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The Copper Tumbler and Donkeys in Mannar: A Work of Mourning – IV

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Fatima Teacher

‘it is not narrative that we should abandon but chronology’’
Kumar Shahani

By Laleen Jayamanne

Mourning the Dead: Phaneroscopy
“There is a reality which we each create in our own minds.”
(C.S. Peirce)

The American logician and semiotician C.S. Peirce using the Greek word phaneron, meaning ‘that which appears,’ and adding the suffix skopein, (the Greek word to see, as in Bioscope!), coined the term phaneroscopy. He wanted thereby to capture something common to how we all perceive. He didn’t want to call this subjective mode of seeing an ‘illusion’ or ‘fantasy’ posited against ‘reality’. He elaborated his idea of ‘phaneroscopy’ by saying it is a way of seeing which is not cognitive (being prior to it), a pre-logical, direct awareness, without ego. I think this is much like the way a child, presumably, sees the world before it’s captured in language. Sumathy gives Lalitha phanero-scopic powers. So, as she slowly begins to remember her own childhood in that house, absorbed in the photographs of Jude and of herself as a girl, becoming reflective, but also prodding her siblings insensitively about what actually happened during the war to both the Muslims and to Jude, she begins to perceive visually, what she hears. She herself appears within each of the following events, from which she was in fact absent, away in Canada.

Most of the framed photographs we see in the house are from Sumathy’s own childhood home in Jaffna which she shared with her parents, three sisters and also her two nieces. Even before I learnt this detail, I felt that this home had a shadow cast on it by Sumathy’s own family history which is now public. So, it is the most personal of her films, but she uses her autobiography to testify to those innumerable nameless Muslim folk, too.

The house has shadows, ‘ghosts’ who come in and out. The brother who disappeared, Jude, comes in and out of the film, just as Fatima Teacher does, both as a young woman carrying her precious possessions and then as an old woman. Intriguingly, Sumathy only credits one actor, Asiya Umma, as both the young and the old Fatima Teacher, when realistically one would expect two actors to be named. In the course of the monologue, when her mother tells Lalitha that Fatima Teacher stood right where she now stands, the latter appears. As her head is partly covered by her sari, it is unclear if Fatima Teacher is in fact played by Lalitha, who has inserted herself into that story as she hears it narrated by her crazed mother. But the credits resolve it. However, this sense of uncertainty is important because (disturbed by her mother’s accusatory account of Fatima Teacher), Lalitha creates a film-within- the-film, placing herself in the position of the victim. In appearing at that moment as Fatima Teacher, addressing her friend Daisy Teacher, Lalitha performs an act of mourning.

It’s the musical composition of sequences, with intervals, repetitions and disjunctions between them, which allows Sumathy to abandon chronological progression (without using the usual tired devices like flash-backs as memory images), to play with time in this way.

Three different accounts of Jude’s disappearance are given, two shown. There is that dreaded knock on the heavy wooden door late at night, with two men on a motorbike and car, the boys as they are called, to take Jude away. Lalitha in bed with her cell phone hears the knock and goes to the door in her nighty wrapped in a sheet, asking him to not open the door and watches him being taken away by ‘the boys.’ Earlier there is a snatch of conversation that the story is that the army took Jude away. We see him walking to the church to meet two young Catholic priests, to ask them to intercede with the LTTE, on behalf of the Muslims. Within this sequence we are taken into a large Italianate, grand Catholic church with polished pews and woodwork. But we also see Jude walking into the sea, watched by Lalitha, in the film within the film she creates with herself as a presence.

In this strange retelling, Sumathy is able to make the dead Jude testify to the stories of the many disappeared, without ceasing to be that irreplaceable son of Daisy Teacher. That quiet act of Jude’s suicide, witnessed by Lalitha, standing amongst the braying, foraging donkeys, is a ritual of burial and mourning, an epic cosmos-centric event. The old Fatima Teacher also walks through the mangrove, and earlier through the debris of bomb blasted houses (without their solid timber doors and windows), that might well have been her own dense urban neighbourhood.

