Midweek Review

The Gift of Music:Sons and Fathers

Published

3 years ago

2023/05/10

Sahan Weerasooriya

Kanthi with baby Mala.

a film by Sumathy – Part II

by Laleen Jayamanne

There is a recurrent discussion among the film industry personnel in the film about the desirability of ‘originality’ in Sinhala music and also in films, which translates as the need to abandon copying Indian genre films or anything Indian for that matter. One opposing view interrogates the possibility of originality itself, asking ‘what is originality? Are we original?’ Yet another view is expressed by Upul Shantha Sannasgala, in favour of anything that creates box office success, citing the triangular plot of his new film which describe exactly the outrageously plotted, sexist film, Samiya Birindage Deviyaya (The Husband is the Wife’s God,) with the leading star and singer, Rukmani Devi and its arch villain, Domi Jayawardena. The desirability of nationalising the film industry and the creation of ‘our’ studios (meaning with Sinhala ownership, breaking the Tamil monopoly) is also expressed as the racial tensions outside reaches a critical point, when several army officers are killed by the LTTE near Jaffna and kindling the State terror of July 83. When Rex is put on the spot by friends and asked for his views on politics, he says he doesn’t know anything about politics and all he knows is music, adding that music has no race or country, while Sannasgala comes to his defence with; ‘Master is music, music is master!’

Writing or Drawing a Character

In the world’s oldest film school in the former Soviet Union (USSR), there was a practice of getting the students to first draw their characters and ideas on paper before writing with words. The teachers who devised the practice knew that drawing a line, as in a line drawing, would activate a mental process different from writing using words. Highly experienced mentors like Mikael Romm practiced this pedagogy with his students, one of whom was Andre Tarkovsky. The stimulation of the student’s imagination and extra-linguistic sensory powers was one of their aims. It is said that he urged his students to reach into their ‘darkness’ so that they might be able to find a way to speak, find a ‘language’. He protected his students from the communist thought police. Honouring this process of teaching and learning, as I try to do also in my writing, I like to resist asking a director why s/he did such and such, a sad and intellectually feeble resort. Such blunt questions blunt one’s own imaginative capacity to make multi-sensory connections, especially when it’s about cinema. Lucky’s haunting question ‘Appa, what language?’ requires a critic to become self-reflexive about how she uses linguistic-language in writing on film, which doesn’t behave like language as such. As Pasolini rather impatiently pointed out (to the eminent semiologists, including Roland Barthes, at the Pesaro Film Festival) that unlike language with its denotative, finite number of words, there is no dictionary of images we can draw on for film and nor are words similar to images.

So, it’s best not to ask directors what they meant either, because when trying to write a book on his cinema, I once asked Kumar Shahani why an ‘epic persona’ in his film did something, he said ‘I don’t know.’ Was he being a Zen Master, I wondered, a bit taken aback. But then chatting with him I realised the truth of what he was saying, that sometimes artists make their characters do stuff in such a way that it is fruitless to try to find out the motivation for an action, as though every act is a perfectly rationally explainable response to a stimulus, like Pavlov’s poor dog, salivating at the ring of a bell. Some artists want to be able to sustain a degree of freedom in their thinking, that is, keep that which is barely consciously sayable, especially to themselves (at three o’clock in the morning, as they say in the Blues) in a shadowy subconscious state. They might feel its necessity, without being able to put it into words and not even wanting to do so, as it might kill their evanescent impulses. Artists are creatures who trust their impulses and fluctuating sensations trying to harness them in a disciplined and skilled way, lest they get derailed, overwhelmed by their surfeit. But then, I believe that it’s a critic’s responsibility to think about what one sees and hears and feels by posing questions that might open up a train of thought for oneself at first. This is not like revealing hidden meanings, but rather, understanding how something works or doesn’t, its aesthetic logic and feelings, pulses, and how they might connect with some other thing through a style of writing, hoping that readers themselves might take it yet in another unforeseen direction.

sivamohan’s main characters, Rex, Kanthi, Lucky and the quiet Mala, are created and act in such a way that not all their feelings are transparent, nor are all their motivations explained or even explainable. They have an interiority we can sense but to which we don’t have a privileged access and I suspect that the director also might feel that about the people she has created. This may sound strange as sivamohan has said that she modelled Rex, in part, on Rocksamy’s history in the film industry and that Lucky was modelled on the well-known musician Anthony Surendra, the son of Master Anthony, himself a musician. That they have in various ways suffered greatly as Tamils in the film and music industry is an important fact, which sivamohan builds on, with some of the best dialogue I have ever heard in the Sinhala cinema, for sure. And I am thinking here especially of the serious ‘Civil-War Films’ by some of our most talented, senior filmmakers. Some of them have crafted a new ‘anthropological type’ it would seem, with the silent, traumatised young Tamil women doggedly following former soldiers without uttering a word. Here, I don’t wish to comment on these films except to say that they appear to have constructed ‘The Tamil Woman’ as an enigma in her silence. Why Sinhala male directors are drawn to create such figures is something the Sinhala cinephiles and critics themselves should really take up, making a sustained study of the films, especially because now, sex, whether consensual or coercive as in rape, is permitted on the screen by the National Censorship Board.

sivamohan does assiduous ethnographic research for drawing her characters, but they are not Bio-Pics of these particular artists and nor are they phantasmatic figures, but appear to be composites of several real persons in the film and music industries. Hers is not the problem of ‘Realism in the cinema,’ which codes expression in the three-act drama I referred to earlier, and which Stefan Brecht (cited at the beginning) rejects. Within the known historical discrimination suffered by the Tamils of Lanka, sivamohan (who has lived through civil war years both in Jaffna and the South and lost a sister and close friends to it), has created her characters themselves with a degree of opacity, with regard to their subjectivity (reminiscent of Robert Bresson’s Models) but none of them is enigmatic. For me, this is part of the charm and subtlety of these characters who form a multi-ethnic Lankan family. The different ways in which Kanthi and Lucky sing the same song, his ‘mother’s song’, adds a rich affective density to their characters and the ballad-like song itself. Rex at first seemed the simplest, the most transparent, with his open smile, and yet gradually he too becomes much more complex, dark (as he faces direct racist violence), lashing out at those closest to him in despair as his soul is destroyed.

‘Ammi, did he kill her to stop the music?’

