Features

The Popular Sinhala Cinema : Rukmani Devi; Mohideen Baig ; Gamini Fonseka

Published

3 years ago

2023/05/19

by Laleen Jayamanne

Rukmani Devi, the first star of the Sinhala cinema and incomparable singer with a unique voice, originally known as Daisy Rasamma Daniel, was a Tamil Christian. It was well known that she couldn’t read or write Sinhala and that her dialogue and lyrics were written in English. Al-Haj Mohideen Baig, who sang some of the most cherished, perennial popular Sinhala film songs (including Budhu Gee), wrote down the Sinhala lyrics in his mother tongue, Urdu. The multilingual Mohideen Baig came to Lanka in 1932 for his brother’s funeral and stayed on. With the guidance of Mohammed Gauss at Columbia records, he began singing on radio soon after. In India he had sung Ghazals in Urdu in his village Salem and also Hindi and Tamil songs.

Once film production began in Lanka, he had a long career as a backup singer, starting with Asokamala (1947). His powerful, textured voice was unique just like Rukmani Devi’s, which made their songs immensely popular. Also, he acted as a beggar in Sujatha (53), walking across landscapes, singing melancholy shoka gee, commenting on the action. His love songs with Rukmani Devi are some of the most heartfelt songs of longing (viraha), in films like Nalagana (1960), which I heard as a child, at the proletarian Gamini theatre Maradana, where their songs blared out vibrating the small theatre and our hearts. Listening to the songs now on YouTube, those memories flood my thoughts (as I write), as only music can, though the films themselves are a faint memory. Gamini was among several Tamil owned cinemas burned down in July 83 race riots.

Here, I wish focus on Rukmani Devi and Baig Master’s careers within the multi-ethnic composition of the Lankan film industry. Gamini Fonseka will make a guest appearance here as a trilingual Sinhala star who built a Tamil fan base. I examine the period from Rukmani Devi’s starring role in the very first Sinhala film Kadawuna Produwa (Broken Promise) in 1947, going beyond her accidental tragic death in 1978, to the murdering of the director K. Vanket in July 83, and concluding with the assassination of the pioneering film producer and entrepreneur, K. Gunaratnam in 1989, by a JVP gunman.

I do this so as to understand anew the cultural value of the early Lankan hybrid popular cinema and its cross-cultural heritage of songs, its multi-ethnic history, through reading and listening carefully to several of its most ardent cinephiles and researchers. They are a group of older, now retired journalists who are in fact the first generation of Sinhala cinephiles and writers of the Lankan cinema, such as A.D. Ranjith Kumara, Sunil Mihindukula former editors of Saraswiya, Ranjan de Silva, Ananda Padmasiri and Ariyasiri Withanage, who have conducted research into those critically maligned early films, their songs and the mass audience and have helped create a film culture through their writing and programming of film songs.

As cinephiles and collectors, their passion for that popular cinema of the past remains undiminished even in retirement. I came across them through a series of informative programmes on Independent Television Network (ITN), directed by Indrasiri Suraweera (available on YouTube). Their careful historical research into the musical traditions of the films, and generosity of spirit should inspire younger generations of critics and intellectuals to do more historical and theoretical work on the Lankan cinema more broadly and not forget its hybrid foundations. It is a cinema I enjoyed as a child, but studied critically while writing my doctorate on female representation in these films. Also, because most of these men were trained as journalists on radio and the print media, they are highly disciplined concise speakers (unlike us verbose academics), so it was a pleasure to listen to them exploring an undervalued period of Lankan mass cultural history. This history has an important relationship to Sinhala Buddhist Nationalism and its relation to the ethnic minorities of the country as well.

A Feminist Perspective on Rukmani Devi’s Career

Rukmani Devi died in a car crash in the early hours of one morning in October 1978. She had been travelling all night from Matara to Negombo, after having sung at a carnival variety show there. While there are numerous accounts of her death in all its detail and of the mass funeral and public mourning recorded on film, there is no discussion of why she was travelling such a long distance all night, from Matara to Negombo, after a ‘hard day’s work…’. As far as I know there is no critical analysis of what happened to her career at midlife and how that might have had some connection to the circumstances leading to that fatal accident. Her career trajectory from super-stardom as both an actress and singer from the 1940s, mingling with political and business leaders and some of the major Indian film stars, appearing on the cover of the Indian film magazine Film Fare, and a long recording and singing career, starting as a girl, from 1938, to end up singing in a variety show down South, is surely an index of the precariousness of her life. Her financial insecurity was also true of the lives of many other people who had worked in the film industry (including technicians, directors, main and supporting actors), in the first decades of Lankan cinema. This dark history should also be included as an essential part of what is often referred to (with pride), by some Sinhala critics as, Sinhala sinamawe wansa kathawa (the illustrious genealogy of the Sinhala cinema).

That Rukmani Devi lived an independent personal life as a professional woman in Lanka, starting quite young as an actress, on stage and film in the late 1940s, strikes me as an important aspect of her career, though the roles available to her on film reinforced feudal patriarchal values. The film Samiya Birindage Deviyaya (The Husband is the Wife’s God, 1963, WMS Tampo), stands as one of the most extreme examples of these oppressive values. It’s been referred to as a ‘women’s picture’, one which ‘they like to watch crying’, said one Sinhala male critic. Hollywood called their version ‘the weepies’, a profitable melodramatic genre targeting the new female spectator-consumer, who attended matinees.

