Features
Reflecting on Victor Ratnayake
By Uditha Devapriya

Somewhere in early 2015, I took the bus from Maradana to Nugegoda, the 176. It was, by all accounts, an ordinary weekday morning, and people were going about and shuttling from one workplace to another. Normally, the 176 bus can be a long ride, but on this occasion, it wasn’t. Having left a meeting with a friend, I was now on my way to get a gift for my father, a book at Sarasavi. It would have been around 10 am when I boarded the bus, and it was around an hour and 10 minutes later when I reached Nugegoda.
There was, I recall, hardly a sound. The city seemed to have gone to sleep, apart from the occasional public announcement and the passing trains. As I stepped down from the bus, however, the loudspeakers along the road to the Station played a song. It took some time for me to catch the lyrics. They were playing Victor Ratnayake’s Pawe Wala. Almost at once, in an otherwise quiet hour, it revived that entire area. One by one, the people by my side and on the main road, starting from the lottery ticket sellers, began humming the tune. It looked like a scene from a musical – and at one level, it was.
It seems surprising to us now, but Pawe Wala was not written for Victor Ratnayake. It was originally written for Mervin Perera, whose voice, in certain respects, resembles Victor’s. At the last SA Prasangaya, held in 2012 at Colombo, Ratnayake remembered Mervin and his act of allowing his friend to perform the song. “I am a Buddhist,” Ratnayake told his audience, “and as a Buddhist, I wish that Mervin attains Nibbana.” It was not merely a tribute from one singer to another: it was, as Ratnayake himself would agree, an acknowledgement that, in the performing arts, it is not always profit that matters, but also, and more importantly, the sense of camaraderie which invariably springs up between artistes.
Today of course, for all intents and purposes, Pawe Wala is decidedly Victor’s. It is, I think, roughly what Ratna Deepa is to Amaradeva and Ol’ Man River is to Paul Robeson: his signature tune, the one which helps us identify the man and his work. In the pantheon of singers and musicians, in Sri Lanka, Victor Ratnayake is certainly more than a singer and a musician. He is, as Carlo Fonseka wrote on the eve of the last SA Prasangaya 10 years ago, the successor to Amaradeva, the king of Sinhala music, the emperor who rules supreme. He is all these things, and more. To me, however, he is, and always will be, Victor.
Victor Ratnayake has that inextricable, magical ability to make you forget what you are doing by summoning his voice. Amaradeva had that ability too. But Amaradeva was and is of a different order and temperament. While Victor sings of the moment, the present, the joys and sorrows he is going through now, Amaradeva’s concerns seem more mundane, spread across a wider canvas and landscape: the country, its people, its heritage. Victor’s work, on the other hand, has always centred on the self: it is more Dionysian, more affirmative of the individual, one could almost say more oriented to the ego, than Amaradeva’s. In this respect I think his definitive song would be, not Pawe Wala, but Sanda Hiru Tharu.
සද හිරු තරු පවතින තුරු අපි මැරෙන්නෙ නෑ
අනඟ බඹර තරුණ අපි අමර වරම අපිට හිමි
අපි මැරෙන්නෙ නෑ අපි මැරෙන්නෙ නෑ
In much of his work, Victor rebels not merely against convention and conformity, but the very strictures and codes that govern life and death. Life, he points out in the above lines, is followed by death, and then again by life: this is the typical, conventional Buddhist view of things. But instead of turning that into an object of contemplation, as Amaradeva does in those countless songs of his which venerate Buddhism and Sinhala culture, Victor celebrates it: life may be followed by death, but it is also followed by life, and as long as that holds true, we will never die. We will keep returning to this earth. We will keep on living.
It would be simplistic, if not inaccurate, to reduce Victor Ratnayake’s work purely to this optimistic view of life. Victor’s views are not always cheery or optimistic, and they do not always celebrate life. They also give us reason to grieve, to cry, to brood, to contemplate. Miyuru Kalpana and Sanda Kan Wasila, the latter more than the former, delve into that impenetrable sadness which goes into loving and devoting one’s life Sanda Kan Wasila, a thinly veiled lament by a lover – more likely a husband – who has been jilted, the author constantly emphasises his sense of betrayal. And yet, somewhere down the line, the lover silently wishes that she who has betrayed him returns to him.