Rex and Kanthi

Shamala Kumar (in her hauntingly personal account in the island), on seeing Sons and Fathers with Malin her thirteen-year-old son, tells us that he kept asking her questions loudly while watching the film, to which she had to say ‘I don’t know.’ She says that about the many incomprehensible events of racialised violence shown, including the burning of the film director Venkat in his car. Later at home Malin had asked his mother, ‘did he kill her to stop the music?’ The mother comments on her child’s thoughtful question saying, it was as though he was pleased to be able to piece together a tentative reason for why Lucky fired that shot in a movie theatre. Lucky had come to a cinema where the film of the opening song and dance sequence is repeated in colour, this time round showing us an utterly absorbed audience in a few shots. Lucky, standing at the back of the theatre appears to take a gun out and point it at the screen. Though no gun is visible, we infer that it is one because we see the familiar gesture (seen in countless Westerns and Gangster films), hear the shot and see the dancer on the screen falling down. Some viewers rise up in consternation, one which we share. The reverse shot cuts to a close-up of the bleeding singer who appears to be ‘real,’ rather than a projected image, but films can wound us, make us cry as in life. The next cut shows a singular image, a painterly shot of a splash of red on a white surface. The entire series of shots are hard to make clear sense of, hence the child’s considered question to his mother. It is a puzzle for me as well, because it doesn’t quite compute as a sensory-motor action, say, as a shot fired in a gangster film would be. Usually such a generic shot is clearly motivated, the gun essential to the action as are the hero and villain. I feel a bit like Malin, baffled and startled by that scene. And each time I try to work out how it works, it slips away but returns to me unwittingly just as I drift off into sleep. I feel I can’t quite compute it. But slowly I was able to see why it’s a scene that troubles the mind in a manner quite different from the horrific sequence of the burning of Venkat in his car.

Through this comparison, it dawned on me that sivamohan shifts planes of action and composition (in all three of her films), at certain critical violent moments. She plays with fire; there is the burning tea bush in Ingirunthu which does not turn to ash, and in A Single Tumbler, the single metal tumbler catches fire in the microwave, a truly disturbing, scary image. The fire power of Lucky’s gun shot is slightly different, but all three instances shift gear, so to speak. They do something which impels our minds (if receptive like that of a child), to return to the scene repeatedly. What is it about these sivamohan scenes that make our minds to return to them irresistibly? They are not played out on a clear realist spatio-temporal plane, though these films have a precise sense of historical space/time.

On a meta-cinematic plane, Sivamohan is paying tribute to the process of Montage which created the magical appearances and disappearances, what Eisenstein called, the defining cinematic act of the medium of film. These singular scenes puzzle the mind because their violence is not like the realistically presented violence of say, burning a man alive or the mass destruction of buildings and property with fire. The violence of shooting at the image of the dancer (but not the flesh and blood actor/dancer), enacts a form of ‘counter-violence,’ as response to the normalised violence of racism, exploitation, torture and murder, which we have become all too familiar with as Lankans (we hear a victim of the pogrom say, ‘last time we lost all’). How many more times will history repeat itself with such horrific violence, one wonders.

A beautiful scene honours actual persons from the film industry, the editor Aliman (a Muslim), with his old editing machine to cut (the now obsolete) celluloid film, expertly handling the film, searches for the 28 missing shots with the director Siva (a Tamil). These two men from the film industry, with their dry humour, were well known personnel who did pass away quite poor.

Allegory as Counter-Violence

There is a large body of philosophical and programmatic writing on revolutionary- violence in anti-imperialist national struggles, as a form of ‘counter-violence.’ I am trying to use the idea differently though, not by citing chapter and verse from, say Lenin’s What is to be Done, or Che Guevara, beloved of the JVP of the April ‘71 rebellion. Rather, I want to understand the precise imaginative ways in which the shooting of the dancer has been staged allegorically, rather than realistically, which I would argue to be an ethico-aesthetic decision by sumathy in her film, which is also about the State sponsored pogrom against the Tamils in July 83.

sumathy’s allegorical scenes are not cliches that she whips up to resolve her films when the situation becomes unendurable, when the violence reaches a level of horror and ‘The Scream’ appears to be the only expression available. It’s the internal dynamics of the fascist violence of the State and of reactive terrorism of the LTTE which is displaced in the movie theatre, with an allegory of cinematic violence, countering the sure-fire ingredients of ‘Action, Sex and Violence’ (mentioned as desirable by a producer in the film), as ingredients of exciting marketable films now. The process of countering these violent logics of actions and reactions is linked to how the theatre scene is constructed as an allegory, what I am calling an enactment of ‘counter-violence’ through a film-allegory.

The Lens as A Brush

Godard, when asked once why there is so much blood smeared liberally on his characters, in one of his polemical post 68 experimental films famously snapped back, ‘It’s not Blood, its Red!’ Similarly, the striking splash of red on a white surface (which appears soon after the dancer is shot down bleeding profusely on the floor), punctuates the scene emphatically and calls attention to its minimalist painterly gesture. Why is this striking singular painterly shot inserted there between shots of the bleeding dancer on the ground? A white surface, whether a wall or the screen itself is not visible there in the theatre. We have heard Lucky being repeatedly called a ‘tiger cub,’ even by his best friend and the other Sinhala musicians refuse to work with him as the suspicion against all Tamil young men as potential terrorists intensifies in the South.

This trend reaches a peak when his ‘girl-friend’ Champa, on hearing Lucky sing his ‘mother’s song (Tharaka Hanga) at the club, asks him what it is and if he would teach it to her. Like the sweetly naive person he is, he agrees gladly. But instead of waiting, Champa goes to Lucky’s house and learns the song directly from his mother herself. As he returns home they meet unexpectedly at his door and sees her guile when she tells him that she is off to India to be trained as a singer. As she walks away Lucky shouts out her; ‘My father is not a Terrorist. I am a Terrorist. I will carry the Tamil newspaper gladly.’ His mother has previously warned Rex not to be seen carrying a Tamil newspaper. The sense of the crescendo of Lucky’s surprising outburst is muted as it’s a Tamil newspaper which he thinks to carry, not a weapon of choice for a terrorist of any ethnicity! It’s the repeated branding of Lucky as a terrorist by his peers which makes his persona as a ‘terrorist’ in the movie theatre credible. There, Lucky is presented as an actor in the ‘film within the film,’ who acts out an allegorical scene of shooting at an image. Because, if he is an actor playing a Terrorist, then his sole imperative is that he must kill. But if it’s an allegorical action, then the question as to motivation can have no realist answer. The splash of blood-red on the pristine white screen is a sensuous abstract image of ‘pure’ violence, enabled by Lucky’s equally abstracted gesture of shooting an image with an imaginary gun, in the film within the film Sons and Fathers that we have been watching for over an hour by then. So, I read the entire scene of Lucky shooting the dancer and the audience watching it, as a film-within-a-film (a meta-film) crystalising, in an abstract image of violence, the discussions on the need for racial and cultural purity, also encoded in the song Jaya Pita Deas. The sonic montage, the contradiction between the hybrid image and sound, and between images themselves, is the kind of sequence which Eisenstein called ‘Intellectual-Montage.’ They cut across the compartmentalised brain. These conceptually sophisticated audio-visual montage techniques, stimulating feelings and thoughts all at once, would have been why Sons and Fathers received the prize for music, at the Jaipur International Film Festival in 2019.