The panellists, Ranjith Kumara has written a book on Rukmani Devi and Ranjan de Silva is a collector of her gramophone records and the song sheets of that era. He is also knowledgeable about Indian musical traditions such as the Raga based Hindustani music and popular Bajan and Ghazal songs for instance. He could hear their precise influences on the best of the early Sinhala film songs and how the originals were adapted and modified, rather than simply copied in the best examples. Appreciating the high quality of the Indian originals, he didn’t simply dismiss the early songs as ‘bad’ just because their origins were ‘Indian’.

His ideas on adaptation are sophisticated and can be used to revise dogmatic views on the early film songs. Most entries on the web simply list Rukmani Devi’s’ films with plot summaries without an analysis of her roles, some even extending her film list to dates well after her death, perhaps their dates of exhibition!

I can find no discussion on how her career ended in sharp decline, and what that means about the economically precarious state of some of the personnel, both men and women in the film industry of that time. There is plenty of adulation and appreciation of Rukmani Devi now as a singer, especially at anniversaries. People still listen to her songs and know her ‘legend’, and sing her songs, but with voices that are very high-pitched and ‘thin’, without her rich timbre nor the wide range of her voice and intensity of feeling. These innate qualities prompted one critic to suggest that she might have been able to sing Western opera as well. There is an unfortunate absence of an account of her as a pioneering female professional actress and singer, the challenges she faced (as a modern high profiled Tamil woman), all of which I think merit research, especially by feminist scholars and critics.

A useful thesis or two may be formulated and written on this and related topics at one of our universities. The existing research by Ranjith Kumara and Ranjan de Silva and younger critics and researchers should be drawn on and extended from a feminist perspective on ‘women and work’ and ‘female representation’ on film. There are a few books written by these older cinephiles, which must be collectors’ items by now. There is a small book by Sarath Ranaweera on Master Baig.

The fact that Rukmani Devi returned to the stage to perform in Dhamma Jargoda’s Vesmuhunu (an adaptation of A street car named desire by Tennessee Williams), either in 69 or 70, was mentioned by Ranjith Kumara, along with a significant anecdote. He said that just before she went on stage to perform as an aristocratic lady (originally Blanche du Bois in Williams’ play), she had insisted on showing her respect to Dhamma in the traditional Sinhala manner of bowing to him by going down on her hands and knees at his feet.

Ranjith Kumara mentions this because, as he rightly says, it was an unusual gesture for a Christian such as Rukmani Devi to perform. Certainly, in our catholic villages, stretching from Uswatakeiyawa to Negombo (Rukmani’s home town with Eddy Jayamanne), there was never such a practice and it still remains quite a foreign gesture to me, though I do appreciate the idea of ‘guru bhakti’ which encodes Rukmani Devi’s gesture. Ranjith Kumara elaborates on this, saying that it was Dhamma’s Shilpiya manasa (artistic intelligence) that Rukmani bowed to. One could take up this fascinating anecdote, told with such perspicacity, a little further.

Cultural Capital: Rukmani Devi and Irangani Serasinghe

I happened to have seen some of the rehearsals of Dhamma’s Vesmuhunu, as an inaugural student of the Art Centre Theatre Studio of 1970/71. If I remember right, Dhamma also did a version of it with Irangani Serasinghe simultaneously, alternating between these two brilliant Lankan actors. Some of us saw both rehearsals in Harrold Peiris’s large open garage at Alfred House, where our workshops were held, before the Lionel Wendt complex was refurbished to house the workshop. So, Rukmani’s unusual gesture of gratitude to Dhamma, I imagine, is because someone of his stature in Lankan theatre had finally given her the gift of playing a serious dramatic role in a modern play. The actress who started her career in the popular Tower Hall Nurti plays of the 40s and the Minerva theatre of B.A.W. Jayamanne, was finally given the opportunity to act in a modern western classic. Kumara also mentioned how much Rukmani Devi appreciated being able to act in Lester James Peries’ Ahasin Polowata (From the Sky to the Earth) where the Nimal Mendis song she sang won her a posthumous award.

There are several other famous global super stars who have yearned recognition and respect as ‘serious’ actors. The most famous of course being Marlin Monroe who produced The Prince and the Showgirl just so she could act with the famous British Shakespearean actor, Lawrence Olivier, while she was still married to Arthur Miller the famous American playwright. For unusually gifted super stars such as these, popularity alone is insufficient, knowing full well how ephemeral, limited and confining their popular ‘sexy’ image is for them, they longed for something more durable to work on, something with cultural and intellectual capital, one might now say.

Perhaps reading Rukmani’s autobiography (Mage Jeevitha Vitti), might provide more leads into the intricate intersections between her life and work, which in her case are especially inseparable, unlike that of any other Lankan film star I know of. Her use of the word ‘vitti’ (information), rather than ‘katha’ (story) suggests that she knew how to protect herself, her privacy. Rukmani Devi’s career started with her elopement and marriage, while still a minor, and she never stopped working in the dominant language which was not her mother tongue, having done only a few performances in Tamil. Whereas, many Lankan Sinhala female stars have left their careers at the height of their popularity to get married and have a family. Most memorably Jeevarani Kurukulasuriya (who formed such a popular romantic duo with Gamini Fonseka, our first male action hero), abandoned her career at marriage.