සොයා එන්න ගණඳුර තරු නිවලා
මගේ එළිය අද ඔබ පමණි
Unlike Sanda Hiru Tharu, where the performer affirms life wherever and whenever, at night and in day, here he draws a clear, almost Manichean distinction between darkness and light. There is a constant interplay between these two polarities. The result of it all is to emphasise a sense of melancholia and a lack of hope. Unlike Amaradeva, whose lyrics, even at their most sorrowful, represses and modulates, Victor gushes out. He does not reveal all his feelings at once, but he is definitely willing to reveal what they are. He may be controlled in what he expresses, but he we sense that he wants to express.
Victor’s life, of course, has been as colourful as his music. Yet one comes across not just parallels, but also contradictions, between these two. His life, in that sense, is not only an affirmation, but also a negation, of the ideals his songs relate to. For just as he has sung of rebellion, defiance, he has also sung of history, heritage, culture: of values that promote, not defiance, but conformity. “Victor Ratnayake,” a friend of mine argued some time ago, “has contributed indelibly to the Sinhala Buddhist heritage of this land.” This may not be a totally accurate reading of Victor’s work, but it is correct, and justifiable.
Yet, again, one comes across a contradiction here. The man who affirms life at every corner and turn may turn around and sing of the history and heritage of this country and its people. He may be a “nationalist” who, from time to time, airs views that seem controversial and in fact are. But Victor Ratnayake’s entire life, from his heyday in the SA Prasangaya to his other shows and concerts, even those from recent years, has been a negation of the austerity and conformism he has promoted in many of his songs. In this he is, I believe, closer to Nanda Malini than to his other contemporaries, such as Sunil Edirisinghe. Like Malini, he dwells on love, but also mundane matters. The difference is that Malini has been much more sensitive and susceptible to the political element in art than Victor has ever been.
Certainly, it is disconcerting to listen to lyrics like the following, from a man who has spent half his lifetime celebrating the joy of living. This is from Budu Hamuduruwo, which, like Dewram Vehere, is Victor’s most plaintive religious song.
බුදු හාමුදුරුවො අපිත් දකින්නැති
බණත් අහන්නැති ඒ කාලේ
නිවන් දකින්නට පිං මදි වෙන්නැති
ඒකයි තවමත් සංසාරේ
Whereas in much of his other work the man dwells on the inevitability of life, here he downright broods on the futility of living. We are not fortunate enough, he tells us, to comprehend or imbibe the teachings of Buddhism. This, he adds, has kept us from escaping the samsaric cycle, that same cycle he celebrates in songs like Sanda Hiru Tharu. In Budu Hamuduruwo and Dewram Vehere Victor more or less transforms from a bon viveur to a moralist and a preacher, castigating us for affirming life too much.
All in all, I would contend that Victor Ratnayake’s voice has been an advantage to him in this transformation: it lends itself as easily to his secular songs as it does to his more mundane ones. In that sense, he is hard to frame to one mood or to one temperament: he embodies many moods, many temperaments. To that end, he has succeeded in embodying an entire country and an entire people: saddled with paradoxes, too many of them, but at the end of the day, united despite them. This, to me, will always be Victor at his best.
The writer is an international relations analyst, researcher, and columnist who can be reached at udakdev1@gmail.com.
Features
Humanitarian leadership in a time of war
There has been a rare consensus of opinion in the country that the government’s humanitarian response to the sinking of Iran’s naval ship IRIS Dena was the correct one. The support has spanned the party political spectrum and different sections of society. Social media commentary, statements by political parties and discussion in mainstream media have all largely taken the position that Sri Lanka acted in accordance with humanitarian principles and international law. In a period when public debate in Sri Lanka is often sharply divided, the sense of agreement on this issue is noteworthy and reflects positively on the ethos and culture of a society that cares for those in distress. A similar phenomenon was to be witnessed in the rallying of people of all ethnicities and backgrounds to help those affected by the Ditwah Cyclone in December last year.