The different views expressed about Sinhala cinema and the desirability of ‘cultural purity’ appears as an open question here. Historically, these questions were resolved in favour of the Nationalisation of the film industry according to the recommendation of the Royal Commission into the Lankan Film Industry in the 1960s. The examination of the successes and problems of that policy, in the creation of a ‘truly national (Sinhala) cinema’ by instituting the State Film Corporation of Lanka, is best left to historians. But the question of whether the significant new national cinema, created in its wake, also ignored Lanka’s ethnic minorities from the desired national identity, is also one for our film critics to worry over. The allegorical gesture of Lucky, shooting down the film image, in the guise of a Sinhala persona allegorised as a Tamil Terrorist, still remains tantalising to my mind despite what I’ve written here. But we Sinhala critics will learn much, I believe, through serious scholarship and critical writing on Lankan cinema and exploring how sumathy’s cinematic project might be theorised within its dynamics. Such work will require interrogating the long-standing (taken for granted) Sinhala idea of sanguine ‘generational change’ among talented men, because ‘history’ is not a natural event.

The Mother’s Song and its Loss

Towards the very end of the film we see Rex, Kanthi and their daughter absorbed in something on their TV. For the first time we see them in large close-ups (rare in this film), while the camera tracks between them, bringing each of them very close to us. A cut to the TV reveals Champa singing Lucky’s ‘mother’s song’ with orchestration, in a polished, well trained, sweet voice, dressed tastefully in a matching sari and blouse, producing the requisite well-rehearsed gestures and artfully-wistful smiles for the camera. What we have heard and seen so far is of this song’s unusual circulation from a mother to a son whose childhood was nourished by his mother singing it often. We see its social circulation when Kanthi is invited to sing a song by her guests who appreciate her voice and the song. She sings with ease and grace, dressed now in an Indian sari, wearing a pottu and her knee length hair in a single braid. But we also hear the song at intense moments of fear and sadness, as when Kanthi sings it to herself after having looked at a photo album. But on the television it appears as a song ‘stolen’ from the family by Champa, without a thought for royalties, having violated something above and beyond the provenance of a song. As the threesome watch Champa’s polished performance of their own song, Kanthi begins to mouth it silently, while Rex looks on utterly bereft but still beating time to the song he composed for his beloved wife, while the camera rests on Mala who looks straight at us for the first time, as the shot ends. Was she angry I wondered, trying to read her contained intense expression. The careless, cool ease with which Champa becomes a professional singer and sings the song publicly contrasts starkly with a singular rendition of it by Lucky. While in his bedroom (with a blurred poster of John Lennon on his wall), Lucky spits out a snatch of Rock music, but in the club, he sings his mother’s song almost to himself, in a caressing whisper, before the band has to strike a ‘Happy Birthday’ with the sound of breaking glass in the distance; a complex sequence in montage.

Lucky is presented as a tender, generous and most vulnerable young man, and through his allegorisation as The Terrorist, at the movie theatre, we might be able to see how even such a person may become a ‘terrorist,’ cornered, crushed, with avenues for professional movement all blocked for him and his family. In doing this the director makes an exemplary figure of a Lankan artist whose cultural heritage is mixed, hybrid, not monoculturally pure. It’s nothing to do with his ‘pure blood’ (Sinha-ley,) but rather a matter of access to learning, fair opportunity and a shared understanding of a rich multi-cultural world (including India), open to the outside world. That it is a Sinhala actor who is personified as a Tamil Terrorist (who in his actual life sings in Tamil), is significant, because some of that brutalising process is ‘demonstrated’ through the political device of allegory. There is no ‘conversion’ of Lucky into a Terrorist because we see both Lucky and the persona of the Terrorist in his gesture of shooting at an image, with an invisible gun. In the movie theatre, he is not a symbol or a metaphor, but functions as an allegorical body. Allegory makes us see double, and stays with the unresolved duality, and lets it trouble us, as it did Malin and me. That splattered red on white appears as both blood and some red paint, and the white background both a movie screen and a pure white surface, both at once. Such a mode of allegorical viewing goes against our habitual and ingrained ways of consuming films.

Some of us, who have spent all our working lives teaching film and have also grown-up watching lots of all kinds of films (in a long-ago vanished Ceylon in my case) believe that when it’s time to take leave, the Angel of Death will arrive and give us a chance to see just two film clips one last time. Now, I will unhesitatingly choose Dharmasena Pathiraja’s film Ponmani, made with his Tamil friends, while he was teaching Sinhala literature and Media Studies at the Jaffna University in the ‘70. It’s the haunting funeral procession of Ponmani, with her coffin in a horse-drawn glass carriage, led by a slender man in shorts, filmed in a formal long-shot against a lagoon and an expanse of sky, with her father walking alone some distance away from the mourners, as his Vellala family was estranged from her. For having violated caste taboos, she was shot dead by a killer hired by her betrothed, as she came out of a church with her new kin group. The Karnataka song we had heard sung repeatedly, by a group of seated female singers (about longing for Krishna to appear), plays across this desolate shot one last time.