Dharmasena Pathiraja’s comments, at the official celebration held by the then president Maithripala Sirisena (along with the former president Chandrika Bandaranayaka), to mark the 50th anniversary of his professional work in the Lankan film industry, are relevant in thinking about Rukmani Devi’s predicament. He undercut the idea that he had worked ‘professionally’ in the ‘Lankan film industry’. He asked, rhetorically but politely:

“What Industry? How can there be an industry without capital, if there is no professional stability and proper infrastructure? When we look at the sad last days of Rukmani Devi, Domi Jayawardhana and Eddie Jayamanne, how can we speak of an industry? I wasn’t a filmmaker professionally, was anyone able to make a living professionally? I made a living by teaching as a lecturer from 1968-2008. (Maha lokuwata, arambaye sita karmanthayak gana katha keruwath, ape athdakeema anuwa wurthiya sthawarathwayk nathnam kohomada karmanthayak thienne!) The people who say there is an industry are the exhibitors and some producers.”

These starkly realist comments may be taken as an important starting point for future research into the economic, cultural and biographical histories of stars of the Lankan cinema, by young scholars. Clearly, Pathiraja knew from within what exactly had happened to these once very popular actors late in their lives. Perhaps it’s not too late yet to do some oral history before those with personal memory and deep knowledge of the vital early decades also pass away.

I remember visiting Master Hugo Fernando (who did comic routines with his little knot of hair tied at the back and large umbrella tucked under his arm), to talk about the ethos of the old days, which he did so graciously. Kumara and de Silva’s research is indispensable in this regard. Irangani Serasinghe would probably welcome a chance to talk about working with both Dhamma and Rukmani on the same play simultaneously, a most unusual experiment only he could have devised. I feel, in doing so, he was paying homage to two of Lanka’s uniquely popular actors from vastly different social worlds and actorly traditions, with very different cultural capital.

There is a strange symmetry in their career trajectories, but going in opposite directions. Irangani became a beloved house hold name only after the advent of the teledramas once Television was introduced in the late 70s. Prior to that, her acting began at the University Dram Soc where she famously played the heroine in the Greek classic Antigone. After her training at Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, she acted in the English language theatre and in the films of Lester beginning with Rekava (1956). Her repertoire included Shakespeare, Chekov, Lorca, Brecht and others. This also led her to play in Sinhala theatre as well.

During this time, she was recognised as one of our finest actors in both languages, but was not a household name as her work was consistently on the English stage. In contrast, Rukmani was a national figure of great adoration as an actress and singer on film and radio starting from the 40s. While Irangani worked in the domain of high-culture, Rukmani Devi created a Lankan popular mass culture (with Master Baig and others), through her films and songs. But with each change of taste, fashion and the fact of ageing, her film appeal diminished. But her resilience at self-reinvention is evident when she joined the group Los Cabelleros, singing Sinhala pop songs to Latin rhythms, with a show in Jaffna where she sang in Tamil.

I wonder if her Sinhala fans were curious enough to ask her to sing in Tamil as well. In her later years she longed to perform in work that was considered intellectually serious, engaged art. And this chance she did get but belatedly with Dhamma, while Irangani, through her later work in tele-dramas and films, has been able to continue her career well into her 90s and also become a cherished ‘national treasure’. Just as some critics dismissed the early Sinhala films dependent on Indian models, there are those who are critical of many teledramas for their low quality and diluting of popular taste and powers of discrimination. Unlike Irangani’s, Rukmani’s career trajectory marks a sad decline, as Pathiraja stated so forcefully. Therefore, all the massive outpouring of love and grief at her death is no compensation for the loss of worthwhile work. After all she died at only 55 with so much untapped creativity still left.

I am not alone in thinking that Lanka failed this rare artist of national and international stature, as it did Master Mohideen Baig (but more of him later). A visiting Indian star on hearing Rukmani Devi sing had said that, had she been born in India she would have been far more famous. Perhaps like the iconic singer Latha Mangeshkar, of whom Kumar Shahani once said: ‘If India has a heart, then that would be Latha Mangeshkar.’ Singing melancholy songs (Shoka Geetha), but with poetic lyrics written especially for her in Tamil and Sinhala, Rukmani Devi might have become, for all of us, (irrespective of our ethnic differences), Lanka’s sole soulful female voice. Baig Master was the only singer who sang with Mangeshkar, who also sang a song in Sinhala.

Rukmani Devi’s unerring ear meant that she could ‘pass’ as Sinhala, without a trace of her Tamil mother tongue inflecting her enunciation of the words. This ability was not a matter of aesthetics alone within the history of race relations in modern Sri Lanka, then Ceylon. In fact, the ability to pronounce ‘correctly’ the Sinhala word for bucket as ‘baldi’, became a sign of one’s ethnic identity during anti-Tamil riots in July 83. Saying ‘valdi’ instead of ‘baldi’ resulted even in death.

Mohideen Baig, a Muslim, who sang duets with Rukmani Devi, did so with a slight Urdu inflected accent and yet he was an essential part of Sinhala cinema and radio with mass appeal for much of the early period. Together, they evoked a haunting feeling of pathos tinged with a melancholy mood (viraha), in many of their songs, most especially in Jeevana me gamana sansare (samsare of this life’s journey).