The events that led to this situation unfolded with dramatic speed. In the early hours before sunrise the Dina made a distress call. The ship was one of three Iranian naval vessels that had taken part in a naval gathering organised by India in which more than 70 countries had participated, including Sri Lanka. Naval gatherings of this nature are intended to foster professional exchange, confidence building and goodwill between navies. They are also governed by strict protocols regarding armaments and conduct.
When the exhibition ended open war between the United States and Iran had not yet broken out. The three Iranian ships that participated in the exhibition left the Indian port and headed into international waters on their journey back home. Under the protocol governing such gatherings ships may not be equipped with offensive armaments. This left them particularly vulnerable once the regional situation changed dramatically, though the US Indo-Pacific Command insists the ship was armed. The sudden outbreak of war between the United States and Iran would have alerted the Iranian ships that they were sailing into danger. According to reports, they sought safe harbour and requested docking in Sri Lanka’s ports but before the Sri Lankan government could respond the Dena was fatally hit by a torpedo.
International Law
The sinking of the Dena occurred just outside Sri Lanka’s territorial waters. Whatever decision the Sri Lankan government made at this time was bound to be fraught with consequence. The war that is currently being fought in the Middle East is a no-holds-barred one in which more than 15 countries have come under attack. Now the sinking of the Dena so close to Sri Lanka’s maritime boundary has meant that the war has come to the very shores of the country. In times of war emotions run high on all sides and perceptions of friend and enemy can easily become distorted. Parties involved in the conflict tend to gravitate to the position that “those who are not with us are against us.” Such a mindset leaves little room for neutrality or humanitarian discretion.
In such situations countries that are not directly involved in the conflict may wish to remain outside it by avoiding engagement. Foreign Minister Vijitha Herath informed the international media that Sri Lanka’s response to the present crisis was rooted in humanitarian principles, international law and the United Nations. The Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) which was adopted 1982 provides the legal framework governing maritime conduct and obliges states to render assistance to persons in distress at sea. In terms of UNCLOS, countries are required to render help to anyone facing danger in maritime waters regardless of nationality or the circumstances that led to the emergency. Sri Lanka’s response to the distress call therefore reflects both humanitarianism and adherence to international law.
Within a short period of receiving the distress message from the stricken Iranian warship the Sri Lankan government sent its navy to the rescue. They rescued more than thirty Iranian sailors who had survived the attack and were struggling in the water. The rescue operation also brought to Sri Lanka the bodies of those who had perished when their ship sank. The scale of the humanitarian challenge is significant. Sri Lanka now has custody of more than eighty bodies of sailors who lost their lives in the sinking of the Dena. In addition, a second Iranian naval ship IRINS Bushehr with more than two hundred sailors has come under Sri Lanka’s protection. The government therefore finds itself responsible for survivors but also for the dignified treatment of the bodies of the dead Iranian sailors.
Sri Lanka’s decision to render aid based on humanitarian principles, not political allegiance, reinforces the importance of a rules-based international order for all countries. Reliance on international law is particularly important for small countries like Sri Lanka that lack the power to defend themselves against larger actors. For such countries a rules-based international order provides at least a measure of protection by ensuring that all states operate within a framework of agreed norms. Sri Lanka itself has played a notable role in promoting such norms. In 1971 the United Nations General Assembly adopted a resolution declaring the Indian Ocean a Zone of Peace. The initiative for this proposal came from Sri Lanka, which argued that the Indian Ocean should be protected from great power rivalry and militarisation.
Moral Beacon
Unfortunately, the current global climate suggests that the rules-based order is barely operative. Conflicts in different parts of the world have increasingly shown disregard for the norms and institutions that were created in the aftermath of the Second World War to regulate international behaviour. In such circumstances it becomes even more important for smaller countries to demonstrate their commitment to international law and to convert the bigger countries to adopt more humane and universal thinking. The humanitarian response to the Iranian sailors therefore needs to be seen in this wider context. By acting swiftly to rescue those in distress and by affirming that its actions are guided by international law, Sri Lanka has enhanced its reputation as a small country that values peace, humane values, cooperation and the rule of law. It would be a relief to the Sri Lankan government that earlier communications that the US government was urging Sri Lanka not to repatriate the Iranian sailors has been modified to the US publicly acknowledging the applicability of international law to what Sri Lanka does.
