Soon after Pyongyang unveiled a new facility to produce nuclear bomb fuel, with Kim Jong Un reaffirming plans to expand the country’s nuclear forces “at an exponential rate”, President Xi Jinping crossed the border after seven years to visit his neighbouring state. Before his arrival, Xi published a carefully crafted message, couched in the deeply rooted lexicon of diplomacy and carrying layered meanings for a North Korean audience, in which he argued against hegemonic politics and the erosion of international rules. It was not merely a gesture of goodwill but a calculated act of strategic signaling, written in the language of stability while echoing the rhetoric of geopolitical rivalry that increasingly shapes the international order.

The visit itself, staged with extraordinary ceremony across Pyongyang’s grand civic spaces, was presented as an affirmation of friendship between socialist neighbours. Yet beneath the choreographed spectacle lies a more complicated reality. China is no longer speaking to North Korea as a problem to be solved, but as a condition to be managed within a fragmented international system. Xi’s carefully chosen phrases — “shared destiny”, “mutual assistance” and “unbreakable friendship” — were not decorative flourishes. They were assertions of permanence in a relationship that has survived war, sanctions and decades of strategic ambiguity.

At Kim Il Sung Square, where formations of soldiers, students and citizens performed beneath fluttering flags, the language of unity concealed an underlying imbalance. China’s diplomatic doctrine, repeatedly articulated in Xi’s writings, presents both states as “fellow travellers on the socialist road”; yet the material reality is more hierarchical. Beijing is not merely a partner to Pyongyang. It is the centre of gravity around which much of the North Korean system revolves economically, diplomatically and, increasingly, strategically. This is not openly acknowledged, but it is reflected in trade patterns, energy dependence and the tightly managed permeability of the border regions.

Xi’s article, published ahead of the visit and carried by North Korean and Chinese state media alike, reveals the intellectual framework behind this engagement. It speaks of “top-level strategic guidance”, a phrase that in Chinese political language denotes the primacy of leader-to-leader diplomacy over institutional negotiation. It also reiterates opposition to “hegemonism and power politics”, a formulation that simultaneously criticizes Western strategic dominance while offering ideological reassurance to Pyongyang. The brilliance of the wording lies in its dual purpose. It reassures North Korea while signaling to the United States without ever mentioning it directly.

Less visible, but widely recognized among regional specialists, is the dense network of economic activity that sustains the frontier between China and North Korea. Officially, trade remains constrained by sanctions and regulatory controls. Unofficially, the border operates through a mixture of state-approved commerce, local barter arrangements and carefully managed informal exchanges. Chinese provinces adjoining the frontier depend on this controlled permeability, particularly in sectors such as food supplies, textiles and consumer goods. In return, North Korea provides labour, access concessions and selected resource exports. This is not a “shadow economy” but a tolerated grey area maintained by both governments because it preserves stability without allowing the relationship to descend into crisis.

It is within this grey area that stories of “secret networks” frequently emerge. Yet the reality is often more bureaucratic than clandestine. Trade is driven less by rogue actors than by overlapping permissions, discretionary enforcement and shifting instructions from the centre. The notion of a handful of powerful profiteers orchestrating cross-border commerce oversimplifies a system in which benefits are dispersed through layers of administrative authority, provincial intermediaries and sanctioned enterprises. The defining feature is not secrecy but carefully managed ambiguity.

Xi’s emphasis on “jointly upholding the international system with the United Nations at its core” becomes particularly revealing when viewed alongside these frontier realities. On the surface, it is a reaffirmation of multilateral order. In practice, it reflects China’s preference for a world in which legitimacy flows through established institutions, even while bilateral relationships such as that with North Korea operate according to a different set of political calculations. This dual-track approach enables Beijing to retain strategic flexibility without formally dismantling the international framework from which it continues to benefit.

The visit also took place against a wider shift in global diplomacy. The Financial Times has noted the growing number of world leaders traveling to Beijing rather than Xi traveling abroad. Some interpret this as evidence of a China-centred diplomatic sphere. Whether viewed as modern statecraft or, more controversially, as a distant echo of tributary-era symbolism, one fact remains evident. Xi Jinping has built a diplomatic model in which China is less a participant in international gatherings and more a focal point through which bilateral relationships are channeled.

Within this arrangement, North Korea occupies a uniquely delicate position. It is at once a liability, a buffer and a strategic asset. Its nuclear programme complicates China’s relations with much of the international community, yet its existence also serves as a geopolitical barrier on the Korean peninsula. Xi’s language avoids direct reference to nuclear weapons, concentrating instead on “regional stability” and a “peaceful environment”. That omission is deliberate. Silence, in this context, is not avoidance but the management of contradiction.

One of the most closely watched questions following Xi’s visit is whether North Korea’s rapid nuclear expansion will become less visible, or simply retreat further from public view. Xi later stated that he and Kim had reached an “important consensus” and agreed to safeguard regional and global peace, a formulation that may signal a preference for restraint in presentation rather than any fundamental change in Pyongyang’s strategic ambitions.

