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Why I attend Kachchativu feast every year

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Sub Lieutenant Technical Course, India: The writer is on extreme left, and immediately next to him is Vice admiral (then Sub Lieutenant) Ibok-Ete Ekwe Ibas of the Nigerian Navy, former Chief of the Nigerian Navy (2015–2021). He is currently the Nigerian High Commissioner to Ghana.

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

(Extract from book “THOSE WERE THE DAY”)

It was in 1984, 41 years ago, that I returned to Sri Lanka, from India, after completing my Sub Lieutenant Technical course. My new appointment was at the Northern Naval Command and I was based in SLNS Elara shore establishment, in Karainagar.

Six batchmates of mine were also transferred to the North. It was in mid-1984. I now feel that transferring seven batchmates—boisterous Sub Lieutenants—was a very big mistake on the part of the Navy. We had just completed three and a half years in service. Whatever the situation, our parties went on till late at night. Thanks to the Indian food, which we ate for nine months, all of us were very thin.

It is believed that if you want to gain weight you have to drink toddy from the same palm, every day, before lunch. So, we owned one palm each at the Karainagar base. Our toddy tapper, Kandaiah, was paid 30 rupees every month (one rupee per day per one bottle). Kandaiah will mark our bottles and hand them over to the Officers Mess steward to keep them in the refrigerator. (The Navy Officers Mess is called the Ward Room in the Navy parlance). The Naval base in Karinagar, followed the “summer routine” due to the very hot weather in Jaffna. The working hours were from 07.30 hrs to 13.30 hrs. We gathered for lunch around 14.30 hrs, after all the senior officers had left. First, the bottle of fresh chilled Thal toddy, then delicious Navy lunch with sea food or mutton, followed by fruit salad or caramel pudding.

After our heavy lunch, we will rest for one hour in very warm weather and then go to the basketball or tennis courts by 16.00 hrs. Games would go on till sunset. Whether we gained weight that way is a moot question. Soon our ‘Christmas’ came to an end. We were detailed to ‘Mothership-daughter craft operation’. Seven sub-Lieutenants were in Command of seven boats, fiberglass dinghies (FGDs) fitted with 40 HP Out Board Motors. (OBMs). They move faster than fishing boats and our mission was to be attached to bigger ships (Gunboat, OPV or to trawler A521 ) and chase away any Indian bottom trawlers poaching in Sri Lankan waters and catch any smuggling or terrorist boat coming from India. Terrorists camps were situated in the Tamilnadu coast at that time. On 1 July 1984, (Sunday), my crew consisting of three junior sailors were due to proceed to sea. Senior most among my sailors was Leading Seaman Hibutugoda with eight years’ experience in the Navy. Able Seaman Buddhakorale, Marine Engineering Mechanic Bandara and I had been in service for less than four years. I was leading this young boat crew to action. During the daily briefing, I was told our boat was to join SLNS Jayasagara. (Offshore Patrol Vessel) anchored off Kachchativu on the Indo-Sri Lanka International Maritime Boundary Line (IMBL) by afternoon.

It was a fairly long sea journey for an FGB fitted with 40HP OBM. But that is how we started fighting terrorists out at sea in 1984!

 We left the Karainagar base soon after breakfast at 07.00 hrs and reached Nainativu (Nagadeepa temple) pier by 09.30 hrs. I met Podi Hamudruwo, (a young priest) who was my close friend and worshipped the place, which the Buddha visited. Then we had tea at our Naval Detachment and proceeded back to sea. It was the height of the South West monsoon and usually sea South of Delft Island was very rough during this period. The funnel effect of Delft channel further made the sea even more furious. Leading Seaman . suggested that we turn back and return to base due to rough seas. I was not in agreement. Young and enthusiastic, I was determined to intercept terrorist craft or a smuggling boat in my first patrol on a FGD. So, we continued at a slower speed heading towards SLNS Jayasagara. Our only Navigational aid was a boat magnetic compass. The sea was very rough. As per my calculations, we should reach Mothership (SLNS Jayasagara) by noon.