Muttusamy and Rocksamy were the leading composers of music for the songs in Sinhala, though there were many other Tamil and Muslim musicians working in the industry as well. Even after better educated writers of lyrics entered the industry these highly skilled musicians continued to compose for them. For example, while Karunaratna Abeysekara wrote the lyrics for Kurul Badda the music was by Muttusamy. Rocksamy composed the music for Dharmasena Pathiraja’s great Tamil language film Ponmani, a truly innovative score in that the main song in the Karnataka idiom is repeated as a refrain, creating an emotional commentary on the main violent action. He also played the saxophone which was banned by the Sinhala nationalists at Radio Ceylon as being a brass Western instrument!

To be continued…

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Features

Toward a people-friendly transport system in Sri Lanka

Published

11 hours ago

2026/03/23

Thilina Walpola

Image courtesy Sri Lanka Railways

Professor Mohamed Maheesh’s inquiry into reducing fuel waste amidst a failing public transport system and chronic congestion he discussed in a YouTube on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/reel/892342193673092) strikes a chord because it addresses a structural crisis with a call for individual agency. While the lack of a robust transit network often makes private vehicle use feel like a forced choice, rather than a luxury, the ‘unnecessary’ waste, he mentions, is often fuelled by a combination of outdated driving habits and a lack of collaborative transit solutions. In a country where idling in gridlock is a daily tax on both the wallet and the environment, the response must be a tactical shift toward high-occupancy behaviour—such as organised carpooling—and a conscious adoption of ‘smooth’ driving techniques that minimise the fuel-heavy cycles of rapid acceleration and braking. Ultimately, while we wait for the systemic overhaul of our railways and bus lanes, the most immediate way to curb waste is to decouple our movement from peak-hour bottlenecks through better route planning and, where possible, advocating for decentralised work models that remove the need for the commute entirely.

Reducing fuel waste

The question raised by Prof Mohamed Maheesh, regarding the feasibility of reducing fuel waste in a country plagued by gridlock and a weak public transport system, is a modern dilemma with deep historical irony. For a nation currently tethered to expensive, imported fossil fuels, the ‘unnecessary consumption’ mentioned by Prof Mohamed Maheesh is not just a personal inconvenience but a macroeconomic burden. While individual driving habits and the adoption of carpooling are immediate sticking points for reform, the core of the issue lies in the structural abandonment of high-capacity, electrified transit—a system that Sri Lanka actually pioneered over a century ago. Between 1892 and 1900, Colombo transitioned from a horse-drawn era to a modern electrical one. Following the call for tenders by the Colombo Municipal Council, the Colombo Electric Tramway was established, with the first lines—the Grandpass and Borella routes—opening on January 11, 1900. This was a period where the city’s movement was decoupled from the price of oil, powered, instead, by a dedicated station in Pettah. At its zenith, the system operated 52 tram cars, providing a reliable, fixed-rail alternative that kept the city’s arteries clear of the chaotic private vehicle growth we see today.

However, the decline of this ‘strong public transport’ began not with a lack of demand, but through labor and management friction. The historic Tramcar Strike of January 23, 1929, led by A.E. Goonesinha, marked a shift in the operational viability of the private firm, Boustead Brothers. Although the Municipal Council took over operations on August 31, 1944, the post-war global trend toward ‘flexible’ rubber-tired vehicles led to the system’s eventual demise. The last tramcar ran on June 30, 1960, and by 1964, even the electric trolley buses, that replaced them, were scrapped.

Importance of railway

This historical trajectory confirms Prof. Maheesh’s underlying point: the current waste is a result of moving away from a system that once worked. To reduce fuel consumption today, we are effectively trying to ‘tech’ our way out of a problem that was solved in 1900. Until we reintegrate the efficiency of rail-based or electrified mass transit, the ‘unnecessary’ waste of fuel in traffic remains an inevitable tax on a society that traded its electric tracks for a congested, oil-dependent future.

The modern Light Rail Transit (LRT) proposals for Colombo, primarily the Japan-funded project that reached advanced stages before its cancellation in 2020, represent a massive technological and spatial leap from the original 1900 tram system. While the original Colombo Electric Tramway operated at street level on narrow 12 km routes like the Grandpass and Borella lines, modern LRT plans envision a 75 km network across seven main lines, utilising elevated tracks to entirely bypass the ‘unnecessary traffic’ Prof. Mohamed Maheesh describes. Unlike the streetcars of the past, which were often accused of causing road congestion and operated among pedestrians and horse-drawn carriages, the proposed LRT is designed for high-speed, high-capacity movement—capable of carrying over 30,000 passengers per hour in a single direction, compared to the 52 modest tram cars that served a much smaller, slower-moving Colombo.

Despite these advancements, the two systems share a core philosophy: the electrification of public transport to reduce reliance on fossil fuels. The original trams were powered by a dedicated station in Pettah, a localised energy model that modern LRT would mirror on a much larger scale to insulate the city’s transport costs from global oil prices. However, the modern project has faced significant political and financial hurdles that the British-era system avoided during its first few decades. As of early 2026, although the Sri Lankan government has attempted to revive the project, the Japan International Cooperation Agency (JICA) has maintained that approval depends on the successful completion of ongoing multimodal transport hubs. This delay leaves a century-old gap in Colombo’s infrastructure: we have moved from an era of functional electric tracks to one of aspirational elevated rails, while the daily reality remains the fuel-wasting gridlock Prof. Maheesh highlights.