Under Xi, Chinese foreign policy has increasingly prioritized stability over transformation and management over resolution. Nowhere is this more evident than on the Korean peninsula, where the objective is not denuclearization through coercion but the containment of escalation within predictable limits. In this sense, North Korea is not being pushed towards change.

Rather, it is being held within a carefully maintained balance that serves broader regional interests.

The wider geopolitical setting, including Russia’s deepening alignment with Pyongyang and the fluctuating approach of the United States towards Asia, further complicates this balance. Xi’s diplomatic language — with its emphasis on multi-polarity, opposition to “power politics” and the creation of a “community with a shared future for mankind” — is intended to place China at the centre of an alternative vision of international affairs. Yet that vision is not merely ideological. It is expressed through trade agreements, infrastructure investment and selective political partnerships.

What emerges from the Pyongyang visit is not a straightforward story of alliance, but one of carefully calibrated interdependence. North Korea retains leverage through its strategic unpredictability, while China retains influence through economic indispensability. The border between them is not merely geographical. It is a political and economic mechanism composed of regulated flows of goods, labour and messaging. It is this managed interdependence that allows both governments to preserve autonomy while avoiding collapse or confrontation.

Xi Jinping’s rise in global politics, therefore, cannot be understood solely through military strength or economic weight. It rests upon the construction of a diplomatic order in which China functions simultaneously as host, mediator and stabilising force. Foreign leaders travel to Beijing not as supplicants, but as negotiators entering a system where outcomes are increasingly shaped through bilateral and asymmetrical relationships. Within that framework, North Korea remains both an exception and a participant, its nuclear status complicating but not excluding its place within China’s strategic sphere.

Xi’s visit to Pyongyang reflects a world in transition, where the old certainties of alignment and isolation no longer fully apply. In their place is emerging a more complicated pattern of selective cooperation, managed tensions and carefully cultivated historical memory. Xi’s diplomacy does not resolve contradictions. It arranges them. And within that ability to arrange competing interests lies much of his contemporary influence. Whether that model ultimately proves durable or fragile remains one of the defining geopolitical questions of our age.

by Nilantha Ilangamuwa

Justice Ministry secretary and attorney-general at 33, Nihal Jayawickrama was the architect of the justice system’s most radical overhaul. Over a leisurely lunch at Tintagel we talk about the speed of justice, an independent public prosecutor, and the 1972 constitution.

“Tintagel” was Nihal Jayawickrama’s reply when I asked him where we should lunch. I smiled. The former secretary to the Justice Ministry, appointed at the tender age of 33, and now 88, hasn’t lost his mojo.

No restaurant — even Bawa’s studio, now become the Gallery Café — can claim anywhere near Tintagel’s pedigree. It was the home of the three Bandaranaike prime ministers. If the waiters’ intelligence is on point, it will be home to one of them again soon. Yes, Tintagel’s lease is up. Lunch while you can.

I’ve reserved one of two verandah tables, a few meters away from where S.W.R.D. Bandaranaike, the former prime minister, was assassinated by Talduwe Somarama, “a foolish man in robes”. Thinking Jayawickrama is a few minutes late, I wander to the sitting room. But he is waiting for me. I’m surprised that, at 88, he has come alone.

We make our way to the verandah and sit down. I break the ice, asking Jayawickrama when he first came to Tintagel.

Jayawickrama pauses to think, then with twinkling, mischievous eyes, says it was 70 years ago, in 1956. He had come to Tintagel to invite Bandaranaike to speak to the Royal College literary association. Jayawickrama said there was no security, save for maybe a sole policeman at the gate. He had walked to the verandah, and sat on one of the many chairs where the public would sit in the mornings, waiting for the prime minister to talk to them.

Bandaranaike’s response to the invitation had been clever rather than candid. He said it would be a great honour to address the Royal College literary association, and that he would be so happy to drop by. But the prime minister had only one problem: he’d have to go to the one at his own school, S. Thomas’, first. But they hadn’t invited him. Thus nothing ever came of the invitation.

We move on to more important business, lunch. Jayawickrama eschews the wine, we settle on thambili, almost always the best value drink on a Colombo resto menu. A veggie, he orders his usual, the parmesan gnocchi. I’d have ordered the pumpkin gnocchi, for many years my Paradise Road staple, but sadly they dropped it years ago. Good. For having taken up the pen, the purse won’t permit me anyway. Really wishing for Caribbean ox tail, I reluctantly settle for the osso bucco.

I’m too impatient for subtlety, so launch right into one of my burning questions: how did Jayawickrama become both secretary to the Ministry of Justice and attorney-general at such a young age. The answer is found in Balangoda, where Sirima Bandaranaike’s brother contested the 1965 election. He faced a few court cases, but the SLFP was strapped for cash. So, the party asked Jayawickrama to represent him. Jayawickrama went on to represent other members of the Ratwatte family, and then eventually, Mrs. Bandaranaike started consulting him too. He also served as her election agent and ended up drafting her prime ministerial acceptance speech in 1960.