The country’s own experience of internal conflict has shaped public consciousness in important ways. Sri Lanka endured a violent internal war that lasted nearly three decades. During that period questions relating to the treatment of combatants, the protection of civilians, missing persons and accountability became central issues. As a result, Sri Lankans today are familiar with the provisions of international law that deal with war crimes, the treatment of wounded or disabled combatants and the fate of those who go missing in conflict. The country continues to host an international presence in the form of UN agencies and the ICRC that work with the government on humanitarian and post conflict issues. The government needs to apply the same principled commitment of humanitarianism and the rule of law to the unresolved issues from Sri Lanka’s own civil war, including accountability and reconciliation.
By affirming humanitarian principles and acting accordingly towards the Iranian sailors and their ship Sri Lanka has become a moral beacon for peace and goodwill in a world that often appears to be moving in the opposite direction. At a time when geopolitical rivalries are intensifying and humanitarian norms are frequently ignored, such actions carry symbolic significance. The credibility of Sri Lanka’s moral stance abroad will be further enhanced by its ability to uphold similar principles at home. Sri Lanka continues to grapple with unresolved issues arising from its own internal conflict including questions of accountability, justice, reparations and reconciliation. It has a duty not only to its own citizens, but also to suffering humanity everywhere. Addressing its own internal issues sincerely will strengthen Sri Lanka’s moral standing in the international community and help it to be a force for a new and better world.
BY Jehan Perera
Features
Language: The symbolic expression of thought
It was Henry Sweet, the English phonetician and language scholar, who said, “Language may be defined as the expression of thought by means of speech sounds“. In today’s context, where language extends beyond spoken sounds to written text, and even into signs, it is best to generalise more and express that language is the “symbolic expression of thought“. The opposite is also true: without the ability to think, there will not be a proper development of the ability to express in a language, as seen in individuals with intellectual disability.
Viewing language as the symbolic expression of thought is a philosophical way to look at early childhood education. It suggests that language is not just about learning words; it is about a child learning that one thing, be it a sound, a scribble, or a gesture, can represent something else, such as an object, a feeling, or an idea. It facilitates the ever-so-important understanding of the given occurrence rather than committing it purely to memory. In the world of a 0–5-year-old, this “symbolic leap” of understanding is the single most important cognitive milestone.
Of course, learning a language or even more than one language is absolutely crucial for education. Here is how that viewpoint fits into early life education:
1. From Concrete to Abstract
Infants live in a “concrete” world: if they cannot see it or touch it, it does not exist. Early education helps them to move toward symbolic thought. When a toddler realises that the sound “ball” stands for that round, bouncy thing in the corner, they have decoded a symbol. Teachers and parents need to facilitate this by connecting physical objects to labels constantly. This is why “Show and Tell” is a staple of early education, as it gently compels the child to use symbols, words or actions to describe a tangible object to others, who might not even see it clearly.
2. The Multi-Modal Nature of Symbols
Because language is “symbolic,” it does not matter how exactly it is expressed. The human brain treats spoken words, written text, and sign language with similar neural machinery.
Many educators advocate the use of “Baby Signs” (simple gestures) before a child can speak. This is powerful because it proves the child has the thought (e.g., “I am hungry”) and can use a symbol like putting the hand to the mouth, before their vocal cords are physically ready to produce the word denoting hunger.
Writing is the most abstract symbol of all: it is a squiggle written on a page, representing a sound, which represents an idea or a thought. Early childhood education prepares children for this by encouraging “emergent writing” (scribbling), even where a child proudly points to a messy circle that the child has drawn and says, “This says ‘I love Mommy’.”
3. Symbolic Play (The Dress Rehearsal)
As recognised in many quarters, play is where this theory comes to life. Between ages 2 and 3, children enter the Symbolic Play stage. Often, there is object substitution, as when a child picks up a banana and holds it to his or her ear like a telephone. In effect, this is a massive intellectual achievement. The child is mentally “decoupling” the object from its physical reality and assigning it a symbolic meaning. In early education, we need to encourage this because if a child can use a block as a “car,” they are developing the mental flexibility required to later understand that the letter “C” stands for the sound of “K” as well.