A mirror of values

A transport system is more than a set of roads, buses, and trains. It is a mirror of how a society values its people—their time, their safety, their dignity, and their ability to participate fully in national life. In Sri Lanka, mobility is a daily struggle for millions, yet it is also the foundation upon which economic opportunity, social inclusion, and national cohesion depend. If we are to imagine a more humane and efficient future, we must begin by rethinking transport, not as a technical sector, but as a social contract.

Sri Lanka’s current transport landscape is a paradox. The country possesses a long-established railway network, an extensive road system, and a vibrant culture of movement that keeps even remote communities connected. Yet the lived experience of travel is often stressful, unpredictable, and unsafe. Congestion in urban areas has reached unsustainable levels. Public transport, though essential, suffers from fragmentation, poor coordination, and declining quality. Pedestrians navigate hostile streets, and vulnerable groups—women, elders, children, and disabled people—face daily risks that should be unacceptable in a modern society. A peoplefriendly transport system must, therefore, address not only infrastructure but the deeper structural and cultural issues that shape mobility.

Fundamental requirement

Safety is the most fundamental requirement of a humane transport system. Sri Lanka’s road fatality rates remain among the highest in the region, and these tragedies are not random misfortunes; they are the predictable outcomes of systemic neglect. Treating road safety as a public health priority rather than a policing matter is essential. This means designing roads that slow vehicles where people walk and live, enforcing speed limits consistently, improving driver training, and ensuring that vehicles meet basic safety standards. It also means recognising that certain groups—children walking to school, elders crossing busy roads, women travelling at night—face disproportionate risks. A society that protects its most vulnerable road users creates a safer environment for everyone.

Yet safety alone does not create dignity. A peoplefriendly system must also guarantee accessibility. In Sri Lanka, mobility is often shaped by inequality: urban residents enjoy more options than rural villagers, men feel safer travelling at night than women, and those with private vehicles enjoy privileges that public transport users do not. A humane system ensures that all citizens, regardless of income, gender, age, or physical ability, can travel with dignity. This requires lowfloor buses that elders can board without struggle, stations with ramps and handrails, clear signage for those with visual impairments, and reliable services that do not force women to choose between harassment and immobility. Accessibility is not an optional feature; it is a measure of a society’s moral maturity.

Public transport remains the backbone of mobility for the majority of Sri Lankans. Buses and trains carry millions of passengers daily, yet the system is undermined by fragmentation and outdated operational models. Private buses compete aggressively for passengers, SLTB struggles with limited resources, and rail serv

ices are hampered by ageing infrastructure. A peoplefriendly system requires a shift from competition to coordination. Instead of treating each bus owner as an independent entrepreneur, Sri Lanka must adopt a unified service model in which routes, schedules, and standards are centrally planned. Operators should be paid for service quality rather than passenger volume, eliminating the reckless race for passengers and ensuring that socially necessary routes are maintained even if they are not profitable.

Railway underutilised

The railway system, though historically significant, remains underutilised. Modernising key commuter corridors, upgrading signalling, improving rolling stock, and integrating bus services with rail stations can transform the railway into a reliable, highcapacity alternative to private vehicles. When trains run frequently, on time, and in coordination with buses, they become not only a mode of transport but a catalyst for economic development and urban regeneration. The potential is enormous; what is lacking is a coherent strategy and sustained investment.

A peoplefriendly system must also begin at the most basic level: the street. Walking is the most fundamental mode of transport, yet Sri Lanka’s urban and semiurban areas often treat pedestrians as afterthoughts. Sidewalks are narrow, broken, or non-existent. Crossings are dangerous. Shade is scarce. A humane transport system must reclaim the street as a shared space where pedestrians are respected. Continuous, wellmaintained sidewalks, safe crossings near schools and hospitals, shaded walkways, and trafficcalmed residential zones are essential. When walking becomes safe and pleasant, it reduces the need for short vehicle trips, eases congestion, and improves public health.

Cycling in mobility ecosystem

Cycling, too, deserves a place in the mobility ecosystem. Although not everyone will cycle, those who do reduce pressure on roads and public transport. In cities like Colombo, Kandy, Galle, and Jaffna, even a modest network of protected cycling lanes can encourage more people to choose bicycles for short trips. Cycling infrastructure is relatively inexpensive compared to road widening or flyovers, yet its social and environmental benefits are substantial. A peoplefriendly system recognises that mobility is not only about speed but about choice, and cycling expands the range of choices available to citizens.

Governance is perhaps the most overlooked dimension of transport reform. Sri Lanka’s current system is characterised by institutional fragmentation: the national ministry, provincial councils, local authorities, the police, SLTB, private operators, and various regulatory bodies all play roles, often without coordination. A peoplefriendly system requires a single, empowered regional transport authority for major urban areas—especially the Western Province—that can plan, regulate, contract, and monitor all modes of transport. Such an authority must be insulated from political interference, guided by data, and accountable to the public. Without coherent governance, even the best-designed policies will fail.