The other clip is of the seemingly every-day banal high-angle-shot of the family of three walking towards us on a railway platform. In long to medium shots from Sons and Fathers, we see Rex, Kanthi and Lucky as a boy, walking between them carrying small suitcases of their possessions. The couple has just got married at a registry (with minimal formality, with just four smiling in-laws) and are coming home to live with Rex. Kanthi is dressed in a Kandyan sari and Rex has long curly hair tied at the back. Seeing that shot of the threesome, who are being observed by an adult Lucky leaning on a railway bridge (a pensive ‘recollection image’), it becomes an iconic shot for Sinhala cinema, suggestive in its promise of rich potential for our art and much else. Variations of this shot, of them climbing the long steps of the station, are repeated several times like the refrain of Lucky’s beloved mother’s song.

sumathy wrote the lyrics for two of the four songs in the film. Vantharu Vanthachu (‘He is coming’ with apocalyptic events of bombs destroying the earth, elephants in trees, wrapped in a love song), is sung in Tamil. The Mother’s Song, written in English, is translated for the film by Amarakeerthi Liyanage, a Professor of Sinhala and a specialist in Comparative Literature. Anthony Surendra, the Tamil music director of the film, wrote, composed and sang My Heart (Ma Hade) in the film at a recording studio and is the song Kanthi hums to Rex’s accompaniment at the keyboard (and also to an infant Kamala), in a most unusual romantic scene. When asked, sumathy said that she was thinking of Desdemona’s Willow Song while writing what she calls ‘The Mother’s Song’ for the film. The Shakespearean ballad was given to Desdemona by her mother who had received it from her maid. She makes a significant change in her song, the ‘betrayal’ there is no longer sexual as in the original folk ballad sung by Desdemona before Othello kills her in a fit of jealousy. But in the film, it becomes Champa’s thoughtless, cunning betrayal of Lucky and his mother.

The way Sumathy presents Rex Periyasami, Mudiyanselage Kanthilatha, Lakshman and Mala as a multi-ethnic family, makes one feel that they will survive the fire that set Lanka ablaze then, stronger in the essential values that bind them together, but no doubt at great cost to their livelihoods and futures, in creating the hybrid music, their very life-blood, which Kanthi says emphatically, ‘saved them’. Sumathy’s Sons and Fathers is her poetic tribute to those values that bind that family and the ethnically diverse Lankan popular film and music industry where those values also flourished, once.

However, Malin’s singular question to his mother, and Mala’s last look to the camera, perhaps of anger, make an old critic like me imagine that they must be big by now. And in so doing, I hear faintly Rukmani Devi singing, ‘mavila penevi rupe hade …swapneya chaya …’ (in my heart emerges a dream-image … of life) as I fall asleep, perchance to dream. (Concluded)

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Midweek Review

Opp. caught up in CIABOC offensive

Published

4 days ago

2026/06/24

Sahan Weerasooriya

Mahinda Rajapaksa leaving CIABOC on 12 June, 2026

The Commission to Investigate Allegations of Bribery or Corruption (CIABOC) on 12 June questioned former President Mahinda Rajapaksa regarding the USD 2 Mn bribe allegation directed at the late SriLankan CEO Kapila Chandrasena, whose body was found on 8 May in a close relative’s home in Kollupitiya. Chandrasena’s alleged suicide sent shock waves through political circles and interested parties questioned the circumstances leading to him being granted bail on 6 May on cash bail of Rs. 500,000 with three sureties of Rs. 10 million each. The Colombo Magistrate court also imposed a travel ban. The issue at hand is as to how Mohamed Riswan and Mohamed Irshan stood as sureties for Chandrasekera. Of all the investigations undertaken by the CIABOC, the USD 2 Mn bribe case is the most politically charged probe.

Of the Rajapaksas, former State Minister Shasheendra Rajapaksa is so far the last to be indicted. CIABOC on 19 June filed indictments before the Colombo High Court against him and two others Sepalika Saman Kumari and Keerthi Bandara Kotagama. According to the charges, the accused are alleged to have committed the offence of corruption and aided and abetted the commission of the offence by using official influence to pressure certain government officials, attached to the Office for Reparations, to obtain compensation amounting to Rs. 8.85 million for a property built on a state land by Shasheendra and destroyed by marauding Aragalaya mobs.

By Shamindra Ferdinando

The ruling National People’s Power (NPP) government last week emphasised, in no uncertain terms, that it wouldn’t tolerate the growing Opposition challenge.

Amidst the growing controversy over the continuing detention of retired Maj. Gen. Suresh Sallay. in terms of the draconian Prevention of Terrorism Act (PTA), under humiliating conditions, in connection with the ongoing investigations into the 2019 Easter Sunday carnage, police arrested Sugeeshwara Bandara, leader of the New People’s Front (NPF). The Central Crime Investigation Bureau (CCIB) apprehended him on 18 June and the Fort Magistrate’s Court remended him till 1 July..

The CCIB also apprehended Binoy Hettiarachchi who was accompanying Bandara. Hettiarachchi served as a media coordinator at the former President Ranil Wickremesinghe’s Flower Road Office. Police intercepted their vehicle at Kollupitiya where the arrests were made like in an action-packed movie. Hettiarachchi was freed four hours later.

But, it would be better to identify Bandara as the former private secretary to President Gotabaya Rajapaksa as well as the Director General of Special Projects at the Presidential Secretariat in the wake of Ranil Wickremesinghe taking over the presidency.

Accused of receiving two salaries simultaneously, under the President’s Expenditure Head, Bandara who managed the media for Gotabaya Rajapaksa, in the run-up to the 2019 presidential election, is under investigation for abuse of government vehicles and employing government workers for political work.

Having launched his political career as the Colombo District organiser of the alliance New People’s Front, a breakaway faction of the UPFA, in February, 2024, Bandara contested the November, 2024, parliamentary polls on the New Democratic Front (NDF) ticket. But, of late, Bandara, as the leader of NPF, became one of the most active opposition activists, aligned with the political grouping, dubbed People’s United Opposition, operating from Ranil Wickremesinghe’s Flower Road Office.

Bandara drew the wrath of the government when he launched a noisy protest outside Finance Secretary Dr. Harshana Suriyapperuma’s residence at Akuregoda, Pelawatta, on 26 April, where he and his protesting supporters were given a shower of excreta. The group, led by Bandara, demanded the Finance Secretary’s resignation over the theft of USD 2.5 mn from the Treasury. No less a person than President Anura Kumara Dissanayake reacted angrily to Bandara’s actions.

Acknowledging the right for legitimate protests, the President warned against protests directed at residences of officials. On 18 April, Bandara led a protest outside Agriculture Minister K.D. Lal Kantha’s recently built luxury residence at Weliwita, Kaduwela, where he questioned how the JVPer managed to build such a home as he was on record as having repeatedly said that he lived a difficult life.

The police apprehended Bandara as he was returning from a meeting between senior representatives of the People’s United Opposition and the IMF Colombo at the Tiki Bar, Shangri-La. In spite of negligible parliamentary presence, with those elected on the NDF ticket at the last parliamentary election not really speaking in one voice, the Flower Road project has become a headache for the government.