4. Language as a Tool for “Internal Thought”
Perhaps the most fascinating fit is the work of psychologist Lev Vygotsky, who argued that language eventually turns inward to become private speech. Have you ever seen a 4-year-old talking to himself or herself while building a toy tower? “No, the big one goes here….. the red one goes here…. steady… there.” That is a form of self-regulation. Educators encourage this “thinking out loudly.” It is the way children use the symbol system of language to organise their own thoughts and solve problems. Eventually, this speech becomes silent as “inner thought.”
Finally, there is the charming thought of the feasibility of conversing with very young children in two or even three or more languages. In Sri Lanka, the three main languages are Sinhala, Tamil and English. There are questions asked as to whether it is OK to talk to little ones in all three languages or even in two, so that they would learn?
According to scientific authorities, the short, clear and unequivocal answer to that query is that not only is it “OK”, it is also a significant cognitive gift to a child.
In a trilingual environment like Sri Lanka, many parents worry that multiple languages will “confuse” a child or cause a “speech delay.” However, modern neuroscience has debunked these myths. The infant brain is perfectly capable of building three or even more separate “lexicons” (vocabularies) simultaneously.
Here is how the “symbolic expression of thought” works in a multilingual brain and how we can manage it effectively.
a). The “Multiple Labels” Phenomenon
In a monolingual home, a child learns one symbol for an object. For example, take the word “Apple.” In a Sri Lankan trilingual home, the child learns three symbols for that same thought:
* Apple (English)
* Apal
(Sinhala – ඇපල්)
* Appil
(Tamil – ஆப்பிள்)
Because the trilingual child learns that one “thought” can be expressed by multiple “symbols,” the child’s brain becomes more flexible. This is why bilingual and trilingual children often score higher on tasks involving “executive function”, meaning the ability to switch focus and solve complex problems.
b). Is there a “Delay”?
(The Common Myth)
One might notice that a child in a trilingual home may start to speak slightly later than a monolingual peer, or they might have a smaller vocabulary in each language at age two.
However, if one adds up the total number of words they know across all three languages, they are usually ahead of monolingual children. By age five, they typically catch up in all languages and possess a much more “plastic” and adaptable brain.
c). Strategies for Success: How to Do It?
To help the child’s brain organise these three symbol systems, it helps to have some “consistency.” Here are the two most effective methods:
* One Person, One Language (OPOL), the so-called “gold standard” for multilingual families.
Amma
speaks only Sinhala, while the Father speaks only English, and the Grandparents or Nanny speak only Tamil. The child learns to associate a specific language with a specific person. Their brain creates a “map”: “When I talk to Amma, I use these sounds; when I talk to Thaththa, I use those,” etc.
*
Situational/Contextual Learning. If the parents speak all three, one could divide languages by “environment”: English at the dinner table, Sinhala during play and bath time and Tamil when visiting relatives or at the market.
These, of course, need NOT be very rigid rules, but general guidance, applied judiciously and ever-so-kindly.
d). “Code-Mixing” is Normal
We need not be alarmed if a 3-year-old says something like: “Ammi, I want that palam (fruit).” This is called Code-Mixing. It is NOT a sign of confusion; it is a sign of efficiency. The child’s brain is searching for the quickest way to express a thought and grabs the most “available” word from their three language cupboards. As they get older, perhaps around age 4 or 5, they will naturally learn to separate them perfectly.
e). The “Sri Lankan Advantage”
Growing up trilingual in Sri Lanka provides a massive social and cognitive advantage.
For a start, there will be Cultural Empathy. Language actually carries culture. A child who speaks Sinhala, Tamil, and English can navigate all social spheres of the country quite effortlessly.
In addition, there are the benefits of a Phonetic Range. Sinhala and Tamil have many sounds that do not exist in English (and even vice versa). Learning these as a child wires the ears to hear and reproduce almost any human sound, making it much easier to learn more languages (like French or Japanese) later in life.
As an abiding thought, it is the considered opinion of the author that a trilingual Sri Lanka will go a long way towards the goals and display of racial harmony, respect for different ethnic groups, and unrivalled national coordination in our beautiful Motherland. Then it would become a utopian heaven, where all people, as just Sri Lankans, can live in admirable concordant synchrony, rather than as splintered clusters divided by ethnicity, language and culture.