A few days after her victory, Mrs. B called him and asked if he could be the permanent secretary to the justice ministry. Jayawickama said he was a lawyer, not a public servant. She responded:

“No no no no, you had been complaining for a long time that absolutely nothing had been done about law reform. I am telling you now come and do whatever you want to do — all the reforms you have been talking about. You have a free hand; we have got a two-third majority so the legislation can be passed. So come and do that.”

The Justice Ministry secretary’s monthly take-home at the time was around 1,800 rupees, which more than covered the 500-rupee rent onof his Park Road flat. Today, the secretary’s entire salary wouldn’t even pay for half the rent of such a flat.

Jayawickrama’s work was cut-out for him. The tale sounds familiar. The civil procedure and criminal procedure codes — the backbone of court work — were from 1880. Two distinguished commissions, chaired by Justices Noel Gratian and C. Nagalingam respectively, had already figured out what needed to be done. They produced “excellent reports” but “no government had done it”, Jayawickrama said rather ruefully.

When the attorney-general died, an acting attorney-general was identified. But he had to finish some cases he was presiding over. As the country needed to have an attorney-general, Bandaranaike appointed Jayawickrama to the office on his 33rd birthday. His contemporaries were the most junior state counsel. It was not a friendly atmosphere. Luckily for him, he had friends who warned him of the files which contained traps and snares.

He set up a research division in the Justice Ministry for law reform, consisting of five or six bright young things. The division included Dhara Wijetilleke, who became the planning ministry secretary, Suri Ratnapala, who became a distinguished constitutional law professor, and Priyani Wijesekara who became the Parliament’s secretary-general.

Unclogging justice

This team was the moving force behind the Administration of Justice Law of 1973, which overhauled the justice and courts system.

Among the many changes brought by the act was a recommendation from the Gratiaen Commission of 1952. The attorney-general’s role was almost bifurcated by creating the office for a director of public prosecutions.

The key reason Jayawickrama pushed this initiative through was to de-clog and speed-up the justice system by eliminating “non-summary proceedings”, where the police would present evidence to a magistrate to decide which court would hear a case. The public prosecutions director would instead direct the police’s inquiry and decide whether to file a case in the magistrate’s court, or at a higher court.

The team also introduced pre-trial conferences for non-criminal cases and mandated day-to-day hearings for trials, with postponement only granted in the event of family bereavement.

These initiatives faced massive protest from the Bar, as they “would change their lifestyles” and affect them financially. Not all his reforms succeeded. When he tried to regulate lawyers’ fees, the cabinet paper leaked and a lawyer representing the prime minister barged into Temple Trees, left his briefs on the breakfast table, said “you appear for yourself”, and went off. Mrs. Bandaranaike told Jayawickrama to withdraw the cabinet paper.

The Bar also refused to participate in the legal aid scheme. Jayawickrama’s response was to say that he would create a brigade of “barefoot lawyers” like barefoot doctors. Years later he said the proposal wasn’t a serious one, the remark was made in terrorem, meant to frighten the bar into becoming more generous with legal aid.

My journey from London to Toronto was on an Air Canada 747 jumbo jet. I had chosen a window seat while the middle seat beside me remained empty and a friendly woman sat on the aisle seat. Her English accent was unfamiliar, but I soon learned she was from Montreal, in Quebec—the French-speaking heart of Canada.

She spoke warmly about her country explaining its bilingual identity, its long winters, and its vast stretches of land. At that time, Canada had a population of only about 20 million (now over 40 million)—despite being the second-largest country in the world. She pointed out glaciers glistening beneath the plane, describing their majesty. Canadians, she assured me, were a welcoming people. Education, healthcare, and quality of life, she declared proudly, were all superior to what she believed one might find in the United States.

When she asked whether I had a winter coat, I admitted that a Lankan friend had lent me one although I had not packed it due to baggage weight limits. She nodded approvingly. “That’s wise. Styles change every year, and since it’s summer now, you’ll easily find a discounted one in Toronto.”

She explained that while parts of Canada endured some snow—especially in the central provinces—the west coast city of Vancouver enjoyed a gentler climate. Many Canadians dreamed of retiring there.

When we landed in Toronto, the kind lady stayed by my side, guiding me through immigration and even helping me find the right bus to the city. Before leaving for her connecting flight, she handed me her address and invited me to visit her in Montreal someday.

New life

After a week at New Hall in the University of Toronto, I was finally assigned a room at St. George College, where Siva and Surjeet also lived. This made life easier as I was no longer alone. I found that many Chinese students rented rooms in modest private homes nearby and to save money they often crammed two or three to a room—sometimes 10 in a house—sharing a single bathroom and a kitchen. Their meals were simple: dinner cooked as a group in the kitchen, breakfast skipped altogether, and lunch reduced to bread spread with peanut butter.

Watching them reminded me of the hardships faced by students in Maradana back in Sri Lanka. Yet, I admired the Chinese students deeply. They were disciplined and relentlessly hardworking, devoting nearly every waking hour to classes, libraries, or computer labs. Leisure was a luxury that they rarely allowed themselves to enjoy.

