me again in three weeks.”
I called again on the due date and he gave me an amazingly correct written forecast from 1934 to 1952. First, he asked me whether my wife was expecting a baby. When I said “Yes”, he said that the child would be born on April 23 following, and he was correct, where the doctor in charge of the case from the very beginning, my uncle George Wickramasuriya, F.R.C.S., F.R.C.P., F.R.C.O.G., was wrong.
Clifford then told me that I would get a Crown appointment in the Middle of August 1936, and inquired whether I had applied for anything. I said I had sent the usual application which every advocate sends for the post of Crown Counsel. He said I would never be appointed a Crown Counsel, that I would definitely get a Crown appointment but would not be in the public eye; I would be by myself, with books and papers and with no contact at all with the public. Reading further, he said “In the year … you will have a promotion, in… your second promotion, and in 1947 you will move into a political appointment.
All these forecasts were correct. But of them, I must speak in my later Chapters. Dr George Wickramasuriya, who brought my daughter into the world, was a much respected man. As I said before, he was in charge of my wife’s case from the very start. It was his last case before he went on two weeks’ leave to Nuwara Eliya. He had fixed April 10 as the date and applied for his leave accordingly. He had sent his family up in advance and was alone in Colombo, waiting for a summons in his last case, a telephone call from me; the confinement was to be at my father’s house at Panadura.
April 10 passed and we came to the 22nd. On that day, at about 3 p.m., I saw his car turning in at my father’s gates, and drums, gloves, sterilizers, and various other instruments were taken out. My wife was not in pain at the time and I asked him what all this meant. He said it was time she got “going”, that he had only three days more left of his leave and that he proposed to give her an injection, which he did, and left the house promising to return by 7 p.m. when, he thought, things ought to be going well.
My mother, whose cousin he was, had a room hastily prepared for him. He returned at the promised time, dressed as he always was, in a satin drill coat, waistcoat and trousers. As I stated, he came at 3 p.m. on April 22. The child was born at 7 p.m. on April 23 (Clifford Pereira’s first forecast). During all this period, throughout the night he refused to change into a sarong saying he was on professional duty and visited my wife’s room every half hour. A most conscientious doctor.
About half an hour after I had heard the cries of the baby, he came out of the room and asked whether he might have a bath. He then changed into an open shirt, his professional duties being over, and, being a most abstemious man, asked for a small whisky and soda. He must have been so very tired. After the first whisky, he took a second one, a most unusual thing with him, had an early dinner, after which he curled himself on the back seat of his large car and told the driver to drive to Nuwara Eliya. He had only two days leave available to him.
I had the greatest difficulty in getting him to send his bill. After about my fifth reminder, he said “Well, if you insist on a payment to me, give me…” which I thought was an extraordinarily low fee for such an eminent man. But he was one of those rare surgeons who had never a thought for a fee; with him service came first.
When I had a house of my own at Panadura, he used to come now and then to spend what he called a restful weekend. His medical bag was always in the car. It was an area of the houses of the wealthy, but right opposite my house lived a poor carpenter. The carpenter’s daughter was confined and the local general practitioner was having a difficult time with an instrument case when he noticed Dr Wickramasuriya’s car turning into my gate.
Before my guest’s bags could be taken out of the car, the carpenter was on his knees on my front doorstep imploring the doctor to come as the other doctor requested his presence. He returned after two hours having brought another child safely into the world. When I asked him what his fee would be in such a case, he said “I can’t charge that poor man a fee”.
He was human, he was sincere, and he was polite. There was always that smile on his face. Avaricious and selfish he definitely was not. He enjoyed helping, within his means, those who were in need, and his politeness went to the extent of raising his hat in a tram-car and giving up his seat to a basket-woman. The man, who could have had anything at all for afternoon tea preferred to have two slices of bread with a tasty fish or meat curry and I often enjoyed such a meal with him.
But there was also a streak of mischief in him. On On his estate at Pannipitiya, while he was playing tennis, he invited me to have some “barley water” which was in a large jug on a teapoy. I liked it so much that I asked whether I might have some more. Soon afterwards, I felt peculiar rumblings in my ‘innards’ and told him I was feeling ill. He smiled and said, “Not to worry, mister, you have only had a little too much sweet, iced toddy from the trees on my land.”
He died an early death and was mourned by his colleagues in the profession and more particularly by a grateful public. He had been the winner of the coveted Katherine Bishop Harman Prize by showing how many lives are lost through ankylostoma and hookworm in pregnant women. He received his prize in person at Oxford.