In this strange elegiac scene by the sea at night, with the wind and sound of waves lapping the shore, Jude slips off his sarong and simply walks into the ocean slowly. The entire qualitative, tonal, atmospheric mood of the scene amidst nature with Fatima Teacher and Jude and the donkeys as they appear to Lalitha, has a ritualistic, musical quality with its varied rhythms. One exiting life and the other returning from the dead, unreconciled, one might say, amidst the sound of waves. After this long sequence, the film cuts to Jude’s naked corpse washed up on the beach at dawn, spotted by two fishermen who look closely and abandon it.

Lalitha asks her mother to sign over the family home to her. The younger brother asks Lalitha to send the monthly payment for their mother’s expenses directly into his bank account. Neither request is granted. The sister who actually takes care of the mother makes no demands of her more affluent sister but complains about the tedium of her life of chores. But the family gather together with affection as well as acrimony and learn of their trauma and the family history. And the terror of the war years is expressed through a truism of that era by Jesse, who has no time or inclination to linger in the past. She quotes a folk saying of the war years when Lalitha bugs her as to why she didn’t call her or write to her: “People here say those were times when one opened one’s mouth only to drink tea”. A biting sentence condenses the lack of food with terror.

Pedagogy of Film Programming: Suggestions

If a mini retrospective of Sumathy’s body of work is organised, then pairing The Single Tumbler with Ponmani (1976), by Dharmasena Pathiraja, could generate a few more ideas about how to creatively engage with linguistically and culturally diverse communities and cultures, without orientalising Northern landscapes and most especially the ‘Tamil Woman.’ Without a public release in the South and an indifferent short run in Jaffna, now Ponmani has the aura of a classic, one of a kind without a progeny.

This is not quite the case. The way the traditional Hindu Vellala home and its veranda is filmed in Ponmani, finds a different articulation in the way the Christian family inhabits the space of the open house, in the fluid spatial configurations of The Single Tumbler. In both films, changing or frozen family relationships are mapped out spatially through evocative gestures, postures and movements. The traditional Hindu home is marked by silences, while the bilingual Christian home with its different culture is voluble, rather urbane. Sumathy has clearly benefited from Pathi’s work in Jaffna though she is no clone.

It is essential not to forget that this singular film Ponmani was made possible by a visionary tri-lingual higher educational policy formulated by Tamil scholars at the Jaffna University. Pathi and several lecturers were sent to Jaffna University to teach there in the Sinhala medium. During this time, his friendship with Tamil intellectuals and artists resulted in the collaborative film, Ponmani. Until about this time Tamil students from Jaffna were able to study at the National Art School in Colombo along with Sinhala students and there were student exchanges of performances with Jaffna. That was of course possible because lectures were delivered in both English and Sinhala, but with the ‘Sinhala Only’ nationalism hegemonic, English was abandoned.

Sumathy’s documentary Amidst the Villus; Pallaikuli (2021), on the effort of the expelled Muslim populations to return to their homelands would also be important as a companion film to The Single Tumbler.

Ashfaque Mohamed’s debut film Face Cover (2022), with its fine spatial sensitivity and sense of tact, might also be screened together with these two films, to create a generative public context and discourse for these films from different generations and by directors from different ethnicities and set in different regions. He was the assistant director on The Single Tumbler. Sumathy has been a mentor to him and also played the Muslim mother in Face Cover.

Also, perhaps a few of Rukmani Devi’s and Mohideen Baig’s films might be part of it, and Sarungale by Sunil Ariyaratne, where Gamini Fonseka plays the role of a Tamil clerk, might also work well in such a non-linear, thematic mix. Sumathy’s Sons and Fathers about the multi-ethnic composition of the Lankan film industry during July ’83, would create a new political perspective on these films. Ingirunthu remembers the disenfranchisement of the tea estate workers at independence and also the deportation of a large number to India in 1964, despite having lived and worked in Ceylon for generations.

