Features
As I remember, from 50 years ago: the 75-80 Katubedda Engineering Batch
On a wonderful morning in May in the year 1975, a group of around 140 young men and women entered the engineering faculty at the Katubedda Campus of the University of Sri Lanka. Only around 12% of them were women, a statistic that has improved slightly to around 20% over the past 50 years! There appeared little to differentiate us from previous entrants to this campus. However, Dr L.H. Sumanadasa, who had previously been instrumental in setting up both the Institute of Practical Technology and the Ceylon College of Technology at Katubedda, had become the Vice-Chancellor of the (entire) University of Sri Lanka in 1974. Whether through his personal offices or through government policy or both, it had been deemed that all engineering entrants in 1975 from the Colombo District be sent to Katubedda.
I myself had wanted to go to Peradeniya, at that time undisputedly the more established faculty; not least because Professor E.O.E. Pereira, the former Engineering Dean and Vice-Chancellor at Peradeniya, had told me in no unmistakable terms that I should head to the Hanthane hills, when I was sent to meet him by the head of my school. Only three physical science entrants in our year had obtained four A grades at the A-level examinations. Getting an A grade was a significant achievement in those days – recently some 1300 had obtained 3 (out of 3) As for the same stream!! Anyway, all three with 4 As in our year were at Katubedda. One of them went, as I recall, to the University Grants Commission (UGC) to effect for himself a transfer to Peradeniya, but had been told not to be a fool. This may have been prophetic, because from our batch onwards, the intake quality to Katubedda increased significantly, or so I like to think.
The engineering faculty in those days had seven departments – civil, mechanical, electrical, electronics, chemical, materials and mining. The latter three disciplines were termed ‘applied sciences’ but are now all engineering programmes at Moratuwa. In addition, the faculty now has computer science, earth resources (a rebranding of mining), textile technology and transport management departments. We did experience our share of ragging at the hands of seniors, perhaps the most vociferous of whom went by the intimidating nickname of ‘Boo Bamba’ – rumour has it that he was later a professor of artificial intelligence at some U.S. University.
One of our batch nearly fainted at a rather physically demanding phase of the rag, and had to be escorted home by a few seniors – inadvertently creating history by being probably the first fresher to rag the seniors! Tales of exponential curves (‘e to the power x’) being drawn on cement floors using bare bums at the ‘Aachchi Palace’ also circulated during this rag period.
In spite of being in an institution that taught only professionally oriented programmes (engineering, architecture and technology) with almost guaranteed employment for its products, our university life was not devoid of the student activism that is such a major feature of state universities in Sri Lanka. The country had just seen the quelling of the first JVP uprising in 1971, surprisingly during an essentially socialist SLFP regime; which itself was toppled unceremoniously in 1977 by the avowedly market oriented UNP. Student activism was not viewed benevolently by the powers that be, whatever government was in office.
In our second year, a confrontation between students and the police at the Peradeniya campus had resulted in a student being shot dead. In our final year, an internal confrontation between the student union and the administration led to a hunger strike at Katubedda, causing our final examinations to be postponed from 1979 to 1980. There was no graduating batch in 1979, but two in 1980 – one in February (ourselves) and the other in November (for our junior batch, as scheduled). Political violence became much worse in the late 1980s, with the then vice-chancellor and a security guard being shot dead while in campus; and the entire Sri Lankan university system shut down for around two years.
Another issue in the background of our university life was the government policy on university admission. In 1971, the government introduced language-wise standardization, seen as a corrective against the perceived disproportionate numbers of Tamil students entering university, mainly to medical and engineering faculties. This ‘corrective’ was clearly repugnant to Tamil citizens, and may have been a factor in the formation of the LTTE in 1976. Such standardization was done away with in 1977, but a district quota system, also introduced in 1972, continues albeit with some modifications to this day. The district quota system is widely considered to deliver compensatory justice in our under-resourced education system, but also seen as a mechanism that continues to reduce university entrants from large population centres, including the Jaffna District. At any rate, the 1970s probably sowed the seeds of the two most disruptive social upheavals in our country, namely the LTTE uprising and second JVP one, both in the 1980s.