In the middle of August 1936, while spending a holiday with my wife at her house at Galle, I received a letter from father through a special messenger. To that, was attached the following letter ad dressed to me by the Legal Draftsman, which my father had opened:
Legal Draftsman’s Chambers,
Colombo.
15th August 1936
Dear Mr Peiris,
Will you be so good as to come and see me in my Chambers on Monday morning, about 10 a.m. I wish to offer you an acting appointment in this Department as an Assistant Legal Draftsman on a commencing salary of Rs 545/-.
Yours truly,
Mervyn Fonseka
I duly reported, was appointed and assumed duties on 18th August 1936 – Clifford Pereira’s second correct forecast. I served the Department for 11 years.
(To be continued)
Features
Rebuilding Sri Lanka Through Inclusive Governance
In the immediate aftermath of Cyclone Ditwah, the government has moved swiftly to establish a Presidential Task Force for Rebuilding Sri Lanka with a core committee to assess requirements, set priorities, allocate resources and raise and disburse funds. Public reaction, however, has focused on the committee’s problematic composition. All eleven committee members are men, and all non-government seats are held by business personalities with no known expertise in complex national development projects, disaster management and addressing the needs of vulnerable populations. They belong to the top echelon of Sri Lanka’s private sector which has been making extraordinary profits. The government has been urged by civil society groups to reconsider the role and purpose of this task force and reconstitute it to be more representative of the country and its multiple needs.
The group of high-powered businessmen initially appointed might greatly help mobilise funds from corporates and international donors, but this group may be ill equipped to determine priorities and oversee disbursement and spending. It would be necessary to separate fundraising, fund oversight and spending prioritisation, given the different capabilities and considerations required for each. International experience in post disaster recovery shows that inclusive and representative structures are more likely to produce outcomes that are equitable, efficient and publicly accepted. Civil society, for instance, brings knowledge rooted in communities, experience in working with vulnerable groups and a capacity to question assumptions that may otherwise go unchallenged.
A positive and important development is that the government has been responsive to these criticisms and has invited at least one civil society representative to join the Rebuilding Sri Lanka committee. This decision deserves to be taken seriously and responded to positively by civil society which needs to call for more representation rather than a single representative. Such a demand would reflect an understanding that rebuilding after a national disaster cannot be undertaken by the state and the business community alone. The inclusion of civil society will strengthen transparency and public confidence, particularly at a moment when trust in institutions remains fragile. While one appointment does not in itself ensure inclusive governance, it opens the door to a more participatory approach that needs to be expanded and institutionalised.
Costly Exclusions
Going down the road of history, the absence of inclusion in government policymaking has cost the country dearly. The exclusion of others, not of one’s own community or political party, started at the very dawn of Independence in 1948. The Father of the Nation, D S Senanayake, led his government to exclude the Malaiyaha Tamil community by depriving them of their citizenship rights. Eight years later, in 1956, the Oxford educated S W R D Bandaranaike effectively excluded the Tamil speaking people from the government by making Sinhala the sole official language. These early decisions normalised exclusion as a tool of governance rather than accommodation and paved the way for seven decades of political conflict and three decades of internal war.
Exclusion has also taken place virulently on a political party basis. Both of Sri Lanka’s post Independence constitutions were decided on by the government alone. The opposition political parties voted against the new constitutions of 1972 and 1977 because they had been excluded from participating in their design. The proposals they had made were not accepted. The basic law of the country was never forged by consensus. This legacy continues to shape adversarial politics and institutional fragility. The exclusion of other communities and political parties from decision making has led to frequent reversals of government policy. Whether in education or economic regulation or foreign policy, what one government has done the successor government has undone.
Sri Lanka’s poor performance in securing the foreign investment necessary for rapid economic growth can be attributed to this factor in the main. Policy instability is not simply an economic problem but a political one rooted in narrow ownership of power. In 2022, when the people went on to the streets to protest against the government and caused it to fall, they demanded system change in which their primary focus was corruption, which had reached very high levels both literally and figuratively. The focus on corruption, as being done by the government at present, has two beneficial impacts for the government. The first is that it ensures that a minimum of resources will be wasted so that the maximum may be used for the people’s welfare.
Second Benefit
The second benefit is that by focusing on the crime of corruption, the government can disable many leaders in the opposition. The more opposition leaders who are behind bars on charges of corruption, the less competition the government faces. Yet these gains do not substitute for the deeper requirement of inclusive governance. The present government seems to have identified corruption as the problem it will emphasise. However, reducing or eliminating corruption by itself is not going to lead to rapid economic development. Corruption is not the sole reason for the absence of economic growth. The most important factor in rapid economic growth is to have government policies that are not reversed every time a new government comes to power.