Expulsion of the Muslims

The Expulsion of the Muslims (estimated at 75,000), from the Northern Province by the LTTE is an event of epic magnitude in Lankan history. Refusing to forget the event and its aftermath, The Single Tumbler was made in collaboration with a dedicated ensemble cast and crew (with Sunil Perera’s cinematography, Elmo Halliday on editing and sound design, music direction by Kausikan Rajeshkumar), with a modest budget, but with a sophisticated understanding of ‘film as a form that thinks.’

That dented and burned single copper tumbler on fire is hard to forget, just like Sumathy’s other such images powered by fire. The fiery copper tumbler brings to mind two sentences by the French philosopher Deleuze, in a short piece written just before he committed suicide, being terminally ill. The brusque note, written in haste, is called ‘The Actual and the Virtual’.

He says: ‘Purely actual objects do not exist. Every actual surrounds itself with a cloud of virtual images.’ This idea of ‘virtual images’ Deleuze owes to Henri Bergson who wrote a book titled Matter and Memory in 1895, the year the very first films were projected in Paris. And for Bergson, the concept of the ‘virtual’ is opposed to time as chronology, time as the simple linear succession of past, present and future. He says, speaking more like a poet, that the ‘virtual’, or duration, appears to us in its fullness when we are drunk with wine or dream, or in love, when all that has happened coexists in an intense, expansive present, open to a potentialized future. Film is surely the gift that plunges us into this cloud of virtuality – sometimes; as with The Single Tumbler. (Concluded)



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Revolt in the Temple: Poverty as Structural Control

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The underlying issue in Anuradhapura is a struggle between a few families who, for years, have waged a quiet cold war over control of the Udamaluwa. Similar situations exist in Mihintale as well. These places, among others, are treated as treasures of Buddhism but, in practice, function as tightly controlled economic centres. The same pattern repeats in Kandy around the Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic and in Kataragama at the shrine of God Kataragama. Variations of it exist across religious spaces of Islam, Catholicism, and Hinduism too, where institutional authority becomes indistinguishable from localised power networks. What is presented as sacred order often operates as inherited control.

It is indeed devastating to see situations where parents have no alternative but to expose their children to predators in robes for survival. This has nothing to do with religion itself, but with human pathology in the context of survival. These are the questions that demand answers, not superficial responses that treat symptoms while ignoring the conditions that produce them. What is more shocking and disturbing is not the tragedy itself, but the reactions to it. Social media has overwhelmed us, not towards understanding, but towards a fragmented cognitive state with no exit route.

A friend of mine in Nairobi used to keep all his electronic devices at home and go into the forest once a month, spending days there before returning. He called it “detoxification”, but in reality it was an escape from a system that no longer allows uninterrupted thought. Daily life is now saturated with unnecessary content, and attention itself has become a commodity extracted, processed, and sold back to us. This is where we have become unable to understand what really drives certain tragedies we endlessly react to, while remaining blind to the systems that quietly manufacture them.

Multi-dimensional poverty

Poverty is structural, poverty is political, and poverty is functional; it is a tool and a manoeuvring force of power. The question is no longer whether poverty exists, but who benefits from its persistence, and who is forced to survive within it. From education to medicine to basic food supply chains, countries like Sri Lanka are not simply mismanaged; they are structurally captured by a small number of actors who remain stable regardless of who is formally in power. Small-scale enterprises and NGO circuits that circulate foreign funding to “solve structural issues” often operate as hollow administrative performances, producing reports rather than transformation.

Poverty is not merely the absence of money. It is the absence of bandwidth, absence of protection, absence of time, and absence of cognitive stability. As Sendhil Mullainathan and Eldar Shafir state, “Scarcity captures the mind. Just as the starving subjects had food on their mind, when we experience scarcity of any kind, we become absorbed by it.” This is a description of how human cognition is structurally reorganized under constraint. Scarcity does not sit outside the person; it occupies them.

They also state, “Scarcity leads us to borrow and pushes us deeper into scarcity.” That is the mechanism that must be confronted without euphemism. Poverty is not only deprivation; it is a self-reinforcing trap in which survival decisions generate the next layer of crisis. Once a society crosses a certain threshold of scarcity, it stops producing long-term reasoning as a default condition. It produces short-term survival logic, often mistaken by outsiders for irrationality.