We packed all our weapons and radio set in polythene covers and kept them safely under the bow- locker of the boat. We were riding the head sea, which tossed our boat up and down like a rubber ball. By 13.00 hrs, I knew something was wrong. Mother ship was not in sight, which was unbelievable. Our efforts to contact mother ship by our 10 Watts radio Communication set was unsuccessful. When we sighted the tall radio mast of Danuskodi (India), we realised that we had come too far away from the Mothership. (Later, we learnt the Mothership had moved to the North of Delft Island due to rough seas and the Naval base at Karainagar had failed to inform them of our departure). We were in Indian waters! We immediately turned back to our reciprocal course and headed towards Nainativu, none of these Islands were within our sight. All our calculations were done on the basis of our speed, boat compass directions and a photocopy of the Northern area sea chart.

The situation took a turn for the worse. After we started heading towards Sri Lankan waters, the wind and the sea coming from the stern of the boat made the handling of the vessel on a steady course extremely difficult. After a few minutes, waves broke on to boat, which started sinking. We jumped off. Marine Engineering Mechanic Bandara held on to a lifejacket. Others were swimming in various directions. The boat disappeared in deep waters within a few minutes. Wooden floorboards of the boat were floating. I grabbed one wooden floorboard and gathered others around it.

Now we were all together. Bandara was a non-swimmer and he wore a life jacket. Others were in a state of shock, even though they could swim. What they saw around them was only the sea with no land in sight.

 What about me? I am a good swimmer thanks to Late Master Chief Petty Officer (PTI) PPR Silva, who was our swimming instructor during our cadet time. Further, my training at Britannia Royal Naval College (BRNC), Dartmouth, UK, where Royal Navy takes ‘survival at sea’ training very seriously. They put you in a life raft and keep you out at river Dart for a whole night during winter. Midshipmen from Asian and African countries who did the     International Midshipman Course at BRNC with me cursed the Royal Navy instructors the whole night for keeping us exposed to very cold weather in river Dart. I realised the importance of that training in BRNC. However, the situation there was different. We were on a liferaft in River Dart, and not floating in water. Due to the cold weather in the UK during winter, if you fall into water, you will survive only a few minutes. You will die of hypothermia. The situation here in warm Sri Lankan/Indian waters is different. We would survive a longer period, maybe 24 hours.

I ordered all the sailors to stay together by holding on to the floor board and reassured them that help would be forthcoming even though I knew it would take hours to both CO SLNS Jayasagara, my CO SLNS Elara and Commander Northern Naval Area to realise our boat was lost at sea and to initiate Search and Rescue (SAR) mission. Then, I ensured that Bandara was comfortable with his life jacket. I instructed my sailors to just hang on to the wooden floorboard, not to expend energy by trying to swim. My instructions and reassurance had a calming effect on the sailors. We were riding waves, holding onto the floorboards. I told my sailors that a rescue team would come searching for us before sunset. Time as per my waterproof watch was 14.00 hrs.

I had one fear. After returning from India a few weeks back, I watched Steven Spielberg’s award-winning film ‘Jaws’, on man-eating great white sharks. The film is based on Peter Benchley’s 1974 novel JAWS. I thought such a shark would appear and swallow one of us whole. Further I knew for sure that there were no man-eating Sharks in our waters, but silently prayed that sunset would come fast in the hope that sharks would not see us in the dark.

Thankfully, at sun set, we saw an SLAF Aircraft on the horizon. It was patrolling along the India-Sri Lanka IMBL. We were in the Indian waters. Our morale went down to the lowest  with sunset. No search would be conducted at night because aircraft and ships/boats could not sight us. We had to keep going. I told the sailors, “The aircraft must have seen us, but as you know, help would not come at night. We should somehow survive till next morning July 2, 1984)”. Something told me I was hoping for the impossible.

I prayed that it would not be the last sunset I was watching. I thought of my parents, my brothers and sisters, especially my sister closest to me, Lalani. who would die in an accident in Russia two years later. She was so close to me and I was her hero in uniform. I was determined to live and keep my sailors alive till morning.