For Sri Lanka to make the transition to self-sustaining and rapid economic development, it is necessary that the economic policies followed today are not reversed tomorrow. The best way to ensure continuity of policy is to be inclusive in governance. Instead of excluding those in the opposition, the mainstream opposition in particular needs to be included. In terms of system change, the government has scored high with regard to corruption. There is a general feeling that corruption in the country is much reduced compared to the past. However, with regard to inclusion the government needs to demonstrate more commitment. This was evident in the initial choice of cabinet ministers, who were nearly all men from the majority ethnic community. Important committees it formed, including the Presidential Task Force for a Clean Sri Lanka and the Rebuilding Sri Lanka Task Force, also failed at first to reflect the diversity of the country.
In a multi ethnic and multi religious society like Sri Lanka, inclusivity is not merely symbolic. It is essential for addressing diverse perspectives and fostering mutual understanding. It is important to have members of the Tamil, Muslim and other minority communities, and women who are 52 percent of the population, appointed to important decision making bodies, especially those tasked with national recovery. Without such representation, the risk is that the very communities most affected by the crisis will remain unheard, and old grievances will be reproduced in new forms. The invitation extended to civil society to participate in the Rebuilding Sri Lanka Task Force is an important beginning. Whether it becomes a turning point will depend on whether the government chooses to make inclusion a principle of governance rather than treat it as a show of concession made under pressure.
by Jehan Perera
Features
Reservoir operation and flooding
Former Director General of Irrigation, G.T. Dharmasena, in an article, titled “Revival of Innovative systems for reservoir operation and flood forecasting” in The Island of 17 December, 2025, starts out by stating:
“Most reservoirs in Sri Lanka are agriculture and hydropower dominated. Reservoir operators are often unwilling to acknowledge the flood detention capability of major reservoirs during the onset of monsoons. Deviating from the traditional priority for food production and hydropower development, it is time to reorient the operational approach of major reservoirs operators under extreme events, where flood control becomes a vital function. While admitting that total elimination of flood impacts is not technically feasible, the impacts can be reduced by efficient operation of reservoirs and effective early warning systems”.
Addressing the question often raised by the public as to “Why is flooding more prominent downstream of reservoirs compared to the period before they were built,” Mr. Dharmasena cites the following instances: “For instance, why do (sic) Magama in Tissamaharama face floods threats after the construction of the massive Kirindi Oya reservoir? Similarly, why does Ambalantota flood after the construction of Udawalawe Reservoir? Furthermore, why is Molkawa, in the Kalutara District area, getting flooded so often after the construction of Kukule reservoir”?
“These situations exist in several other river basins, too. Engineers must, therefore, be mindful of the need to strictly control the operation of the reservoir gates by their field staff. (Since) “The actual field situation can sometimes deviate significantly from the theoretical technology… it is necessary to examine whether gate operators are strictly adhering to the operational guidelines, as gate operation currently relies too much on the discretion of the operator at the site”.
COMMENT
For Mr. Dharmasena to bring to the attention of the public that “gate operation currently relies too much on the discretion of the operator at the site”, is being disingenuous, after accepting flooding as a way of life for ALL major reservoirs for decades and not doing much about it. As far as the public is concerned, their expectation is that the Institution responsible for Reservoir Management should, not only develop the necessary guidelines to address flooding but also ensure that they are strictly administered by those responsible, without leaving it to the arbitrary discretion of field staff. This exercise should be reviewed annually after each monsoon, if lives are to be saved and livelihoods are to be sustained.
IMPACT of GATE OPERATION on FLOODING
According to Mr. Dhamasena, “Major reservoir spillways are designed for very high return periods… If the spillway gates are opened fully when reservoir is at full capacity, this can produce an artificial flood of a very large magnitude… Therefore, reservoir operators must be mindful in this regard to avoid any artificial flood creation” (Ibid). Continuing, he states: “In reality reservoir spillways are often designed for the sole safety of the reservoir structure, often compromising the safety of the downstream population. This design concept was promoted by foreign agencies in recent times to safeguard their investment for dams. Consequently, the discharge capacities of these spill gates significantly exceed the natural carrying capacity of river(s) downstream” (Ibid).