Technology can support this transformation, but it must serve people rather than dictate their behaviour. Integrated ticketing systems that allow passengers to use a single card or QR code across buses and trains reduce friction and make transfers seamless. Realtime information through apps, SMS, and digital displays reduces uncertainty and improves the perceived quality of service. Open data policies allow universities, startups, and civil society to analyse performance and propose improvements. Technology should not be a shiny distraction but a tool that enhances reliability, transparency, and user experience.

Cultural change is equally important. Sri Lanka’s transport culture is shaped by impatience, competition, and a sense of individual survival on the road. Changing this culture requires education, enforcement, and the redesign of physical spaces to encourage cooperation rather than conflict. When roads are designed to slow vehicles, when public transport is reliable, when pedestrians are protected, and when drivers are trained and held accountable, behaviour begins to change. Culture follows structure; people behave differently when the environment supports different behaviours.

Economic sustainability

Economic sustainability is another essential pillar. Public transport cannot rely solely on fare revenue; it requires stable, predictable funding. This can come from a mix of government budgets, modest fuel or parking charges, and land value capture around major stations. When public transport improves, land values rise; capturing a portion of this increase allows the system to fund itself sustainably. A peoplefriendly system is therefore not only socially just but economically rational.

Transforming Sri Lanka’s transport system will require a phased, realistic approach. Quick improvements—such as enforcing speed limits, repairing sidewalks near schools, improving lighting at stations, and piloting unified bus contracts—can build public trust. Mediumterm reforms—such as establishing regional transport authorities, modernising rail corridors, and implementing integrated ticketing—create structural change. Longterm goals—such as nationwide integration, transitoriented development, and sustained reductions in road deaths—require patience and political commitment. A peoplefriendly system is not built overnight; it is built through consistent, incremental progress guided by a clear vision.

Ultimately, the question of transport is a question of what kind of society Sri Lanka aspires to be. A society that values human dignity will design systems that protect and empower people. A society that values time will create reliable, efficient services. A society that values equality will ensure that mobility is not a privilege but a right. A peoplefriendly transport system is, therefore, not merely an engineering project but a moral project. It reflects a belief that every person—whether a schoolchild in Monaragala, a garment worker in Katunayake, an elder in Kurunegala, or a commuter in Colombo—deserves to move through the country safely, comfortably, and with dignity.

SL at a crossroads

Sri Lanka stands at a crossroads. The old model of endless road widening, unregulated competition, and privatevehicle dominance has reached its limits. Congestion grows, pollution worsens, and the social costs of unsafe roads continue to mount. The alternative is not a utopian dream, but a practical, achievable vision grounded in global best practices and local realities. It is a vision in which buses and trains form an integrated network; in which walking and cycling are safe and pleasant; in which women and children travel without fear; in which rural communities remain connected; and in which the daily journey becomes not a burden but a reflection of a society that values its people.

We urge the Minister of Transport to give urgent attention to the insights shared here and the historical precedents of Colombo’s transit system. It is vital that the Ministry recognises the transition from a once-functional electrified network to our current oil-dependent gridlock as a call to action. By prioritising the revitalisation of high-capacity, integrated, sustainable public transport, the government can directly address the unnecessary fuel waste and economic drain that currently burden the nation, and make the system a passenger friendly system.

by Professor M.W. Amarasiri de Silva

Features

Trincomalee oil tank farm: An engineering marvel

Published

11 hours ago

2026/03/23

Thilina Walpola

A section of the Trincomalee oil tanks farm

The ownership of Trincomalee port was highly contested by the Dutch, French and British as Gateway to Bay of Bengal in 1700s and 1800s. The famous seafarer Vice Admiral Horatio Nelson, as a fleet Midshipman (trainee Naval officer) on board HMS Seahorse, in 1775, wrote in his journal “Trincomalee is the Finest Natural Harbour in the World”.

What Lord Nelson realised as a Midshipman was the immense Strategic, Natural and Commercial value of the port, considered as one of the deepest natural Harbours in the World.

Vice Admiral Sir Edward Hughes (British Royal Navy) and Vice Admiral Bailli De Suffern (French Navy) had sea battles to take control of Trincomalee from 25th August to 3rd September 1782.

French Forces attempted to capture Trincomalee on 30th August 1782, for supremacy in India and Ceylon (Sri Lanka) Eastern Coast, which prompted the Royal Navy to come into action. Even though both fleets had heavy casualties (British – 51 killed, 283 wounded. French – 82 killed, 255 Wounded), but no ships were lost.

The British captured Trincomalee on 31st August 1795 from the Dutch after taking over Fort Ostenburg.

It is interesting to note Famous Admiral Lord Nelson and Trincomalee have a special connection. One of the Ships built after the death of Admiral Nelson in 1805 was named HMS Trincomalee; it was built in 1812. HMS Trincomalee is still active; it was restored and is now the National Museum of the Royal Navy at Hartlepool, England.

The US National Anthem “The Star- spangled Banner “was written by Francis Scott Key on 14th September 1814, onboard a truce ship at Baltimore harbour, Maryland, USA! It is pertinent to note that Sri Lanka Navy’s latest addition, ex-US Coast Guard Ship DECISIVE (P 628) started her 14,775 nautical miles journey, longest journey by a Sri Lanka Navy Ship, was from Baltimore to Colombo/ Trincomalee, as explained in my previous article.