It is precisely here that public discourse becomes intellectually dishonest. Everything is translated into moral language because moral language is easier than structural analysis. But morality without structure becomes theatre. It produces outrage, not understanding, and repetition, not reform.

It is indeed brutal when an individual wearing religious insignia—whether robe, symbol, or institutional identity—is accused of acts that fundamentally contradict the moral authority attached to that position. It is equally brutal when institutions that depend entirely on trust begin to function as shields rather than safeguards. But the deeper question is not shock. The deeper question is what kind of social condition produces families who see placement within such institutions not only as devotion, but as a survival strategy under constraint.

Ethical decision-making

That is where the argument collapses into its most uncomfortable form. Poverty does not produce ethical decision-making environments. It produces constrained optimization under pressure. When food insecurity, debt, and social instability converge, institutional spaces that appear stable become transactional destinations for survival rather than moral choices. To interpret this as purely cultural failure is to deliberately ignore the structural compression of options.

Mullainathan and Shafir describe this clearly: “Instead of saying that scarcity ‘focuses,’ we could just as easily say that scarcity causes us to tunnel: to focus single-mindedly on managing the scarcity at hand.” That tunnelling effect is not abstract. It is visible wherever long-term planning collapses under immediate pressure. Systems then misread this as irresponsibility, when it is in fact cognitive overload produced by structure.

What is rarely acknowledged is how deeply this extends into governance itself. Institutions increasingly operate as if they are managing rational, unconstrained individuals. In reality, they are interacting with populations whose cognitive bandwidth is already structurally taxed. The result is policy failure interpreted as public non-compliance, enforcement interpreted as moral correction, and reform interpreted as communication failure rather than design failure.

Social media has intensified this distortion. It does not merely spread information; it destroys sequencing. Structural problems require temporal depth. Social media removes that depth and replaces it with instantaneous judgment. Every event becomes a surface object, detached from causality. The outcome is a society permanently reacting and never diagnosing.

Poverty, in this environment, becomes invisible in its real form. It is not seen as a continuous structural condition but as episodic failure. A scandal appears, is consumed, and disappears. Another replaces it. Nothing accumulates into understanding because attention itself is exhausted before synthesis can occur.

Modern Condition

The modern condition reflects a reversal of earlier social organization, where human relationships are embedded within abstract systems of finance, law, and administration that often fail to recognize the lived constraints of those they govern. In this disembedded state, institutions increasingly misinterpret human behaviour as their capacity for structural understanding weakens. At the same time, attempts to resolve systemic failures through expanding administrative complexity produce diminishing returns: more regulation, oversight, and reporting generate less coherence. Over time, institutions shift from functional effectiveness to symbolic performance, maintaining the appearance of control rather than achieving it.

This is why public outrage repeatedly fails to translate into structural change. Outrage is not a tool of reconstruction. It is a signal of system fatigue. It circulates, intensifies, and dissipates without altering the underlying architecture. Meanwhile, the conditions that produce repetition remain intact.

The most persistent illusion is that these are separate problems: poverty here, institutional misuse there, media distortion elsewhere. They are not separate. They are expressions of a single condition in which scarcity, complexity, symbolic authority, and fragmented enforcement interact without coordination. The system does not fail in one place; it fails in the gaps between these layers.

Symbolic systems

What makes this condition more severe is that symbolic systems continue to operate at full strength even when structural systems degrade. Religious identity remains powerful. Political rhetoric remains strong. Cultural symbolism remains intact. But enforcement capacity, institutional coherence, and social trust degrade beneath them. That gap is where instability grows. Until that gap is addressed at the level of structure rather than sentiment, repetition remains inevitable. New scandals will emerge, new interpretations will circulate, and new cycles of outrage will follow. Nothing resolves because nothing is being reconstructed beneath the surface of reaction.