By contrast, my time at St. George was more colorful. Through Siva and Surjeet, I met others—among them Jim Retson from the Department of Law, his younger sister Mavis, a Master’s student in Speech Therapy, and Roberta, a fellow graduate student who was engaged to Jim. Our weekends filled quickly with outings, movies, road trips in Surjeet’s Volkswagen, and long hours of city exploration.

Pancake parties and beyond

Siva had a gift for cooking, often preparing sambar, a South Indian vegetable curry with a parippu base, which he served with white bread to anyone who dropped by his room. He was generous, never expecting anything in return. Yet one regular visitor, a South Indian day scholar named Paikyalingam, happily ate Siva’s food without ever offering reciprocal hospitality.

Sundays at St. George were special—pancake gatherings in a dorm kitchenette. Students brought flour, eggs, milk, and butter, flipped pancakes on the griddle, serving them with maple syrup. It was here I had my first taste of sweet pancakes alongside cured meats—bacon, ham, and sausage— to me a strange but intriguing combination. At these gatherings, Mavis grew particularly friendly toward me. Though I appreciated her warmth, I found her constant attempts to “correct” my English accent a little irritating.

From executive engineer to student

Before leaving Sri Lanka for graduate studies, I had risen to a permanent position of executive engineer at Richard Pieris and Co. Ltd. Shifting from the authority of that role to the humility of a student’s life in Canada was a difficult but necessary adjustment.

At the University of Toronto, my task was clear: complete the required coursework, and prepare and defend a research dissertation. Here, as a student, I found myself answering to people at every level. Back in Sri Lanka, I needed to obey only the chief engineer and the factory director. The contrast was striking.

Yet, my years as an engineer had been useful. Among my early projects was the development of a buffing system for rubber parts—an effort that would unexpectedly become my first brush with the field of Mechatronics.

My accidental exposure to mechatronics

When I was an engineering student in Sri Lanka, in the second half of the 1960s, we did not have digital computers in the university. When I was about to graduate, a main frame computer was installed in the faculty of engineering, University of Ceylon, Peradeniya. It was enormous in size and a large air conditioned room to accommodate it. Today’s desk-top personal computers (PCs) have more functionality, capability, and speed, and are far smaller and cheaper!

At that time, first we had to learn a programming language, typically FORTRAN, before we could use the computer. Even after that, we had to “punch” a deck of cards according to our program, hand it over to the person at the counter, and wait for many hours if not a day, to get a printout of the results. Often, such computer “outputs” showed errors (called, bugs) in the program, and the correct output would be forthcoming only after several iterations of correction, punching, re-submission and waiting.

To learn a programming language, we had to use the relevant manuals or books and unlike today, they were not freely available on line or even in library. The set of manuals for the university computer were kept under lock and key at the computer room of the University of Ceylon, and were carefully guarded by its manager.

Undeterred, I purchased a booklet on FORTRAN Programming, and carefully mastered it. Once I was ready to program the computer in FORTRAN, I had already graduated and was working as an engineer in a large factory. The company too did not have computers, but the chief engineer offered me a project related to computers soon after I joined the factory. Unbeknownst to me, that was my first and fortuitous exposure to rudimentary Mechatronics.

In my daily “walk through” in the factory, I noticed an alarming and hazardous situation. The factory had about ten “buffing stations” where the workers manually held rubber parts (the factory produced consumer items made of rubber, plastic, aluminum and steel among other things, in large scale) to spinning emery wheels, at buffing stations, and removed any minor artifacts in the parts, and also polished them in the process. The whole buffing area was full of rubber dust, and even though the buffing workers wore masks I was sure that they inhaled some of that dust daily. I asked the chief engineer whether we could improve the situation, and suggested two options: 1. Install a good ventilation system, 2. Redesign the buffing machines to be less hazardous. Fortunately, the chief engineer agreed, and told me “I will take care of the ventilation system, and you redesign the buffing machines.” He said that he would assign a foreman for the project, and I could acquire the needed parts and other material from the company’s Stores.

Little did I know, the particular foreman was typically a disaster, known to be lazy, did not want to do any work, and above all, did not like to take instruction or advice from others. The chief engineer just wanted me to somehow change the foreman’s habits and make him at least a bit productive, I suppose. Even though I was young and somewhat naïve, I resorted to some trickery with the foreman. I told him that I did not know much engineering, and I wanted to learn from him (even though I had a first class honors degree, with a practical final-year project, and topped the entire class of engineering at the university). He was quite flattered. I told him that I would recommend him for a bonus on completion of the project. During the project, I did not question his decisions, but tactfully corrected any of his errors that I noticed. So, gradually, he became a changed man and was quite friendly with me, while boasting to others that he could teach a thing or two to “these highly-paid engineers.” He was correct indeed.

The powers who designed the engineering curriculum at my university in Sri Lanka, had the foresight to plan for the future, proactively. The first two years of our engineering program were common to all engineering students (consisting of just Mechanical, Electrical, and Civil engineering students, at the time). Fortunately I learned electrical engineering and electronics as a result, even though my specialization in the final two years was mechanical engineering. So, in my main practical project after graduation, I embarked on Mechatronics.