Trincomalee was under British rule for a very long time. Their fleet was stationed in Trincomalee and the British developed Trincomalee into a major ship repair and logistical facility for their ships. Larger War ships, like Aircraft Carriers, Destroyers and Frigates, were stationed at Trincomalee.

During the 1930s, the British realised that there should be an Energy Storage facility between Oil fields of Saudi Arabia/ Arabian Gulf and Far East Asia, and designed and built a huge Oil Storage Facility at Trincomalee. The word HUGE is appropriate; as they built 100 tanks, each tank can contain ten thousand (10,000) MT of oil. So, an oil tank farm with a capacity of one million metric tons (one BILLION LITERS) was commissioned by 1935. As per their estimates at that time, the strategic oil stocks in Trincomalee were sufficient for their fleet for more than six months! Every country has Strategic Oil reserves except Sri Lanka! Even India stored part of their Strategic Oil Reserve at Trincomalee with the Indian Oil Company.

Building of tanks was a major engineering project; it was an ENGINEERING MARVEL in the 1930s!

IOC tanks on lower tank farm

Four-inch thick best quality Manchester Steel was used to build these tanks. Each plate is hand-riveted. They were built in such a way that if one tank caught fire, the fire would not spread to others. Pipe lines are connecting all tanks, which could be isolated or interconnected. The “TANK FARM “IS IN TWO SECTIONS – Lower tanks (numbering 39) closer to sea and Jetty (known as Oiling jetty) and Upper tanks on the hillock numbering 61 tanks. The Lower tank farm tanks, closer to the sea, were covered with thick concrete walls, to avoid attack by enemy small raid groups.

Huge Pump house, with very powerful pumps, was installed to pump oil to Upper tanks.All this happened almost 100 years ago!

As advancement of Imperial Japanese Army on the Asian Front and German Forces advancement on the Western Front was stopped by Allied forces in 1944/45 and World War Two ended earlier than anticipated due to US Atomic bombing of Japan. Trinco tanks were not fully utilised.

However, the British knew the importance of the Trincomalee harbour.

When we got Independence in 1948, we signed a Defence Pact with the British so that they could retain control of Trincomalee harbour, the oil tank farm and the China bay airfield.

It was on 15 October 1957, the British handed over the Trincomalee port. The then Prime Minister S W R D Bandaranaike was the Chief Guest at the event and the Royal Ceylon Navy Guard of Honour, commanded by Lieutenant Basil Gunasekara, proudly presented the salute to the Prime Minister. After a long time, the the Royal Navy Ensign (flag) was lowered at Trincomalee Naval Base and the Royal Ceylon Navy flag was hoisted. A plaque, erected near the Trincomalee Naval, has information about this historic occasion. The British ultimately left our shores almost after 162 years – (1795 to 1957).

In the 1987 Indo- Sri Lanka Accord, we agreed to develop the Trincomalee Oil Tank farm jointly with the Indian government. Later on, in the Lower tank farm, we gave 14 tanks to Indian Oil Company (IOC) and 24 tanks to the Ceylon Petroleum Company (CPC).

In January 2022, the remaining 61 tanks in the Upper tank farm were allocated for a CPC- IOC joint venture (51:49 shares) and the Managing Director of CPC was appointed the Chairman of this joint venture and CEO of Lanka IOC as Managing Director of the new company. Initially, Rs 100 million (51 million from CPC and 49 million from IOC) was allocated for renovation and development of these 61 tanks on the Upper tank farm. Feasibility study was done by a renowned international company.

I worked voluntarily as the Chairman of Trincomalee Petroleum Terminals Ltd., (TPTL) for six months in 2023. It was fascinating to work in Trincomalee, where I spent most of my Naval career.

The present situation in the World has proved what the British thought almost 100 years ago is even valid today!

As per my information, Lanka IOC uses all its tanks to store fuel and sometimes do offshore bunkering of ships also. It built TWO MORE NEW TANKS and they have 16 tanks now. All are operational.

The CPC tanks remain unused except three leased to Prima Flour Mills Ltd., for storing fresh water.

The Upper tank farm is being renovated at a very slow pace. Out of 61 tanks on the Upper tank farm, tank No 91 was destroyed during World War II due to Japanese aircraft bombing. There is no tank number 99! (The British also thought 99 was a bad number?). Instead, we have number 101! Tank number 102 is partly built at the top of the hillock! So, that means the British had ideas of expanding tank farms BEYOND 100 TANKS!

The Election Manifesto of the National People’s Front, led by President Anura Kumara Dissanayake, clearly stated that “Trincomalee Oil Tank Farm will be renovated with support of a friendly Foreign County”.

At least now, we should start it without further delay. As a former Chief of Naval Staff of India told me “Ravi, you are sitting on a GOLD MINE at the Trincomalee Naval Base; without realising the value of it”! How true!

By Admiral Ravindra C Wijegunaratne
WV, RWP and Bar, RSP, VSV, USP, NI (M) (Pakistan), ndc, psn, Bsc
(Hons) (War Studies) (Karachi) MPhil (Madras)
Former Navy Commander and Former Chief of Defence Staff
Former Chairman, Trincomalee Petroleum Terminals Ltd
Former Managing Director Ceylon Petroleum Corporation
Former High Commissioner to Pakistan

Features

The scientist who was finally heard

Published

11 hours ago

2026/03/23

Thilina Walpola

Asha

Dr Asha de Vos PhD: A Sri Lankan voice that reshaped Global Marine Science

Specialist Consultant Paediatrician and Honorary Senior Fellow, Postgraduate Institute of Medicine, University of Colombo, Sri Lanka.