In fact, the Flower Road operation has been causing continuous harassment to the NPP, while the Samagi Jana Balawegaya (SJB) struggled to play its anticipated role as the main Opposition. Instead of conducting a cohesive campaign against the cocky NPP government, members of the SJB seem to be pulling in different directions at the expense of the common opposition front.

Regardless of the Wickremesinghe-led grouping vowing to press ahead with its campaign, the arrest of Bandara is obviously meant to have a detrimental impact on the activities of the Opposition.

It would be pertinent to mention that Bandara had been among those who stayed with President Gotabaya Rajapaksa at the President’s House, in Colombo, as a massive protest erupted on 9 July, 2022. Bandara was among the last to flee the President’s House as the military withdrew, amidst mounting pressure on their positions.

The police arrested Bandara as former President Gotabaya Rajapaksa moved the Court of Appeal in terms of Article 140 of the Constitution to prevent him being arrested under the PTA. The wartime Defence Secretary sought the court intervention in the wake of police probing the 2019 Easter Sunday carnage and obtaining a travel ban against him.

The court heard Romesh de Silva PC’s submissions on behalf of the ex-President on 18 June. The court deferred the hearing to 24 June. The crux of the matter is that the ex-President fears that the CID is about to arrest him on the basis of a statement made by fugitive Azad Moulana, in Paris, linking Sallay directly with the Easter Sunday carnage.

NPP intensifies pressure

The NPP seems confident of its current course of action meant to pin down the Opposition. In spite of unbridled corruption being the major issue on the post-war election platform, no political party succeeded in going flat-out against the political opposition.

However, the NPP allowed the judicial process to continue. The first major sentencing was announced on 2 April, 2025, just six months after the parliamentary polls, handsomely won by the NPP. The Commission to Investigate Allegations of Bribery or Corruption (CIABOC) moved the Colombo High Court successfully against the former Chief Minister of the North Central Province S.M. Ranjith Samarakoon.

Colombo High Court No. 01 Judge Adithya Patabendige sentenced him in terms of Section 70 of the Bribery Act. The HC declared the former CM perpetrated malpractices by ordering fuel to his personal secretary’s vehicle. The personal secretary happened to be Shanthi Chandrasena, wife of his brother S.M. Chandrasena, a former Cabinet Minister and one of the most powerful Ministers to represent the North Central province.

The ex- Chief Minister and the second accused, his personal secretary, were convicted guilty of two charges. Both were sentenced to 16 years rigorous imprisonment and were also ordered to pay a fine of Rs. 200,000/- with an additional two-year prison term in case of default.

Deputy Director General Asitha Anthoney appeared on behalf of the Commission to Investigate Allegations of Bribery or Corruption.

There had never been any really coordinated CIABOC campaign against corruption. No political party, or a particular family, felt threatened by CIABOC. Both those in and outside Parliament acted with impunity. They feared no one. There was no need to be because the powerful and the influential operated above the law.

Just a couple of weeks after sentencing of S.M. Ranjith Samarakoon and Shanthini Chandrasena, the CIABOC arrested the latter’s husband, one-time Deputy Economic Development Minister and Special Projects Minister, S.M. Chandrasena. The CIABOC took him into custody on 4 July, 2025.

The CIABOC accused the former Minister of causing loss to the government by distributing seed corn, imported at a cost of Rs 25 mn, in 2024, among the farmer community in the Anuradhapura district, at a subsidised price. The distribution had taken place ahead of the 2015 presidential election contested by Mahinda Rajapaksa and estranged former SLFP General Secretary Maithripala Sirisena. The CIABOC alleged that Chandrasena exerted undue influence on the Director (Planning) and other officers of the District Secretariat and distributed seeds through his political allies to gain an advantage in the 2015 presidential election and incurred a loss to the government.

Chandrasena was granted bail on 1 August, 2025. He was indicted on 12 June before the Colombo High Court.

Before further discussing the ongoing anti-corruption campaign, let me introduce the top leadership of CIABOC. The Commission consists of Justice W.M.N.P. Iddawela (Chairman), K.B. Rajapakse and Chethiya Goonesekera P.C, with High Court judge R.S.A. Dissanayake as its Director General.

The sentencing of the S. M. Ranjith Samarakoon didn’t really bother his side. The arrest of his brother S.M. Chandrasena, too, didn’t really upset those facing charges. But, sentencing of former Minister Mahindananda Aluthgamage and former Sathosa Chairman and former Trade Minister Nalin Fernando on 29 May, 2025, sent shock waves through the Opposition.

The Colombo High Court Trial-at-Bar sentenced Aluthgamage and Fernando for committing the offence of corruption by purchasing 14,000 carrom boards and 11,000 checkers boards through Sathosa, allegedly to distribute to schools and sports clubs selected by the Sports Ministry, and distributing them to party offices of the government, during the 2015 presidential election campaign thereby, causing a loss of over 53 million rupees to the government, stunned the Opposition.

Aluthgamage was sentenced to 20 years of rigorous imprisonment, Fernando received a sentence of 25 years of rigorous imprisonment. Additionally, a fine of Rs. 100,000 (hundred thousand) was imposed for each count.

The CIABOC’s Assistant Director General Mrs. Anuththara Jayasinghe and Assistant Director General Mrs. Thushari Dayaratne conducted the prosecution.

During the Yahapalana government Aluthgamage spearheaded a high profile anti-corruption campaign, dubbed ‘Yahapalana Top 10 kamba horu’. The then Joint Opposition (JO) group, led in Parliament by Dinesh Gunawardena, published a 750-page book, targeting the Yahapalana ministers. Mahindananda, who spearheaded that campaign, is now serving a long sentence.

The JO group consists of UPFA lawmakers who declined to throw their weight behind the then President Sirisena aligned with the UNP.

Let me mention the names of those against whom the accusations were made by the JO.