I refreshed my knowledge in electrical engineering, and learned how to select an electric motor (particularly an induction motor), to properly match it to a load (which is the object that would be rotated by the motor). I learned the types of control that were available for induction motors. I brushed up my knowledge on the analysis of rotating bodies and particularly how to determine the torque versus speed curve of a load, using Mechanics of Machines that I learned in the university. Most of this study was done in the evenings, outside the normal working hours. Then I designed a hexagonal drum of appropriate capacity (doing some guesswork, based on the number of parts that were buffed in five existing stations in one hour and assuming that the new buffing machine would run for an hour to complete a batch of rubber parts) with the hope of gluing suitable emery paper in the interior. Then I estimated, with the help of the foremen, the weight of the drum with a full load of rubber parts. Finally, I calculated the moment of inertia of the loaded drum about its axis of rotation, and also determined a torque versus speed curve for it. That was the easy part.

A suitable shaft and bearings for the drum had to be selected from the company stores. The support structure for the drum had to be designed and fabricated, and a suitable induction motor had to be chosen. With eager help (and rigorous advice forthcoming) from the foremen, much of the design was completed except the selection of the motor. The motor selection was particularly difficult for several reasons. We had to depend on a few available induction motors (about four, as I recall) at the factory’s stores. No data sheet, manual, or even a standard torque versus speed curve were available (unlike today, when we can simply obtain all that information on line). Motor control involved simple start and stop, and at best, two-speed, “pole-changing” control. Unlike today, no sophisticated, variable speed, frequency control and field vector (magnetic flux vector) control were available then. Besides, an induction motor has to operate in its stable region, and the corresponding torque depends on the “slip,” which in turn depends on the motor speed. I had studied the analytical formula for the steady-state speed-torque characteristic of a 3-phase induction motor. I fitted all the available information of the available motors and estimated (crudely) the torque versus speed curve and the stable region of the motors. By painstakingly matching this curve with the load curve and allowing for a good factor of safety (to account for the numerous unknowns and uncertainties) I selected the best motor for the job, from what was available. The fabrication, assembly, and installation were the tasks of the foreman, technicians, and other workers. My job was primarily of supervisory nature during that activity. The enclosure and the ventilation system with a powerful exhaust fan were installed as well, but no “Mechatronics” knowledge was needed for that.

Fortunately, the project was a success, the workers and the management were very happy, and the foreman received a bonus (and a gratuity from me) and retired. A summary of the buffing process is as follows: Steam-cured sheets of latex is molded into rubber parts using a molding system. After cooling, the parts are placed in the drum. The motor is started and the exhaust system is operated. After an hour, the machine is stopped and a vacuum system is operated to clean the interior of the drum and its contents. A masked worker removes the parts into bins. The buffed (polished) parts are sent for inspection and packing. Many years later, I heard that the company had developed several such buffing machines and expanded the operation, but I was not involved in those activities as I was at the University of Toronto, carrying out graduate studies.

Paying Back to the Motherland

Computers, after all, are ubiquitous. Even at the Grade 8 level, rural students can be introduced to simple, computer-integrated projects in Mechatronics—at minimal cost. A computer education can be easily provided even to rural students. Figure below is just one example, where I had provided a computer room with several laptop computers to the rural school of Morahela, in the Badulla district. Beyond just the knowledge of using a computer, it is not difficult or costly to provide computer-integrated projects in Mechatronics even to Grade 8 students.

Exploring Mystic Toronto and Arrival of Winter

Toronto offered many attractions and activities. Public transportation—modern subways, trams, trolleys, and buses—made it easy to get around. For a small fare of twenty-five cents (at the time), one could explore the entire city, transferring between modes of transportation as needed. Weekend trips often took us to Ontario Place, a recreational park with open-air theaters, water parks, and a 3D IMAX theater. We also visited nearby islands, riding boats while enjoying “hot dogs” (sausages in buns). Jim, Mavis, Roberta, the French Canadian student Elizabeth (Liz) Campeau, and Anette Schiferl an American student who studied for a Master’s degree in Anthropology at the University of Toronto, often joined us in these explorations.

As winter approached, I bought a discounted coat, scarf, hat, and gloves from a store called Tip Top, just as the kind woman on the airplane had advised. The first snowfall thrilled me more than it chilled me—I ran outside, scooped up snow, and rubbed it against my face like a child discovering magic.

Groceries were affordable at the nearby open-air “Jewish Market.” One winter’s day, I walked there and back, with my gloves removed because my hands felt warm. When I returned to St George College, my fingers and ears had frozen stiff. Only after a hot bath and coffee did I feel normal again. Then I collapsed into bed. On that day I decided to buy earmuffs, a hat and scarf, as Mavis and Anette had wisely advised me to wear when venturing outdoors.

In Sri Lanka, I often suffered from sinus infections and allergies, but Canada brought me relief. What I did experience, however, was the common winter cold and nosebleeds. Alarmed one day at the sight of blood in a tissue, I hurried to the campus clinic (Canada had excellent healthcare. As a student, I could use any hospital or clinic at any time, free of charge). The kind doctor examined me in a fully equipped room, with the assistance of a nurse, carefully and thoroughly, and took me to his office after that.