A Helpful Summary Checklist for Parents
* Do Not Drop a Language:
If you stop speaking Tamil because you are worried about English, the child loses that “neural real estate.” Keep all three languages going.
* High-Quality Input:
Do not just use “commands” (Eat! Sleep!). Use the Parentese and Serve and Return methods (mentioned in an earlier article) in all the languages.
* Employ Patience:
If the little one mixes up some words, just model the right words and gently correct the sentence and present it to the child like a suggestion, without scolding or finding fault with him or her. The child will then learn effortlessly and without resentment or shame.
by Dr b. J. C. Perera
MBBS(Cey), DCH(Cey), DCH(Eng), MD(Paediatrics), MRCP(UK), FRCP(Edin), FRCP(Lond), FRCPCH(UK), FSLCPaed, FCCP, Hony.
FRCPCH(UK), Hony. FCGP(SL)
Specialist Consultant Paediatrician and Honorary Senior Fellow, Postgraduate Institute of Medicine, University of Colombo, Sri Lanka
Features
SIMPSON’S … set to carve a distinct sonic identity
It is, indeed, encouraging to see our local artistes working on new formats, where their music is concerned.
Variety is the spice of life, they say, and I do agree, especially when it comes to music.
Blending modern synth textures, ambient layers and soulful undertones, the group SIMPSON’S is set to carve a distinct sonic identity within Sri Lanka’s contemporary music landscape.
Their vision, they say, is not simply to produce songs, but to create emotional atmospheres – experiences that elevate, energise and resonate, both locally and beyond.
This four-piece outfit came into the scene, less than two years ago, and they are already making waves with their debut single ‘Balaporottuwak’ (Hope).
The song, I’m told, marks the beginning of a new sound, and at the forefront of ‘Balaporottuwak’ is the group’s lead vocalist and guitarist, Ryo Hera, who brings a rich cultural heritage to the stage.
As a professional Kandyan Wes dancer, Ryo’s commanding presence and textured vocals bring a distinct energy to the band’s sound.
‘Balaporottuwak’

Ryo Hera: Vocals for ‘Balaporottuwak’
is more than just a debut single – it’s a declaration of intent. The band is merging tradition and modernity, power and subtlety, to create a sound that’s both authentic and innovative.
With this song, SIMPSON’S is inviting listeners to join them on an evolving musical journey, one that’s built on vision and creativity.
The recording process for ‘Balaporottuwak’ was organic and instinctive, with the band shaping the song through live studio sessions.
Dileepa Liyanage, the keyboardist and composer, is the principal sound mind behind SIMPSON’S.
With experience spanning background scores, commercial projects, cinematic themes and jingles across multiple genres, Dileepa brings structural finesse and atmospheric depth to the band’s arrangements.
He described the recording process of ‘Balaporottuwak’ as organic and instinctive: “When Ryo Hera opens his voice, it becomes effortless to shape it into any musical colour. The tone naturally adapts.”
The band’s lineup includes Buddhima Chalanu on bass, and Savidya Yasaru on drums, and, together, they create a sound that’s not just a reflection of their individual talents, but a collective vision.

Dileepa Liyanage: Brings
structural finesse and
atmospheric depth to the
band’s arrangements
What sets SIMPSON’S apart is their decision to keep the production in-house – mixing and mastering the song themselves. This allows them to maintain their unique sound and artistic autonomy.
“We work as a family and each member is given the freedom to work out his music on the instruments he handles and then, in the studio, we put everything together,” said Dileepa, adding that their goal is to release an album, made up of Sinhala and English songs.
Steering this creative core is manager Mangala Samarajeewa, whose early career included managing various international artistes. His guidance has positioned SIMPSON’S not merely as a performing unit, but as a carefully envisioned project – one aimed at expanding Sri Lanka’s contemporary music vocabulary.
SIMPSON’S are quite active in the scene here, performing, on a regular basis, at popular venues in Colombo, and down south, as well.
They are also seen, and heard, on Spotify, TikTok, Apple Music, iTunes, and Deezer.
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