Yahapalana corruption

The JO dealt with 10 major cases. (1) The Treasury bond scams perpetrated in 2015 and 2016. Accusations were directed at Ranil Wickremesinghe, Ravi Karunanayake and Governor Central Bank Arjuna Mahendran. The losses were estimated at Rs 26 bn. (2) causing losses amounting to Rs 10 bn through the fraudulent import of vehicles. Ravi Karunanayake was named the chief culprit (3) Misappropriation of Mahapola funds to the tune of Rs. 1 bn. Allegations were directed at Malik Samarawickrema (4) Stealing from an insurance scheme implemented for the benefit of those going for employment in West Asia. The JO accused Thalatha Atukarale of misappropriating funds amounting Rs 1.5 bn (5) Receiving Rs 1.5 bn through the leasing of Hambantota port to China on a 99-year lease. Ranil Wickremesinghe, Malik Samarawickrema and R. Paskaralingam were named the offenders (6) Kabir Hashim was accused of causing a loss of Rs 54 bn by cancelling aircraft ordered from Airbus Industries for the national carrier (7) fraudulent activities pertaining to the release of paddy stocks held by the government. The JO estimated the losses caused to the government at Rs 10 bn. (8) Scam in vehicle parts. Ravil Karunanayake was accused of causing losses amounting to Rs. 6.5 bn, (9 A) Dr. Rajitha Senaratne was accused of leasing of the Modera fisheries harbor and procurement of eight vessels to catch fish, fraudulently, and thereby causing losses up to Rs 1 bn, (9B) The JO also found fault with Dr. Senaratne for perpetrating Rs 1.5 bn fraud in the procurement of medicine and lastly (10) Ranil Wickremesinghe, Malik Samarawickrema, R. Paskaralingam and Charitha Ratwatte were blamed for a massive fraud in the procurement of coal for the Norochcholai coal-fired power plant. That particular fraud was estimated at Rs 5 bn.

Although the JO transformed itself to Sri Lanka Podujana Peramuna (SLPP) later, to successfully contested the 2019 presidential election, none of the above-mentioned cases were investigated. As far as we know, none of those cases had been dealt with during the SLPP rule, from November, 2019, to July, 2022. Faced with an externally backed regime change operation, the SLPP invited Wickremesinghe, who had been named by them in three major corruption cases, to accept the premiership in May, 2022, and presidency in July same year.

So far, there is no indication whether the mentioned JO allegations had received the attention of the CIABOC or the Attorney General of the government. As far as we know of all the politicians and officials, Wickremesinghe is the only one facing imminent threat due to the ongoing case pertaining to him visiting the UK in September, 2023, to join his wife Prof. Maithree at the University of Wolverhampton at her graduation ceremony.

Wickremesinghe has been accused of squandering nearly 17 mn rupees at a time the country was in deep economic turmoil. The Fort Magistrate’s court is scheduled to take up the case on 8 July.

SLPP parliamentary group leader Namal Rajapaksa is also facing a major legal challenge. The former Minister has been indicted on charges of criminal misappropriation of Rs. 70 mn in connection with the controversial Krrish project. The indictments have been forwarded to the Colombo High Court by the Attorney General, alleging that Namal Rajapaksa misappropriated funds by receiving Rs. 70 million from the Indian real estate company for the development of rugby in Sri Lanka.

Yoshitha Rajapaksa, too, has been dealt with by the CIABOC. The Rajapaksas have been accused of lowering qualifications required to join the executive branch of the Navy and then sending him to the Royal Naval Academy in the United Kingdom at taxpayers’ expense. Produced before the Colombo Additional Magistrate, Yoshitha was released on three personal bail bonds of Rs. 5 million each.

Producing Yoshitha before court on 17 June, Deputy Director General of the Bribery Commission, Ruvini Wickramasinghe declared: “”Your Honour, the complaint regarding this incident was received on June 25, 2016. Accordingly, the Commission initiated investigations. The complaint states that the suspect had participated in naval training programmes held in England and Ukraine by misusing government funds, while depriving qualified applicants of such opportunities. At that time, this individual, who is a civilian in the dock today, was also a civilian in 2006 when he was deemed eligible for the Royal Navy Young Officer training at the Royal Naval Academy in the United Kingdom. The opportunities to receive this training are extremely limited. Your Honour, selection to this prestigious course is usually based on being the most outstanding cadet officer during a two-year training period or based on performance during training. However, this suspect, although a civilian in 2006, was proposed and included in the list and was sent for the course in haste.”

The Deputy Director General also stated that Yoshitha Rajapaksa had undergone medical examinations required for overseas training even before being officially recruited into the Navy.

The court was also told that though Sri Lanka previously received scholarships from the UK the Rajapaksa government funded Yoshitha to the tune of Rs 6.2 mn.

Opp. attacks CIABOC

The Opposition has repeatedly attacked the CIABOC with its Director General Ranga Dissanayake being the primary target. Accusing Dissanayake of being a JVPer, the Opposition has repeatedly questioned the conduct of the High Court judge demanding that the CIABOC inquired into the top official’s conduct, especially with regard to the alleged suicide of former Sri Lankan CEO Kapila Chandrasena who had been under investigation pertaining to the receiving of USD 2 mn bribe to facilitate procurement aircraft from Airbus Industrie during Mahinda Rajapaksa’s second term.

Former Foreign Minister Prof. G. L. Peiris, a regular speaker at Flower Road media briefings, alleged that the CIABOC was a political tool in the NPP’s hands.

A section of the Opposition to question the circumstances one-time JVP heavyweight Nandana Gunatilleke died in January this year at the Ragama Teaching Hospital after accusing Dissanayake of pursuing an agenda beneficial to the JVP, a charge denied by the High Court judge. When the writer raised the allegations with Dissanayake, he emphatically denied any wrongdoing on his part https://island.lk/ciaboc-dg-denies-jvp-link/.

The CIABOC has simply ignored accusations directed at its DG who proved through his actions that he really meant high profile public pronouncements against corruption.

Former Deputy Minister and ex-MP Sarana Gunawardena was sentenced to a total of 16 years rigorous imprisonment by the Colombo High Court on June 8, 2026.

During the Yahapalana administration many cases, filed by the CIABOC as well as the Attorney General, were either dismissed or dropped due to lapses on their part. The accused in such cases were ex-MP Sajin Vass Gunawardena, ex-EP Chief Minister Sivanesathurei Chandrakanthan alias Pilleyan, ex-Ministers Johnston Fernando, Rohitha Abeygunawardena, Basil Rajapaksha, Mahindananda Aluthgamage and Janaka Bandara Tennakoon and former AG and CJ Mohan Peiris.

Regardless of Opposition protests, the public appreciate tangible action against corruption. However, the NPP has not been free from serious allegations against it since the last general elections. The release of suspicious 323 containers, plus two containers filled with ice, in January, 2025, followed by the massive coal scam perpetrated in September 2025, loss of over USD 2.5 mn from the Treasury and controversial Aswesuma payments, as well as wealth, accumulated by NPP Ministers as revealed by declarations made to CIABOC, shocked the electorate.