“I know the problem” he explained gently. “Many Asian students face it in the winter. When you sneeze or clean the nose, your blood vessels can easily rupture. It’s nothing serious” he explained gently. “There is no medicine for a common cold, which you have. I will give you something to ease the pain.” The doctor handed me a bottle of Dimetapp syrup.

“As well, you can buy it over the counter, in a pharmacy” he said.

“How much is this?” I asked.

“Nothing. These are free samples that we get. In any case, the medicine is free for students” the attending nurse responded with a smile.

Friendship and Humor

Life in Canada became easier as friendships deepened. Over time, I adjusted to the Canadian life, including learning to cook basic Sri Lankan dishes for my friends, inventing recipes cautiously balancing spices, lime, and salt. In Sri Lanka, I went into the kitchen only when I felt hungry. I did not know how to cook. In Canada, often I treated the friends with “invented” dishes. Siva taught me how to make sambar. White Canadians rarely use spicy ingredients such as chili powder in their meals. My friend Bob, an Australian student, prided himself on his ability to eat spicy food. To test this, I prepared an exceptionally spicy meal. Although tears streamed down his face, he finished the meal, while cursing me in jest.

In the socials of St George, ballroom dancing and square dancing were common. We all participated enthusiastically in those activities. Notable here were Siva, Surjeet, Mavis, Liz, and Anette. Even though Bob used to be a chain smoker, he gave up smoking after peer pressure from our group. “If I don’t die from lung cancer, I am going to kill you” Bob joked.

Bob was a notorious beer drinker, who could easily beat all of us in it. One weekend I went to nearby pub with Bob. We ordered some beer, while Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” played on the jukebox. Young couples drifted onto the dance floor and engaged in ballroom dancing.

“Ask someone to dance,” I urged Bob.

“No, no, I can’t, you go,” he muttered. Despite his jovial spirit, Bob never associated women—dancing and romance seemed foreign to him. Mavis joked about this, and Siva scolded her for being unkind. Quietly, I agreed with Siva.

Rogues Like No Other

In Sri Lanka, I had not used computers. The coursework and research all were computer-based, in my new university in Toronto. This compelled me to learn at least two programming languages and become adept at using a computer. Consequently, I spent many evenings after dinner at the university’s computer center, familiarizing myself with this versatile tool. In interactive computing, which was a luxury then, typing commands into the computer felt akin to operating a typewriter, often straining my fingers after long sessions.

A course in modal control, taught by the respected Professor Edward Davison in the Department of Electrical and Computer Engineering needed a good knowledge in interactive APL programming. Since a homework assignment that needed APL was due the next day, I went to the computer room after dinner and used one of its interactive workstations to do the computations. Since the needed keying in of program commands was excessive, I decided to remove my Orient wristwatch and place it in my briefcase. After a while, I needed to use the nearby washroom. I went there after leaving the workstation on and keeping my briefcase near it. When I returned, I realized that someone had gone through the briefcase and stolen my wristwatch. I was quite disturbed, not because of the financial loss, but for the sentimental value of the watch. My parents had gifted it when I entered the university in Sri Lanka. I was looking for an Orient watch of similar model, and decades later found one at Hudson’s Bay shop at Richmond Mall in Vancouver.

Eyeing the South

“South,” for Canadians, means the United States (US). Siva made no secret of his wish to move there. My friend Anette Schiferl—warm, kind, mature, and from the US—told us a great deal about the US. I will never forget her kindness, for example, she volunteered to type my M.A.Sc. (Master of Applied Science) thesis, which was full of engineering analysis, on an IBM Selectric typewriter with changeable character balls.

Siva’s journey was unique. Unable to enter a university in Sri Lanka, he had joined the University of Birmingham in the United Kingdom, for the first degree and then had moved to Canada as a permanent resident. His desire was to join Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) and obtain an MBA. He described MIT as the world’s leading engineering university. It was very foolish for Sri Lankans to covet Cambridge and Oxford universities in England when MIT and Harvard universities in the US were much better, he quipped. I remember that as a kid I too had wanted to get my PhD degree from the University of Cambridge in UK, but when I grew up and entered the School of Engineering at the University of Ceylon, I preferred to get my PhD from MIT.

Even though I came first among all engineering departments at the University of Ceylon the leading university in Sri Lanka, obtained a first-class honors degree in engineering, and won the University Prize for Best Performance in Engineering, I did not get a scholarship to Cambridge. Siva’s response was blunt: “That’s your luck.” Indeed, fate has its quirks. It is an ironic twist of fate that Siva went to MIT years later and obtained an MBA, while I went to MIT and obtained a PhD, and years later went from US on a Senior Fulbright Fellowship to Cambridge, and obtained my second PhD and also ScD—the so-called higher doctorate from there. That is another story for another time.

Journey to New York

Siva loved the newspaper New York Times, buying it daily and reading it religiously. One day, he proposed a road trip to New York City in Surjeet’s Volkswagen Beetle. He corrected my pronunciation along the way: “peetza” not “pissa,” “Nu York” and “Folkswagen,” not “New York” and “Volkswagen.” Since I hadn’t driven in Canada and Siva lacked a driver’s license, Surjeet would drive the whole journey. Siva slept in the back seat while I rode up in the passenger seat, navigating by paper maps—this was long before cell phones and GPS. We left Toronto early in the morning.