As soon as the sun set, the new moon rose. The new moon was in the waxing crescent phase with only 7% illumination. That meant we were heading for a very dark night. I started singing, joined by my sailors. Leading Seaman Hibutugoda grabbed the ‘mike’ from me. He is a very good singer. I regretted having disregarded his advice that we turn back at Nainativu. A wonderful sailor, he mentioned it again. I respect him even today for his discipline. They were “old school” sailors who believed that”officers were always right”. The new moon started dipping down by the time Hibutugoda stopped singing. I wished if I had my hip flask was filled with rum. If I had been able to give him a tot, Hibutugoda would have gone on singing till dawn.

It became one of the darkest nights after the moon set at 9.00 pm. It was so dark that we could barely see each other. During my training at BRNC, I learnt that our body temperature was in water for a long time and body fluids transferred to sea water by natural osmosis; we would get dehydrated, feel drowsy and then drown. I was worried about my sailors, specially of Bandara, who started shivering. I told the sailors to keep talking and if anyone felt drowsy to inform others without falling asleep. I had the worst fear that one of them would feel drowsy and drown. To keep them alert, I showed them how to find North by reading stars and how to trace the star- conciliation of ‘Orion’.

Then, I asked them to count stars, and anyone whose count was the same as mine, would get a bottle of rum from me when we reached the base. They kept counting and recounting stars!It was the longest night in my life. The sunrise of 2nd July 1984 was the most beautiful one I have seen. I suddenly realized 1st July was Sunday and Indian trawlers would not go fishing on Sundays.

Morale, however, was up with the sunrise. I saw a few smiles. We did something unbelievable. We survived one whole night in water! We had broken all previous records by the Sri Lanka Navy on survival.

I saw Kachchativu Island on the horizon, where a small church was built by a fisherman, who was a survivor of a storm, and dedicated it to St. Anthonys. We were too weak to swim towards the island. I told my sailors that help would come soon. I am a Buddhist and firm believer in God Skanda (God Kataragama) and St. Anthony. When we get a sea appointment, we go to St. Anthony Church, Kochikade and light a candle because St. Anthony is the Saint who looks after seafarers like us. Our ships in the Colombo harbour, before proceeding to the sea on patrol first, turn towards St. Antony’s Church to invoke its blessings. Before taking over my sea appointment in the North, I lit a candle there. I prayed to St. Antony.

A book written by the late

W. T. Jayasinghe, the former External Affairs  and Defence Secretary, titled, Kachchativu: And the Maritime Boundary of Sri Lanka, says: “The sea surrounding Kachchativu are

fertile fishing grounds and fishermen from Sri Lanka have from time immemorial been venturing into these waters. It is recorded that fishermen of Point Pedro went as far as Kachchativu to catch turtles during particular seasons.

The Portuguese administered Kachchativu  as part of Jaffna and Sri Lanka has been exercising sovereignty and jurisdiction over Kachchativu and its adjacent waters without interruption.” (Page 18)

 We were very weak by morning. Around 9.00 hrs / July 2, 1984, we saw a fishing trawler at a distance. They saw us floating and came towards us. I silently prayed again that it should not be an Indian trawler. We the SLN are not the best friends of Indian trawlers poaching in our waters.

 It was a Sri Lankan trawler which came from Gurunagar. They took us on board. I looked at my waterproof watch. Time was 10.20 hrs. We had been floating for 20 hours and 20 minutes. All of us survived. The Tamil fishermen were very kind to us. They gave us water to drink, which tasted very sweet. We had not taken any water or food for almost 24 hrs. Most of us were shivering from the cold and had signs of dehydration. The fishermen gave us sugar and bread. This was the breakfast of these humble people. I ate a piece of bread with sugar with tears in my eyes.