This is no longer repairable through adjustment or rhetoric. It is a form of decay that persists until it exhausts itself, because the mechanisms meant to correct it are now part of the same failure. It continues until rupture, not reform. At that point, instability ceases to be episodic and becomes structural. Pressure will accumulate into breakdown, and what follows will not be managed transition but forced reversal. The responsibility lies with those who govern these institutions to prevent that trajectory, not through language, but through change. The drama is ending; farce is over; what we are witnessing is tragedy unfolding with unprecedented consequences.

by Nilantha Ilangamuwa

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Are threats to Buddha Sasana external or from within?

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As Sri Lanka celebrates the birth, Enlightenment and the Parinibbana of the Buddha, almost a month after the rest of the Buddhist-world did so, there is widespread discussion about threats to Buddha Sasana provoked by some recent incidents. Regarding the views expressed about postponing Vesak celebrations in my article ‘May Day and postponement Vesak 2026’ (The Island, 25 May), my very good friend Dr Upali Abeysiri has sent me the following comments: “The Mahanayakas have a good reason to postpone Vesak. The dawning of the full moon has to be on the same constellation (nekatha) as when the Buddha was born and attained enlightenment. Although Adhi Poya is reckoned as the second full moon arising in the same calendar month, this is supposed to be an odd exception.” Though it would have been ideal if a consensus could have been reached prior to the split of celebrations, perhaps, it does not matter very much as celebrations occur on a symbolic rather than an actual date, there being no historical or archaeological evidence confirming exact dates.

Whilst there are no direct threats to Buddha Dhamma, as the expanding horizons of science continue to confirm the fundamentals of Buddha Dhamma, there is no doubt whatsoever that there are threats to Buddha Sasana. However, these threats become important as the Buddha Sasana performs the pivotal role in protecting and propagating the Dhamma and, hence, become an indirect threat to Dhamma itself. Therefore, it should be the concern of all Buddhists and it is in this spirit I am making some comments which some may interpret as disrespectful to the Maha Sangha. I can reassure that my intentions are entirely directed towards the preservation of the Buddha Dhamma and Sasana. Though the Buddha proclaimed that the Sasana consists of Bhikkhu, Bhikkhuni, Upasaka and Upasika, for all practical purposes Sasana had been led by Bhikkhus, often at the expense of others.

There is hardly any doubt that there are external forces at play in Sri Lanka and even some Buddhists seem to object to Sri Lanka being called a Buddhist country. Interestingly, no one seems to object to countries like the UK and the USA being called Christian counties. I

There is no registration or baptism in Buddhism and there are no rewards for Buddhists for conversions. As I pointed out in a previous article, ‘How does the Buddha differ’ (The Island, 1 May) unlike most other religions, Buddhism is not a ‘high-demand’ religion, nor ‘law-based’ religion and is not exclusivist. Perhaps, it is this liberalism, pacifism and gentleness, which are the real strengths, that are being exploited as weaknesses by others.

There will always be external threats and the Buddha too faced many during his lifetime. Before addressing those, is it not more important to address the threats within? One of the most important problems seems to be the breakdown of discipline. Bhikkhus are bound by Vinaya rules, laid down by the Buddha and some recent incidents highlight total deviations. Though there were many previous incidents like unsubstantiated claims of Arahanthood, Bhikkhus attacking each other on YouTube and Bhikkhus conducting YouTube channels, not for the propagation of the Dhamma but for the accumulation of rupees, attention was focused after the detection of 22 young monks carrying narcotic drugs.

Though many commentators were quick to condemn the Sangha on this account, we need to go deeper. Narcotic menace has become a huge problem in Sri Lanka and it looks as if the drug lords would resort to anything to achieve their objectives. Though it looks as if some gullible young monks had been duped by drug lords, we need to question why it was possible. Is it due to the lack of supervision of these novices by their seniors that allowed them to accept a request in a WhatsApp group? Should there be checks and balances on foreign travel by Bhikkhus?