Since we had to stop twice on the way for food and fuel (“fule” not “fooel” as Siva explained), and also because we had to repair an engine problem too, it was the early morning of the next day when we reached the city of New York. Even though it was a tiring trip, it was relieving that we reached New York without accidents. Our fate could have been disastrous, however. While driving to New York, Surjeet grew tired and momentarily fell asleep at the wheel. The car swerved to the median of the road, but I quickly grabbed the steering wheel, preventing a disaster. This close call shook us, and we made sure to stay awake for the rest of the journey, stopping for coffee and chewing gum, playing loud music, and talking continuously.

In New York, we stayed in the house of one of Surjeet’s Indian friends, who was very tidy and methodical. He scolded us for our carelessness during driving. We went to sleep without any food. In the late morning when we woke up, there were bread, butter, jam, and chicken curry for breakfast. Reheating and eating food that had been cooked before is a common practice among Canadians and Americans.

“The first slice of the loaf has to be eaten at the very end, or the bread will become dry” Surjeet’s friend advised us. “Hey man, would there be anything left to spoil after the four of us eat a loaf of bread?” Surjeet scolded the friend.

In the evening, we went to see an Indian cultural festival. That was held in a nearby field. There were chairs for the spectators. The stage was made of tables covered with carpets. Dressed in traditional attire, Punjabis performed martial art and dances. Surjeet explained that historically, Punjabis were heavily involved in military and defense of India and Britain. Religiously the soldiers were predominantly Sikh, not Hindu. The festival featured stalls selling Indian fare like poori, paratha, samosa, gulab jamun, halwa, barfi, kulfi (Indian ice cream), and drinks like sweet lassi, which we indulged in heartily.

The next day, we visited Times Square, Central Park, and walked along Broadway, renowned for its theater. Although tickets to Broadway shows were expensive, we managed to watch a play at an off-Broadway venue and also enjoy street food before returning to Surjeet’s friend’s home. There, we discovered a cabinet stocked with various liquor. When Surjeet inquired if we could try some, his friend offered him a glass of “Drambuie,” a honey-flavored liqueur. Surjeet, however, grabbed the entire bottle and quickly finished it, prompting his friend to lock the cabinet.

To show our gratitude for the friend’s hospitality, we prepared lunch the next day with ingredients that we purchased from a nearby grocery shop. For dinner, we explored Chinatown, where the food was exceptionally delicious. Enclaves like Chinatown are a common feature in major Western cities.

Return to Toronto

Early the following morning, we began our journey back to Toronto. Along the way, we encountered yet another mishap. A piercing siren echoed, and glancing through the rearview mirror, we spotted a police car approaching us swiftly, its red and blue lights flashing in an unrelenting rhythm. Surjeet veered off the highway and brought the car to a halt. A police officer, stepping out with measured precision, inspected us closely. Holding a phone near his mouth and muttering something unintelligible, he first noted down our vehicle’s number. He wore aviator sunglasses, and a pistol hung visibly on his left side. Unlike most Americans, there wasn’t even a hint of a smile on his face.

He demanded Surjeet’s driver’s license and the vehicle registration papers, and then asked, “Do you know the speed limit on this road?” Surjeet offered a sheepish smile without responding. The officer continued, “It’s 55 miles per hour, but you were driving at 80. The fine is $50. Pay it now.” Surjeet explained that we were Canadian students and had no cash. The officer mentioned that payment could be made using check or credit card, but when we admitted that we had neither, he stated, “In that case, mail $60 within a week, or face legal action.” He handed Surjeet a citation slip and left.

As we resumed our journey, Surjeet reassured us with confidence that American authorities had no jurisdiction to enforce fines on Canadian vehicles and would not proceed with any legal action. However, a month later, Surjeet received a letter from the New York State Court, informing him that he had been charged for non-payment of the fine and was required to appear in court. The letter also mentioned that he could settle the case by mailing $100 immediately. Sharing the cost among ourselves, we pooled the amount and mailed it to the New York court.

Reflections on New York

New York City lacked the cleanliness and charm of Toronto (at the time). Yet, upon our return, we realized it had an inexplicable allure. To a youthful and restless mind, the city represented a sense of joy despite its chaos. Knowing the challenges, the three of us resolved that living in the United States was worth pursuing.

After returning to Toronto, we discussed the allure of living in the United States. Highly motivated, we visited the US Consulate in Toronto and submitted applications for permanent residency (green card) in the United States. Three months later, Siva and Surjeet received letters of regret, stating that their applications had been declined. I received no response. Assuming that the response to my application had been lost in mail, I wasn’t particularly bothered. Then, about a month subsequent, a letter arrived from the US Department of Immigration, informing me that the first stage of my application had been approved. They requested additional documents for the second stage. I couldn’t understand why the applications of Siva and Surjeet had been rejected. Nevertheless, they genuinely wished me well.