The NPP has failed to counter allegations. The circumstances under which Energy Minister Kumara Jayakody resigned, along with Energy Secretary Udayanga Hemapala, on 17 April, just a week after the NPP defeated the no-confidence motion moved by the Opposition against the Energy Minister. dealt a devastating blow to the NPP’s much touted integrity. The NPP couldn’t explain as to why a person under investigation by the CIABOC for an alleged fraud perpetrated during the Yahapalana government was accommodated in President Dissanayake’s first Cabinet. Indicted before the Colombo High Court, Jayakody’s case commenced last week.

Asset declarations of some NPP Ministers have shocked the country. The SJB has called for CIABOC to investigate them without delay and prove that CIABOC was not only going after the Opposition. Ministers Lal Kantha and Wasantha Samarasinghe are two of the top JVPers who have attracted attention as the Opposition hits back at the government.

SJB MP Mujibur Rahuman said that the JVP/NPP owed an explanation as to how their members amassed so much wealth since 2024 as they repeatedly claimed their inability to meet even their basic needs. But, their asset declarations exposed their blatant lies.

Midweek Review

Geopolitics of the Indian Ocean

Published

4 days ago

2026/06/24

Sahan Weerasooriya

Listening to the Winds, Reading the Waves:

Prof. Gamini Keerawella’s latest publication, Winds and Waves: Geopolitical Currents in the Indian Ocean since 1945 will be launched on 5 August at the Auditorium of the Bandaranaike Centre for International Studies (BCIS). The keynote address will be delivered by Prof. T. V. Paul, James, McGill Professor of Political Science at McGill University, Canada and the former President of the International Studies Association (ISA).

Prof. Keerawella, Professor Emeritus of History at the University of Peradeniya, has dedicated hisbook to the memory of Dr. Newton Gunasinghe, the eminent sociologist and Marxist theoretician who encouraged him to venture beyond disciplinary frontiers. In many respects, this work represents a successful realization of that intellectual endeavour. In her testimonial to back cover of the book, Dr. Radhika Coomaraswamy observes that “Gamini Keerawella offers a nuanced and layered account of the Indian Ocean region’s strategic evolution from the era of decolonization to the contemporary phase of intensifying great-power rivalry. Its distinctive analytical perspective makes it an important contribution to the study of international relations, maritime geopolitics, and regional strategic dynamics.” This assessment accurately captures the significance of the work, and I fully endorse her judgement.

This volume constitutes the final publication of a trilogy that explores the evolving dynamics of international relations from a distinctly Sri Lankan perspective. The first study examined the trajectory of Sri Lanka’s defence and foreign policy, while the second revisited the origins, evolution, and principal constituent elements of international relations as an academic discipline from a Global South perspective. The present work broadens the analytical canvas by tracing the shifting geopolitical contours of the Indian Ocean since 1945 and examining the evolving interplay between great-power competition and regional agency.

Indian Ocean not merely maritime transit space

At the heart of Prof. Keerawella’s analysis is the argument that the Indian Ocean is not merely a maritime space of transit but a living archive whose language is inscribed in tides, trade, and collective memory. To uncover the deeper structures that have shaped the region, he draws on Michel Foucault’s concept of the archaeology of knowledge, probing beneath the visible layers of historical experience to reveal successive strata of thought, exchange, and power. This approach enables him to trace the multiple origins of the Indian Ocean’s geopolitical significance through the sedimented traces of how the ocean has been known, governed, and imagined across time. Complementing this perspective is Fernand Braudel’s concept of the longue durée, which provides the framework for understanding the long-term evolution of Indian Ocean geopolitics. As Keerawella notes, for Braudel, history unfolds not as a single linear sequence but as a layered field of continuity and change, revealing the deeper architecture of the past—the slow yet powerful currents that shape political and economic developments beneath the surface of events (Keerawella 2026: xxiii).Prof. Keerawella further notes that later historians such as K. N. Chaudhuri and M. N. Pearson drew on Braudel’s insights and adapted them to understand the Indian Ocean as a polycentric world.

Prof. Keerawella argues that the terms employed in the title of this work—Winds, Waves, and Currents—evoke the ocean’s dual language of surface movement and underlying structure. In his reading, winds and waves signify motion: the visible and often turbulent forces that carry ships, peoples, commodities, and ideas across shifting maritime frontiers. Currents, by contrast, refer to the deeper and less visible forces that shape historical trajectories and connect coasts and continents through enduring patterns of interaction. As he observes, while winds and waves represent the restless dynamics of the ocean’s surface, currents embody the slower yet more consequential energies that operate beneath it, binding disparate regions into a larger maritime system (2026: xx).

Metaphors and Conceptual Foundation

Building on this conceptual foundation, the author employs winds, waves, and currents not merely as metaphors but also as analytical categories. Winds represent changing strategic directions and geopolitical realignments; waves denote recurring cycles of commerce, conflict, and interaction; and currents symbolize the deep structural forces that connect societies across space and time. Viewed from a distinctly Sri Lankan perspective, the volume demonstrates how a strategically located small state at the centre of the Indian Ocean perceives and navigates this maritime space through its own strategic lens. The book opens by situating Sri Lanka within the intersecting forces of history, geography, and power that have shaped the Indian Ocean world. It advances the notion of a dual strategic consciousness that has informed Sri Lanka’s external engagements: a persistent sense of vulnerability, rooted in colonial experience and geographical exposure, coexisting with a cosmopolitan outlook forged through centuries of maritime exchange. Prof. Keerawella contends that this dual consciousness constitutes the underlying framework through which Sri Lanka has historically interpreted and responded to developments in its external environment.

Winds and Waves is a comprehensive study comprising eleven chapters and an extensive introduction that establishes the analytical foundations of the work by treating the ocean simultaneously as text and method. The opening chapter situates Sri Lanka within the wider Indian Ocean system, tracing the island’s navigation through shifting configurations of power while emphasising the agency of small states. The Indian Ocean is presented not merely as a strategic arena but also as a moral and political space, linking Sri Lanka’s historical experience to the broader aspirations and consciousness of the Global South.

Revisiting British withdrawal

The book revisits Britain’s withdrawal from the Indian Ocean, arguing that it was not simply a consequence of post-war decline but the culmination of deeper structural transformations in the international system. Decolonisation, Afro-Asian nationalism, and the emergence of bipolarity fundamentally altered the regional order and created the conditions for Britain’s retreat. In turn, this withdrawal opened the way for superpower competition, particularly between the United States and the Soviet Union, transforming the Indian Ocean into major theatre of Cold War geopolitics.