 I thanked St Antony for being kind to us. I was determined to come back to the small St Antony’s Church in Kachchativu soon to light a candle. Soon we were spotted by a SLN ship. The happy news communicated to the Naval Base, Karainagar “Ravi and his boys are safe. We are bringing them home”. A reception at the Naval base was unbelievable, led by my senior batch Lieutenant Parakrama Samaraweera (Pol Samare or Nalaka who died in Mullaitivu in 1996) and six of my batch mates. All these happened when I was a 21-year old, way back in 1984. Thank god for allowing me to live. Thanks St. Anthony

My mother was 82-years old and she broke her hip in 2017, when I was Navy Commander. She gave me most of the valuable documents she was keeping with her. One of those documents was my horoscope, written by a world-famous astrologer who was a very close friend of my late father. My horoscope was written only up to 1st July 1984, and the astrologer had said the remaining part of it would be completed some other day. My late father or mother did not know why the astrologer had postponed writing the second part. Now, I know why he did so. However, I survived on July 1, 1984.

When I was the Navy Commander, I was given the opportunity by His Lordship, Rt Rev Dr Justin Ganapragasam, Roman Catholic Bishop of Jaffna to build a new St Anthony’s Church at Kachchativu. I was more than happy to do so. Former Navy Commander, Admiral Piyal De Silva was the Northern Naval Commander at the time. I grabbed this golden opportunity with both my hands. Piyal did a wonderful job and built a beautiful church for St. Anthony in six months. I do not miss attending the yearly feast, which attracts thousands of Indian and Sri Lankan devotees. On 1st of July, I remember how lucky we were to survive in the sea.



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Silence of the majority keeps West Asian conflict raging

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Pope Leo the XIVth / President Donald Trump

With no military quick-fix in sight to the ongoing, convoluted West Asian conflict it ought to be clear to the rationally inclined that there is no other way to a solution to the blood-letting other than through a negotiated one. Unfortunately, there are not many takers the world over for such an approach.

Consequently the war rages on incurring the gravest human costs to all relevant sides. Whereas it should be obvious to the Trump administration that Iran wouldn’t be backing down any time soon from its position of taking on the US frontally and with the required military competence in the Hormuz Strait and adjacent regions, the US demonstrates a stubbornness to persist with war strategies that are showing no quick, positive results on the ground.

Clearly, the virtual ‘lock down within a lock down’ situation in the Strait is not proving beneficial for either party. Instead, the spilling of civilian blood in particular continues with unsettling regularity along with an all-encompassing economic crisis that carries a staggering material toll for ordinary people all over the world.

From this viewpoint it is commendable for Pakistan to offer itself as a peace mediator and go ‘the extra mile’ to keep the principal parties engaged in some sort of negotiatory process. But its efforts need to win greater support from the world community. It is a time for peace-makers the world over to stand up and be counted.

It is also a time for straight-talking. To his glowing credit Pope Leo XIV is doing just that and he is the only religious head worldwide to do so. Very rightly he has called on President Trump to end the war through negotiations and described it as ‘unjust’ and ‘a scandal to humanity’.

May this crucial cause be taken up by more and more world leaders, is this columnist’s wish. Instead of speaking fatalistically about a ‘Third World War’, decision and policy makers and commentators, and these are found in plenty in Sri Lanka as well, would do better to help in drumming-up support for a peaceful solution and the latter is within the realms of the possible.

Incidentally, the commonplace definition of the phrase ‘World War’ is quite contentious and it would be premature to speak forebodingly about one right now. The fissures within the West on the Middle East conflict alone rule out the possibility of a ‘World War’ occurring any time soon.

Instead, it would be preferable for the international community, under the aegis of the UN, to take the ‘straight and narrow’ path to a peaceful solution. As implied, this path is no easy avenue; it is cluttered with obstacles that only doughty peace makers could take on and clear.

However, the path to a negotiated peace is worth taking and no less a power than the US should know this. After all, the US ‘bled white’ in Vietnam and had to bow out of the conflict, realizing the futility of pursuing a military solution. A similar lesson should have been learned by Russia which bled futilely in Afghanistan. It too is in an unwinnable situation in Ukraine.