After completing the second stage, including an in-person interview, I was granted permanent residency in the United States. However, I needed to relocate there to legalize my status. I hastily submitted the thesis for my Master’s degree (MASc) and successfully completed all the exams, including the PhD Qualifying exam, which was a requirement, at the University of Toronto. Then, skipping the graduation ceremony, I boarded a Greyhound bus to Cincinnati, Ohio, with dreams of a new beginning. Siva, Surjeet, Annette, and a few other friends accompanied me to the bus terminal to bid me farewell. Leaving Anette Schiferl behind left a heartache in me. I recalled that Anette, painstakingly, had typed my MASc thesis at the University of Toronto on an IBM Selectric typewriter. The typewriter came with character balls for special mathematical characters and Greek letters, which were needed for typing analytical research documents. Those days, there were no PCs, laptops or tablets. Also, Anette advised me to go to Cincinnati, not Boston first, because the University of Cincinnati was rich and I could easily secure a research assistantship from them. I too was eager to go to Cincinnati before Boston because Neil Armstrong, the first man who set foot on the moon, was a Professor of Aerospace Engineering at the University of Cincinnati.

Vancouver and Other Canadian Cities

British Columbia is a vast province in Canada, and Vancouver is its most prominent city, an incredibly picturesque place. That region enjoys Canada’s warmest winters, thanks to the “El Niño” phenomenon, which brings mild weather through the tranquil Pacific Ocean. Summers, too, are not excessively hot. Vancouver is surrounded by natural beauty, with the serene Pacific Ocean to the west, the Fraser River to the south, and mountains to the north and the east. The enormous Stanley Park is located in the city, similar to Central Park in New York.

Within minutes, one could be kayaking along the coast, rowing on a river, skiing on Whistler Mountain, or hiking up Grouse Mountain. Vancouver International Airport is a major hub of air travel, offering direct flights to key destinations in Asia and Europe. A short 15-minute drive takes one to the US border in the State of Washington. These factors make Vancouver a popular destination for vacationers. With Hong Kong’s return to the People’s Republic of China, wealthy Hong Kong entrepreneurs have relocated to Vancouver (mostly its suburb called Richmond) with money, causing a surge in real estate prices.

Victoria is the capital city of the province of British Columbia (BC), and is located at the end of an island called Victoria Island, off Vancouver. One needs to take a ferry or an airplane to go there from Vancouver. The provincial parliament of BC is located there. The architecture in Victoria is Victorian, and is similar to that of England. Victoria boasts the picturesque view of its harbor, China Town, Royal BC Museum, and a variety of fine restaurants.

Interactive Computer Facility at a Rural School in Morahela

Canada’s top universities are known to be Toronto, British Columbia, and McGill. McGill University is located in the city of Montréal, within the French-speaking province, Québec. I had the opportunity to visit Montréal for conferences. Québec is the only province where French is given priority. Road signs, advertisements, restaurant menus, everything is in French. Locals address you in French first and switch to English only if you cannot respond in French.

Despite this, most residents in Québec speak English fluently but prefer not to display it. The food, drink, and customs all follow French traditions. Montréal itself is a delightful city, home to over 2,000 restaurants offering cuisines from 30 different countries. Its notable landmarks include the St. Lawrence River, Mount Royal and Laurentian Mountains, and Notre-Dame Basilica. Winters bring heavy snow to Québec, while summers are warm and vibrant.

Ottawa, pronounced “Otawa” but sometimes referred to by foreigners as “Otāwa,” is the capital city of Canada, and is located in the province of Ontario. It is relatively close to Toronto and Montreal and is known for its cold climate. Country’s Parliament buildings are located in Ottawa, and are particularly striking and a key attraction.

Edmonton is the capital city of the province of Alberta and is also situated in a cold region. Known for its wealth of oil and mineral resources, Alberta is a prosperous province with a lower cost of living and taxation. Traveling by car from Vancouver to Edmonton takes approximately 14 hours via the Trans-Canada Highway. Along the way, it is common to spot wildlife such as bear and moose, which often approach the roadside, gazing at the people who stop their vehicles to admire them. It’s as if they are observing us, imagining our world to be part of their vast sanctuary. Interestingly, it is not uncommon for humans to act more uncivilized than these creatures. Feeding the wildlife is strictly prohibited. Edmonton is also home to a massive shopping complex that features a hotel and a water park. I had the privilege of visiting the University of Alberta in Edmonton as an invited guest speaker and also as an external examiner for PhD.

Saskatoon, the principal city of Saskatchewan, a central province in Canada, is notable for its large population of First Nations people (occasionally and incorrectly referred to as Red Indians). The city is surrounded by vast, flat plains and is known for its extremely cold climate. I was fortunate to visit the University of Saskatchewan in Saskatoon as an external examiner for doctoral programs.

The other cities that I have visited in Canada include Halifax and Truro in the province of Nova Scotia, St John’s in Newfoundland, and Winnipeg in Manitoba, mainly for conferences and visits to universities.

This ends my story about Toronto and Canada.

by Clarence de Silva