What shocked Buddhists was what followed next; the arrest of the Nayaka of Atamasthana for allegedly having sex with a minor. Anuradhapura was our first capital and Sri Maha Bodhi is the longest surviving authenticated tree in the world. Ruwanweliseya and Jetawanaramaya were among the ten tallest man-made structures in the ancient world, Jetawanaramaya still holding the Guiness record for the largest stupa in the world. Cyberspace is full of theories. Whilst some have condemned the Nayaka Thero even before the conclusion of inquiries whilst others claim that this was a coup by another Nayaka Thera in an attempt of succession.

I was intrigued, reading in a Sri Lankan newspaper about the 80th birthday celebrations of a Nayaka priest, who was convicted in London in 2012 of historical child sex abuse and sentenced to seven years in prison. I remember the case very well as he was the head of the Vihara, we had our first contact on relocating to the UK. I also remember his devotees, who believed that he was wrongly accused, collecting over £50,000 for an appeal. In spite of being represented by one of the top Barristers in the UK, the conviction was upheld but the jail-term was reduced by a year. His name is still on the sex-offenders register in the UK and he is permanently prevented from association with children. One can argue that as he has served the sentence and not reoffended, this should not be held against him but what baffled me is that he is still being referred to as the Chief Sangha Nayaka. Should a person on the sex-offenders register be the Chief Sangha Nayaka?

It is high time we put our own house in order before fighting the external enemies. It is reported that the former president CBK has written to the Mahanayakas requesting urgent reform and we should be obliged to her for taking the lead.

There are many aspects that need urgent reform, the first being removal of caste barriers practiced by some Nikayas, which is the greatest insult to the Buddha who promoted equality. The second is the active encouragement of Bhikkhuni Sasana which has not happened in spite of the landmark ruling by the supreme court. The third is the establishment of proper disciplinary processes under a single Adhikarana Sangha Nayaka with powers and support than allowing the government to take over the control of even non-criminal Vinaya matters.

There are many other issues that need settlement like the controversy of the land of Buddha’s birth which seems to linger on. An expert committee should hear all evidence and settle this issue once and for all.

As I have pointed out on many occasions in these columns, it is high time a Dhamma Sangayana was held, as the last one was 70 years ago. Ideally, it should be different with active participation of lay experts as well. It is the duty of us Buddhists to ensure that the words of wisdom of the Buddha continue to enlighten generations to come.

By Dr Upul Wijayawardhana

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Vijaya Kumar: Academic, Activist & Genial Fellow-Traveller

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Professor Vijaya Kumar

The University of Ceylon, Peradeniya, was in our time, a less-crowded residential university, where everybody knew everybody else or at least knew of everybody else.

I knew of Emeritus Professor Vijaya Kumar of the Department of Chemistry at Peradeniya, or Kumar, as we referred to him fondly, before I got to know him. His dear wife Savitri, also a member of the academic staff of the Department of Chemistry, was nicknamed Kumee, by some of their students (of which vintage is unknown to me) and the duo were thereafter referred to affectionately as Kumar and Kumee.

The Faculty of Science became a regular haunt of mine as I would go there in the company of my batchmates to attend lectures on Basic Mathematics given by Professor Maheswaran, as it was a requirement for our General Arts Qualifying Examinations. I would also go there to listen to some excellent talks under a programme that was held in the auditorium of the Science Faculty referred to as “Popular Science Gossip”. The “gossip” at these talks were not confined solely to science but were broad enough to include Literature, History and other branches of knowledge as well. I would often spot Kumar in the audience at these talks or bump into him in the corridors of the Science Faculty. But I got to know him personally only after he became the Warden of Arunachalam, my hall of residence, during my undergraduate years initially, and later, as a member of the academic staff of the Department of English.

Our Science Faculty undergraduate contemporaries, especially those at Arunachalam Hall and its immediate neighbour, Jayatilaka Hall, both within a stone’s throw away from the Science Faculty, shared many an anecdote about Kumar and their other lecturers. One of these anecdotes, had to do with a spectacular (motor car) driving feat of Kumar’s. Legend has it that he drove from his university bungalow-home to the Faculty of Science deploying only the reverse gear of his car! Kumar, on hearing of this, had told certain of his student friends, including some who became his colleagues later on, that this story is one of the biggest yarns he had heard in his life!