The Pope’s observations to President Trump on negotiating peace have earned for him some snarls and growls of criticism but with time these critics would realize that peace could come only by peaceful means and not through ‘the barrel of a gun.’

For far too long the ‘silent majority’ of the world has allowed politicians to take the sole initiative on working towards peaceful solutions to conflicts and wars. As could be seen, the results have been disastrous. The majority of politicians speak the language of Realpolitik only and this tendency runs contrary to the ways of the selfless peace maker.

Power, which is the essence of Realpolitik, and peace are generally at loggerheads in the real world. Power and self-aggrandizement have to be shelved in the pursuit of durable peace anywhere and it is a pity that the likes of Donald Trump and his team are yet to realize this.

At this juncture the ‘peace constituency’ or the silent majority would need to take centre stage and play their rightful role as the ‘Conscience of the World’. If the latter begins to take on the cause of peace in earnest everywhere, the politicians would have no choice but to pay heed to their cause and take it up, since a contrary course would earn for them public displeasure and votes.

An immediate challenge would be for the ‘peace constituency’ to come together and act as one. Right now, such a coordinating role could be played effectively by only the UN and its agencies. Practical problems are likely to get in the way but these need to be managed insightfully and resourcefully by all stakeholders to peace.

In fact the time couldn’t be more appropriate for the backers of peace to come together and work as one. Right now, economic pressures are increasing worldwide and no less a public than that in the US is beginning to feel them in a major, crushing way.

Going ahead the US public, along with other polities, would find the economic consequences of war to be intolerable. There would be no choice but for governments and peoples to champion peace. Peace makers would need to ‘strike while the iron is hot.’

The success of the above endeavours hinges on the importance humans attach to their consciences. The danger about prolonged wars is that they deaden consciences; particularly those of politicians. The latter deaden their consciences to the extent that they prove impervious to the pain and suffering wars incur.

Thus, the ‘peace constituency’ has its work cut out; it cannot rest assured that politicians would prove sensitive to their demands. The latter would need to be constantly dinned into the hearts and minds of politicians and decision-makers if peaceful solutions to conflicts are to be arrived at.

Likewise, the publics of war-torn countries would need to demand the activation and sustaining of accountability processes with regard to those sections that are suspected of committing war crimes and like atrocities. Those publics that cease to demand accountability from powerful sections among them which are faced with war-time atrocity charges are as good as condemning themselves to lives of permanent dis-empowerment and enslavement.

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Don’t take the baby: In the quiet night, mother always returns

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Grey Slender Loris

Chaminda Jayasekara

There is a particular stillness in Sri Lanka’s forests, after dusk — a kind of hushed expectancy where shadows lengthen, cicadas soften their chorus, and the night begins to breathe in its own rhythm. It is a world that does not reveal itself easily. You have to wait for it. You have to listen.

And then, suddenly, you see them — a pair of luminous, unblinking eyes suspended in the dark.

The Grey Slender Loris, or unahapuluwa, emerges, not with drama, but with quiet precision. Small, slow-moving, and almost impossibly delicate, it is one of Sri Lanka’s most enigmatic nocturnal primates — a creature that has survived millennia by mastering the art of stillness.

Yet, during these months — from late March through July — the forests hold a more tender story. It is the breeding season of the slender loris, and with it comes a scene that is often misunderstood by those who encounter it for the first time: a tiny infant, alone on a branch, barely three inches long, its fragile body silhouetted against the night.

Grey Slender Loris with twin babies

To many, it appears to be a moment of abandonment.

To nature, it is a moment of trust.

“People often act out of compassion, but without understanding what they are seeing,” explains Chaminda Jayasekara of the University of Hertfordshire. “A baby loris left alone is not necessarily in danger. In fact, it is part of a natural process that is critical for its survival.”

According to Jayasekara, when a baby loris is about a month old, the mother begins a remarkable routine. As darkness settles, she gently places her infant on a secure branch and moves off into the forest to forage. Her journey can take her hundreds of metres away — sometimes close to 800 metres — as she searches for insects and other small prey.