COMMENT
The design concept where priority is given to the “sole safety of the structure” that causes the discharge capacity of spill gates to “significantly exceed” the carrying capacity of the river is not limited to foreign agencies. Such concepts are also adopted by local designers as well, judging from the fact that flooding is accepted as an inevitable feature of reservoirs. Since design concepts in their current form lack concern for serious destructive consequences downstream and, therefore, unacceptable, it is imperative that the Government mandates that current design criteria are revisited as a critical part of the restoration programme.
CONNECTIVITY BETWEEN GATE OPENINGS and SAFETY MEASURES
It is only after the devastation of historic proportions left behind by Cyclone Ditwah that the Public is aware that major reservoirs are designed with spill gate openings to protect the safety of the structure without factoring in the consequences downstream, such as the safety of the population is an unacceptable proposition. The Institution or Institutions associated with the design have a responsibility not only to inform but also work together with Institutions such as Disaster Management and any others responsible for the consequences downstream, so that they could prepare for what is to follow.
Without working in isolation and without limiting it only to, informing related Institutions, the need is for Institutions that design reservoirs to work as a team with Forecasting and Disaster Management and develop operational frameworks that should be institutionalised and approved by the Cabinet of Ministers. The need is to recognize that without connectivity between spill gate openings and safety measures downstream, catastrophes downstream are bound to recur.
Therefore, the mandate for dam designers and those responsible for disaster management and forecasting should be for them to jointly establish guidelines relating to what safety measures are to be adopted for varying degrees of spill gate openings. For instance, the carrying capacity of the river should relate with a specific openinig of the spill gate. Another specific opening is required when the population should be compelled to move to high ground. The process should continue until the spill gate opening is such that it warrants the population to be evacuated. This relationship could also be established by relating the spill gate openings to the width of the river downstream.
The measures recommended above should be backed up by the judicious use of the land within the flood plain of reservoirs for “DRY DAMS” with sufficient capacity to intercept part of the spill gate discharge from which excess water could be released within the carrying capacity of the river. By relating the capacity of the DRY DAM to the spill gate opening, a degree of safety could be established. However, since the practice of demarcating flood plains is not taken seriously by the Institution concerned, the Government should introduce a Bill that such demarcations are made mandatory as part of State Land in the design and operation of reservoirs. Adopting such a practice would not only contribute significantly to control flooding, but also save lives by not permitting settlement but permitting agricultural activities only within these zones. Furthermore, the creation of an intermediate zone to contain excess flood waters would not tax the safety measures to the extent it would in the absence of such a safety net.
CONCLUSION
Perhaps, the towns of Kotmale and Gampola suffered severe flooding and loss of life because the opening of spill gates to release the unprecedented volumes of water from Cyclone Ditwah, was warranted by the need to ensure the safety of Kotmale and Upper Kotmale Dams.
This and other similar disasters bring into focus the connectivity that exists between forecasting, operation of spill gates, flooding and disaster management. Therefore, it is imperative that the government introduce the much-needed legislative and executive measures to ensure that the agencies associated with these disciplines develop a common operational framework to mitigate flooding and its destructive consequences. A critical feature of such a framework should be the demarcation of the flood plain, and decree that land within the flood plain is a zone set aside for DRY DAMS, planted with trees and free of human settlements, other than for agricultural purposes. In addition, the mandate of such a framework should establish for each river basin the relationship between the degree to which spill gates are opened with levels of flooding and appropriate safety measures.
The government should insist that associated Agencies identify and conduct a pilot project to ascertain the efficacy of the recommendations cited above and if need be, modify it accordingly, so that downstream physical features that are unique to each river basin are taken into account and made an integral feature of reservoir design. Even if such restrictions downstream limit the capacities to store spill gate discharges, it has to be appreciated that providing such facilities within the flood plain to any degree would mitigate the destructive consequences of the flooding.
By Neville Ladduwahetty
Features
Listening to the Language of Shells
The ocean rarely raises its voice. Instead, it leaves behind signs — subtle, intricate and enduring — for those willing to observe closely. Along Sri Lanka’s shores, these signs often appear in the form of seashells: spiralled, ridged, polished by waves, carrying within them the quiet history of marine life. For Marine Naturalist Dr. Malik Fernando, these shells are not souvenirs of the sea but storytellers, bearing witness to ecological change, resilience and loss.
“Seashells are among the most eloquent narrators of the ocean’s condition,” Dr. Fernando told The Island. “They are biological archives. If you know how to read them, they reveal the story of our seas, past and present.”
A long-standing marine conservationist and a member of the Marine Subcommittee of the Wildlife & Nature Protection Society (WNPS), Dr. Fernando has dedicated much of his life to understanding and protecting Sri Lanka’s marine ecosystems. While charismatic megafauna often dominate conservation discourse, he has consistently drawn attention to less celebrated but equally vital marine organisms — particularly molluscs, whose shells are integral to coastal and reef ecosystems.