Some of his one-time younger colleagues, now in retirement like Kumar, tell me that Kumar exuded warmth and friendliness in all of his professional and administrative interactions with others in the wider university community. But there was no warmth or mercy for those who indulged in the unsavoury pastime of student ‘ragging’. He was a very strong proponent of the need to ensure to all freshers an environment free of the menace of ‘ragging’. He remained ever-vigilant during the ‘ragging’ season. There are stories of his chasing ‘raggers’ and catching them. Professor Maheswaran, who later became an intimate friend and remains so after more than half a century, was another who was fiercely opposed to ‘ragging’. I was a personal witness to Mahes chasing a ‘ragger’ up and down the stairs of the main library to nab him. Yet another of his students has noted that Kumar’s office room in the Faculty was a total mess at all times. It had tables, piled so high with books and documents that one could not easily spot Kumar at his desk. He, however, had the knack of pulling out from amidst the clutter, any document that he needed at any given time. If anybody were to volunteer to help tidy his desk, Kumar would respond firmly with “Don’t you touch my desk!”.

Kumar, like several of his colleagues in the other faculties as well, had his own eccentricities. According to information received from reliable sources, Kumar who taught Organic Chemistry used to carry his lecture notes in his shirt or trouser pocket with ‘the entire lecture condensed in point form on a half-sheet or half of a half-sheet of paper’. The way he rummaged through his sling bag filled to the brim with stuff to find an item that he needed was another ritual that amused onlookers.

Kumar, interestingly enough is a Royal-cum-Thomian product, in that he had his primary education at S.Thomas’ Prep School, Kollupitiya and the entirety of his secondary education at Royal College, which he entered in 1953. In a note written by Kumar himself, he notes that despite having had excellent teachers at Royal, his was not a notable school career. He goes on to say that “the only achievement I could boast of was my being the joint-winner of the school General Knowledge Prize”. However, he had been active in a Scout Group outside of school (1st Port of Colombo, Sea Scouts) where he “was Queen’s Scout, Patrol leader, and later, Assistant Scout Master”.

Kumar entered the Faculty of Science of the University of Ceylon in 1961 and secured from it an honours degree in Chemistry in 1965. He joined the academic staff of the Department of Chemistry in the Faculty of Science, University of Ceylon, Peradeniya in 1965 and left the following year for Magdalen College at Oxford University, from which institution he obtained his doctorate in Chemistry. His entire teaching career was at Peradeniya, where in the period 2003-2006 he served as the Dean of the Faculty of Science, a position that his late father-in-law had held a few decades earlier.

Among the other highlights of his career are: Chairman of the Industrial Technology Institute (formerly the Ceylon Institute of Scientific and Industrial Research, CISIR); Member (representing Sri Lanka) of the Geneva-based UN Commission on Science and Technology from 1999 to 2007 and its President from 2001-2003; President of the Sri Lanka Estate Workers Union from 1989 onwards; Member of the Politburo of the Lanka Sama Samaja Party from 1988 to 2014 and currently, a member of the Executive Committee of the National People’s Power (NPP).

Vijaya and Savitri Kumar are parents of daughters Shamala and Ramya, who are following in the footsteps of their parents: with the former teaching in the Department of Agricultural Economics in the Faculty of Agriculture, University of Peradeniya and the latter, in the Department of Community Medicine at the University of Jaffna.

(I wish to thank the following who assisted me in the writing of this brief essay: Mr. Bandula Warnakulasuriya, Emeritus Professor Ratnayake Bandara, Professor Mahinda Wickramaratne, Professor Swarna Wimalasiri and Mr. Manik de Silva).

*Editor’s note: Prof. Vijaya Kumar, a member of the NPP’s National Executive Committee and is still active in politics turns 84 today. This article by Tissa Jayatilaka, former Executive Director of the United States – Sri Lanka Fulbright Commission for Mutual Academic Exchange, was written for an upcoming collection of essays on Kumar’s life by his friends.

(Colombo Telegraph)

By Tissa Jayatilaka

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