In those hours of solitude, the infant is not abandoned. It is learning.

Clinging to the branch, it begins to explore its immediate surroundings. Tentatively, almost hesitantly, it reaches out — testing balance, grip, and instinct. It may attempt to catch tiny insects, mimicking behaviours it will one day rely on entirely. This is its first classroom, and the forest its only teacher.

“Those early nights are crucial,” Jayasekara says. “The baby is developing motor skills, coordination, and the ability to interact with its environment. These are things that cannot be replicated in captivity.”

And yet, this is precisely where human intervention often disrupts the process.

Across rural and even semi-urban Sri Lanka, stories circulate of well-meaning individuals who come across a lone baby loris and assume the worst. Driven by concern, they pick it up, take it home, or attempt to hand-rear it — believing they are saving a life.

Grey Slender Loris

But the reality is far more complex — and far more tragic.

“When a baby is removed unnecessarily, it loses something fundamental,” Jayasekara emphasises. “It loses the chance to learn how to survive in the wild. Without that, even if it survives in the short term, its long-term prospects are extremely poor.”

The forest, after all, is not just a habitat. It is a living, evolving system of lessons — how to detect predators, how to navigate branches, how to hunt silently, how to recognise territory. These are not instincts alone; they are behaviours refined through experience.

And the mother, contrary to assumption, is rarely far away.

“If people simply waited — even for several hours — they would often see the mother return,” Jayasekara explains. “She knows exactly where she left her baby. Her absence is temporary, purposeful.”

The advice from conservationists is clear and consistent: observe, but do not interfere.

If you encounter a baby loris, watch quietly from a distance. Avoid using bright lights or making noise. Give it time — at least 10 to 12 hours — before drawing conclusions. In most cases, the situation will resolve itself, just as nature intended.

35 days old Grey Slender Loris

Only if the animal is clearly injured, or if there is strong evidence of abandonment after prolonged observation, should intervention be considered — and even then, it must be done through the proper channels, particularly the Department of Wildlife Conservation.

Attempting to care for such a delicate animal at home is not only ineffective but often fatal.

Sri Lanka is home to two species of slender loris — the Grey Slender Loris and the Red Slender Loris — each adapted to specific ecological zones across the island. Both are protected under national legislation and recognised internationally as species requiring urgent conservation attention.

Their threats are many: habitat loss, road mortality, illegal pet trade, and, increasingly, human misunderstanding.

Yet, in the midst of these challenges, there are also signs of hope.

In recent years, the slender loris has become the focus of a unique form of wildlife tourism — one that values patience over spectacle. Night walks, conducted with trained naturalists and strict ethical guidelines, offer visitors a chance to witness the loris in its natural environment without disturbing its behaviour.

At places like Jetwing Vil Uyana, this approach has been refined into a model of responsible eco-tourism. Over more than a decade, the property has developed a dedicated Loris Conservation Project, recording thousands of sightings while educating visitors and supporting local communities.

Here, the loris is not handled, chased, or exploited. It is simply observed — a quiet presence in a carefully protected landscape.

“The success of such initiatives shows that conservation and tourism do not have to be at odds,” Jayasekara reflects. “When done responsibly, tourism can actually support conservation by creating awareness and value for these species.”

There is something profoundly moving about encountering a loris in the wild. It does not roar or charge. It does not demand attention. Instead, it exists — quietly, deliberately — as it has for millions of years.

And perhaps that is why it is so easily misunderstood.

In a world that often equates visibility with importance, the loris reminds us that some of the most extraordinary lives unfold beyond the spotlight.

It also reminds us of something else — something simpler, yet harder to practice.

Restraint.

Because conservation is not always about stepping in. Sometimes, it is about stepping back. About recognising when nature does not need our help, but our patience.

So if, on some future night, you find yourself walking beneath the trees, and your light catches a tiny figure sitting alone on a branch — do not rush forward.

Pause.
Watch.
Let the moment unfold.