A substantial portion of the volume is devoted to examining the policies and strategic trajectories of the major powers. The author traces American engagement from Cold War containment through post-Cold War maritime predominance to contemporary Indo-Pacific formulations, demonstrating that U.S. strategy has evolved through the interaction of structural imperatives and changing strategic discourses. Particular attention is paid to the 2026 U.S.–Iran War, which is interpreted as a transformative event that exposed the limits of military hegemony and accelerated patterns of strategic hedging and multi-alignment among regional actors. The book also explores the Soviet Union’s entry into the Indian Ocean in 1968 and the subsequent re-emergence of Russia under Vladimir Putin through selective naval deployments, arms transfers, and strategic partnerships, illustrating what the author characterises as the recurrent rhythms of great-power engagement in the region.

The rise of China receives extensive treatment as one of the most significant structural developments of the twenty-first century. Through the Belt and Road Initiative, port development projects, and naval modernisation, China has translated growing economic power into expanding strategic influence. The author contrasts Beijing’s assertive posture in the South China Sea with its relatively restrained approach in the Indian Ocean, where economic diplomacy and cooperative security initiatives have assumed greater prominence. Equally significant is the discussion of India’s transformation from a regional power into an emerging global strategic actor. The evolution of Indian maritime strategy—from Nehruvian custodianship to contemporary blue-water ambitions—demonstrates how a rising power navigates structural constraints while expanding its strategic reach. Initiatives such as SAGAR, naval modernization, and deepening partnerships with the United States, Japan, and Australia have positioned India as a central actor in the evolving Indo-Pacific order.

Roles of Japan and EU examined

The volume also examines the roles of Japan and the European Union in shaping the contemporary maritime order. Japan’s transition from post-war restraint to proactive strategic engagement, embodied in the Free and Open Indo-Pacific (FOIP) vision, illustrates how middle powers adapt to changing geopolitical realities through coalition-building and maritime capacity enhancement. The European Union’s engagement is portrayed through less visible but nevertheless significant mechanisms, including trade, development cooperation, maritime governance, and norm diffusion, contributing to what the author terms a form of “quiet-making multipolarity” that encourages restraint, stability, and pragmatic cooperation.

Moving beyond conventional geopolitics, the book broadens the analytical framework to address a range of non-traditional security challenges confronting South Asia in general and Sri Lanka in particular. Climate change, piracy, illegal fishing, maritime terrorism, public health vulnerabilities, and digital insecurity are examined as transnational challenges that transcend the capabilities of individual states. The author argues that these issues reveal the limits of unilateral action and underscore the growing importance of cooperation, collective action, institutional innovation, and middle-power leadership in maritime governance.

Prof. Keerawella further situates the Indian Ocean within the wider context of the emerging Asian Century. Asia’s resurgence—driven principally by China and India and reinforced by the dynamism of Southeast Asia—is presented as a major reconfiguration of global power. In this transformation, the Indian Ocean functions as a vital maritime artery connecting energy resources, manufacturing centres, and consumer markets. At the same time, the author cautions against deterministic interpretations, emphasising that the realisation of the Asian Century remains contingent upon how the region responds to persistent inequalities, environmental challenges, governance deficits, and intensifying strategic competition.

Assessing how SL has navigated shifts

The book concludes by returning to Sri Lanka and assessing how the country has navigated contemporary shifts in the regional and global balance of power under the National People’s Power (NPP) government that emerged in the aftermath of the Aragalaya of 2022. The author demonstrates how economic crisis, demands for accountability, and aspirations for a new political culture have reshaped the domestic context within which foreign policy is conducted. Under President Anura Kumara Dissanayake, Sri Lanka is portrayed as pursuing a carefully calibrated strategy that combines engagement with international financial institutions, enhanced cooperation with India in defence and energy sectors, continued economic engagement with China, and functional security relations with the United States. The government’s response to the 2026 U.S.–Iran War—rejecting military access requests from all parties while extending humanitarian assistance—serves as an illustration of the author’s broader argument that strategic flexibility, principled neutrality, and diplomatic agility remain essential for small states navigating an increasingly complex Indian Ocean order.

Taken together, the book advances several interconnected propositions. First, the Indian Ocean is entering an increasingly multipolar era in which power is exercised through complex networks of cooperation, competition, and interdependence rather than rigid alliance structures. Second, small states are neither passive spectators nor mere proxies of great powers; they possess strategic agency and navigate competing pressures through hedging, diversification, and calibrated diplomacy. Third, Sri Lanka’s strategic behaviour—characterised by navigating asymmetry through flexibility and ambiguity—reflects a historically rooted dual consciousness that combines vulnerability with cosmopolitan engagement. Fourth, non-traditional security challenges and environmental governance are no longer peripheral concerns but central components of the evolving regional order.

Need for adaptive navigation

Prof. Keerawella argues that contemporary statecraft in the Indian Ocean requires adaptive navigation rather than rigid alignment. In a fluid and contested maritime environment, survival and influence depend less on resisting structural change than on understanding and responding to it with prudence, flexibility, and strategic clarity. The book therefore offers important insights into how small states can transform structural vulnerability into strategic agency and convert exposure into opportunities for engagement within a changing regional order.

Combining historical depth with contemporary analysis, it provides a nuanced understanding of the interaction between great-power competition, regional transformation, and the strategic choices of smaller states. The book will be of considerable value to students and scholars of international relations, political science, strategic studies, and maritime affairs, while also offering useful perspectives to policymakers, diplomats, and practitioners. Equally important, it opens several promising avenues for future research on the Indian Ocean and the emerging Indo-Pacific order.

Hermeneutic approachs

Methodologically, the study draws upon hermeneutic approaches to examine the geopolitical and maritime environments that shape relationships among states, societies, and historical processes. The result is a work that is both analytically rigorous and intellectually engaging. This review has sought less to evaluate the book in a conventional sense than to introduce its central themes and encourage a wider readership to engage with its arguments. Having highlighted the many merits of the volume, it is worth noting one technical shortcoming: the absence of an index. Given the book’s wide thematic scope and rich empirical content, the inclusion of an index would have significantly enhanced its value as a reference tool for researchers and students alike.

In sum, Prof. Keerawella listens attentively to the winds, reads the waves with analytical precision, and traces the deeper currents that shape the Indian Ocean world. The outcome is Winds and Waves: Geopolitical Currents in the Indian Ocean since 1945, a timely and thought-provoking contribution published by the Bandaranaike Centre for International Studies.

Reviewed by
Dr. Ramesh Ramasamy
Department of Political Science, University
of Peradeniya