At a recent United Nations (UN) event marking International Women’s Day, a striking portrait of a Sri Lankan lady scientist appeared on the screen, alongside a simple but powerful declaration: “They told me I was not capable – so I made a discovery that changed the world.”

The scientist was Dr Asha de Vos. For many Sri Lankans, this moment passed with little notice, confined to a brief news item in the newspapers. Yet for all that, in that global forum, her presence represented something far greater than personal recognition. It marked the arrival of a Sri Lankan scientist on the world stage, not as a participant, but as a pioneer.

A Discovery that Challenged a Conventional Precept

For decades, marine biology held a well-settled view: blue whales, the largest of mammals, in fact, the largest animals ever to have lived, are migratory. This assumption was repeated in textbooks, scientific articles, and accepted without question.

Dr Asha de Vos challenged it. Working in the waters off Sri Lanka, often with limited resources and without the extensive institutional backing available in more developed research environments, she identified a population of blue whales that does not migrate. These whales remain in Sri Lankan waters throughout the year.

This finding was not just an accident, a chance occurrence, nor an incidental observation. It was a carefully orchestrated scientific expedition that overturned a fundamental assumption about one of the most studied animal species on Earth. In doing so, it reminded the scientific world of an essential truth: that knowledge is never complete, and that even the largest creatures in the oceans can still hold secrets. It showed that such secrets of behaviour that were detected can have a profound impact on the aftermath, as far as the world is concerned.

Global Consequences of a Local Discovery

The implications of this work extended far beyond academic debate. A non-migratory population of blue whales is inherently vulnerable. Concentrated in a relatively small geographic area, these animals face risks that migratory populations can avoid.

The waters off Sri Lanka are among the busiest shipping routes in the world. Large vessels pass through areas that coincide with whale habitats, creating a significant risk of fatal collisions. Dr de Vos’s research brought international attention to this issue. It contributed to changes in shipping practices, including the adjustment of routes and the introduction of measures aimed at reducing whale-ship strikes of blue whales. In this way, her work moved beyond theory to influence real-world policy and conservation efforts.

Science Rooted in Sri Lanka

Equally significant is the context in which this work was carried out. Dr de Vos has consistently advocated for the leadership of local scientists in studying local ecosystems. Her position challenged the long-standing pattern where research in developing regions is often led by external actors. Quite appropriately and most beautifully, she describes the phenomenon as “parachute science”, the practice of Western Scientists collecting data in developing countries and then leaving without training or investing in the locals or the region.

To address this imbalance, she founded Oceanswell, Sri Lanka’s first marine conservation research and education organisation. Through this initiative, she has worked to build local capacity, inspire young researchers, and promote a deeper understanding of marine ecosystems. Her work has demonstrated that world-class science can emerge from a little country like Sri Lanka, not as an extension of external efforts, but as an independent and authoritative effort.

A Journey of Determination

Those widely quoted words attributed to Dr Asha de Vos are not mere rhetoric. They reflect the reality of a journey marked by doubt, resistance, and the challenge of pursuing an unconventional path. Marine biology was not an established field in Sri Lanka when she began her career. Opportunities were limited, and the path was uncertain. Yet, through persistence and conviction, she transformed these limitations into magnificent opportunities.

Dr de Vos has always dreamed of being an “adventure-scientist”. Her achievements include being the first and only Sri Lankan to obtain a PhD in marine mammal research, a distinction that underscores both her pioneering role and the barriers she has overcome. Today, Dr. de Vos is recognised internationally as a leading voice in marine conservation. Her work is cited in scientific literature, her insights are sought in policy discussions, and her presence is felt in global forums. The recognition she received at the United Nations is just one reflection of this standing.

However, her significance to Sri Lanka extends beyond her scientific contributions. She graphically represents the potential of Sri Lankan scholarship. She illustrates what can be achieved through determination and intellectual rigour. The lady serves as an inspiration to a new generation of scientists who may choose to follow paths that are not yet well defined.

A Moment That Should Not Pass Unnoticed

That such an achievement received only limited attention locally is a matter for reflection. Nations are often judged not only by the accomplishments of their citizens, but by the ability of those very same nations to recognise and celebrate them.

Dr Asha de Vos’s work has altered global understanding, influenced international policy, and established a new field of scientific inquiry within Sri Lanka. These are not minor achievements of limited consequence. They are contributions of lasting, immense, and seminal significance.

The image displayed at the United Nations, accompanied by a single sentence, captured a story of perseverance and discovery. It spoke of a brilliant scientist who refused to accept limitations imposed by others. It told of a discovery that reshaped certain types of scientific understanding. It brought to light a voice that, though once doubted, is now heard across the world. It is a voice that our beautiful Pearl of the Indian Ocean would do ever so well to listen to.

This author has not had the honour or the privilege of even meeting Dr Asha de Vos, but is so very pleased to declare that all of us should be so proud of a Sri Lankan Lady Scientist who is recognised, acknowledged and celebrated by the entire scientific world.

We salute you, Madam, for all of your splendid achievements!

Dr B. J. C. Perera