Because somewhere, moving silently through the darkness, guided by instinct and memory, a mother is already on her way back.

And by morning, the forest will be whole again.

 

By Ifham Nizam

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Kumar de Silva: 40 years of fame and flair

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Kumar de Silva: The four-decade journey

We first saw him on the small screen in January 1986 – a relatively raw, totally untrained and a very nervous 24-year-old presenting ‘Bonsoir’ on ITN.

And now, 40 years later, and as one looks back, one realises what a multi-dimensional journey Kumar de Silva has navigated across the small screen yes, from your television screens to your laptops, and iPads, tabs, and mobile phones.

Says Kumar: “It is the French language I speak that opened the world of television to me, 40 years ago. It was ‘Bonsoir’ alone, and so to my French teacher at Wesley College, Mrs. BA Fernando, to ‘Bonsoir’, and to the Embassy of France in Sri Lanka, I am eternally grateful”.

Promoting the French language, and culture, in Sri Lanka, in a big way

Kumar went on to say that on the heels of ‘Bonsoir” came ‘Fanclub’, on ITN, describing it as yet another resounding success story which saw him as a music DJ on TV.

His inherent talent saw him handle a range of contrasting programmes across ITN, TNL, Prime TV and SLRC with consummate ease – from News Reading, Business Talk Shows, Celebrity Chats, to Dhamma discussions, on Poya Days, to name a few.

Kumar – the 1986 look

Trained in Paris in television production and presentation, the Government of France, in 2012, conferred on him the title of ‘Chevalier dans l’Ordre des Arts et Lettres’ (Chevalier in the Order of Arts and Letters) in recognition of his contribution to promoting the French language, and culture, in Sri Lanka.

In celebration of his four decades on the small screen, Kumar recently launched ‘Bonsoir Katha’, the Sinhala translation (by Ciara Mendis) of his English book ‘Bonsoir Diaries’ (2013), at a gala soiree. at the Alliance Francaise de Colombo, under the distinguished patronage of the French Ambassador in Sri Lanka, Remi Lambert, and francophone President Chandrika Kumaratunga.

He’s now excited about launching the French version of this book, ‘Les Coulisses de Bonsoir’, in Paris, in autumn this year. It is currently being translated by Guilhem Beugnon, a former Deputy Director of the Alliance Francaise de Colombo. This will, co-incidentally, also be Kumar’s 30th visit to Paris.

Chief Guest French Ambassador in Sri
Lanka Remi Lambert

Says Kumar: “The word GRATITUDE means a lot to me and so I always make it a point to spend time with two very special French people every time I go to France. One is Madame Josiane Thureau, formerly of the French Foreign Ministry, who began ‘Bonsoir’ in Sri Lanka. way back in the mid-1980s. The other is Madame Aline Berengier, the lady who designed the ‘Bonsoir’ logo – the Sri Lankan elephant in the colours of the French national flag”.

Kumar is also a much-sought-after Personal Development and Corporate Etiquette Coach in Colombo’s corporate world. Over the past 15 years, tens of thousands of corporates, have been through the different modules of his interactive training sessions. There have also been thousands of school leavers and undergraduates from national and private universities, many of whom will constitute the corporates of tomorrow.

Guest of Honour francophone President Chandrika Kumaratunga at the gala soiree
at the Alliance Francaise de Colombo

The multi-talented Kumar turns 65 next year, and his journey on the small screen still continues – you see him on the (monthly) ‘Rendez-Vous with Yasmin and Kumar’ on the French Embassy’s YouTube Channel, and (every Friday) on ‘Fame Game with Rozanne and Kumar’ on Daily Mirror Online, Hi Online and The Sun Online.

There’s yet another podcast in the pipeline, he indicated, but diplomatically declined to give us details. All he said, with a glint in his eye, was, “It will hit your screens soon.”

Whatever he has in mind, one can be certain that the new programme will continue to showcase Kumar de Silva’s enduring presence in Sri Lanka’s entertainment scene.

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