“Shells are often admired for their beauty, but rarely for their function,” he said. “They are homes, shields and structural components of marine habitats. When shell-bearing organisms decline, it destabilises entire food webs.”
Sri Lanka’s geographical identity as an island nation, Dr. Fernando says, is paradoxically underrepresented in national conservation priorities. “We speak passionately about forests and wildlife on land, but our relationship with the ocean remains largely extractive,” he noted. “We fish, mine sand, build along the coast and pollute, yet fail to pause and ask how much the sea can endure.”
Through his work with the WNPS Marine Subcommittee, Dr. Fernando has been at the forefront of advocating for science-led marine policy and integrated coastal management. He stressed that fragmented governance and weak enforcement continue to undermine marine protection efforts. “The ocean does not recognise administrative boundaries,” he said. “But unfortunately, our policies often do.”
He believes that one of the greatest challenges facing marine conservation in Sri Lanka is invisibility. “What happens underwater is out of sight, and therefore out of mind,” he said. “Coral bleaching, mollusc depletion, habitat destruction — these crises unfold silently. By the time the impacts reach the shore, it is often too late.”
Seashells, in this context, become messengers. Changes in shell thickness, size and abundance, Dr. Fernando explained, can signal shifts in ocean chemistry, rising temperatures and increasing acidity — all linked to climate change. “Ocean acidification weakens shells,” he said. “It is a chemical reality with biological consequences. When shells grow thinner, organisms become more vulnerable, and ecosystems less stable.”
Climate change, he warned, is no longer a distant threat but an active force reshaping Sri Lanka’s marine environment. “We are already witnessing altered breeding cycles, migration patterns and species distribution,” he said. “Marine life is responding rapidly. The question is whether humans will respond wisely.”
Despite the gravity of these challenges, Dr. Fernando remains an advocate of hope rooted in knowledge. He believes public awareness and education are essential to reversing marine degradation. “You cannot expect people to protect what they do not understand,” he said. “Marine literacy must begin early — in schools, communities and through public storytelling.”
It is this belief that has driven his involvement in initiatives that use visual narratives to communicate marine science to broader audiences. According to Dr. Fernando, imagery, art and heritage-based storytelling can evoke emotional connections that data alone cannot. “A well-composed image of a shell can inspire curiosity,” he said. “Curiosity leads to respect, and respect to protection.”
Shells, he added, also hold cultural and historical significance in Sri Lanka, having been used for ornamentation, ritual objects and trade for centuries. “They connect nature and culture,” he said. “By celebrating shells, we are also honouring coastal communities whose lives have long been intertwined with the sea.”
However, Dr. Fernando cautioned against romanticising the ocean without acknowledging responsibility. “Celebration must go hand in hand with conservation,” he said. “Otherwise, we risk turning heritage into exploitation.”
He was particularly critical of unregulated shell collection and commercialisation. “What seems harmless — picking up shells — can have cumulative impacts,” he said. “When multiplied across thousands of visitors, it becomes extraction.”
As Sri Lanka continues to promote coastal tourism, Dr. Fernando emphasised the need for sustainability frameworks that prioritise ecosystem health. “Tourism must not come at the cost of the very environments it depends on,” he said. “Marine conservation is not anti-development; it is pro-future.”

Dr. Malik Fernando
Reflecting on his decades-long engagement with the sea, Dr. Fernando described marine conservation as both a scientific pursuit and a moral obligation. “The ocean has given us food, livelihoods, climate regulation and beauty,” he said. “Protecting it is not an act of charity; it is an act of responsibility.”
He called for stronger collaboration between scientists, policymakers, civil society and the private sector. “No single entity can safeguard the ocean alone,” he said. “Conservation requires collective stewardship.”
Yet, amid concern, Dr. Fernando expressed cautious optimism. “Sri Lanka still has immense marine wealth,” he said. “Our reefs, seagrass beds and coastal waters are resilient, if given a chance.”
Standing at the edge of the sea, shells scattered along the sand, one is reminded that the ocean does not shout its warnings. It leaves behind clues — delicate, enduring, easily overlooked. For Dr. Malik Fernando, those clues demand attention.
“The sea is constantly communicating,” he said. “In shells, in currents, in changing patterns of life. The real question is whether we, as a society, are finally prepared to listen — and to act before silence replaces the story.”
By Ifham Nizam
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