Just before we entered our specialization streams in the second year, the student union held a meeting to discuss the student response to the proposed introduction of calculators. Calculations in the first year were tackled using logarithmic tables, but we were about to graduate to (and invest in) slide rules in the next. The need to substitute slide rules with scientific calculators may appear to be a ‘no brainer’ today, but in the very real context of students from deprived backgrounds, the outcome of the discussion was by no means one sided. Anyway, we ended up using calculators from our second year onwards, and may in fact have been deprived for not having a ‘slide rule experience’ – slide rules were considered to be almost synonymous with an engineering outlook, if nothing else because they required users to keep track of orders of magnitude in their minds; the discipline of which is perhaps less developed in users of calculators!
The university administration too tried to provide cheap food and drink to cater to student poverty in these deprived 1970s. As I recall, a kahata (only tea) was just 3 cents but if one wanted a small piece of hakuru (jaggery) with it, it was a cent more. A ‘plain tea’ (i.e. tea with sugar added) was 5 cents, while a kiri kahata (tea with milk only) was 6 cents; a kiri kahata with hakuru was a cent more, while the priciest brew, i.e. ‘milk tea’ (tea, milk and sugar) was 8 cents. So the kahata was as cheap as it could get, but additions relatively pricey!! Imagine my surprise when I was studying in London in the early 1980s that one could add any amount of milk and sugar to one’s heart’s content after paying (of course around two orders of magnitude more than the above rates) for the basic cup of what we would have called kahata!!
The nature of the student union also changed during our student days. When we entered, the students were represented by the Engineering Students Scientific and Cultural Organization (ESSCO in short). All proceedings were conducted in English, and any contributions in other languages required translation. When an irate student once referred to the administration as “Waathayo”, the then President of ESSCO himself had to translate it as “Air guys”. By the time we graduated, ESSCO was no more, and had been replaced by a student union as in all state universities, with election outcomes based on proportional representation of competing groups; and Sinhala being the predominant language of discourse.
English vis-à-vis the vernacular languages is a struggle that continues to date. All programmes at Moratuwa were and are taught in English, with complete endorsement by students, who continue to see it as a passport to the world. However, everyday conversations were conducted largely in Sinhala or Tamil; especially in Sinhala, which was seen as part of the student ‘culture’, at least at campuses in the south like Moratuwa. This meant that even students with greater English language proficiency tended to hide that fact and converse in the lingua franca of the campus.
As I recall, only a few students tried deliberately to improve their English language skills by practising it with others more competent than they. Tamil students had the additional challenge that vendors and traders in the vicinity of the campus spoke largely in Sinhala; however, many such students ended up being trilingual after their campus experience! Language, in my opinion, continues to be a vexation in various ways in Sri Lanka. We need a way to find the best way forward that preserves our culture while being open to the world at large, and does not leave anyone behind.
Another significant change in our time, brought about by the Universities Act No. 16 of 1978, was the splitting up of the single University of Sri Lanka into six separate universities at the time (Sri Lanka now has seventeen state universities). In addition, our name changed from Katubedda to Moratuwa – i.e. from being the Katudebba Campus of the University of Sri Lanka we became the University of Moratuwa. There were mixed feelings regarding this, as I recall.
Some felt that we would lose the identity we had been trying to create (for the engineering faculty, one that was distinct from Peradeniya), an identity linked to the name Katubedda; someone even opined that ‘Katubedda’ had a more pleasing or aesthetic ‘ring’ to it compared to ‘Moratuwa’. Others however felt that the new ‘Moratuwa’ name would help the fledgling institution to break away from its lowlier ‘practical technology’ beginnings associated with the ‘Katubedda’ name. At any rate, the university community at Katubedda in Moratuwa had little say in the change, since it was the prerogative of the Minister in charge, in consultation with the University Grants Commission (UGC); and it was from the University of Moratuwa that we graduated.
In our final year, it was mostly our batchmates who were in the Sports Council as captains of the various sports, and a musical evening was arranged by them featuring a very well-known musical band. The unfortunate band leader was unable to comprehend the campus culture, because whatever he sang, whether Sinhala or English, slow or fast, every song was greeted with loud hooting. Although the organizers tried to explain that this was the student way of expressing appreciation, and in spite of trying to mollify the man with cups that cheer, he stalked off in disgust, leaving the rest of the band to entertain us!
One of the most colourful personalities in our batch was an old Anandian, who had acquired a reputation for teaching A-level physics tuition classes even before he entered. He maintained this avocation right through his university career, juggling examination timetables with his class schedules – other students have done such multi-tasking as well, but very few if any actually taught the classes they attended outside of university.
The fact that he was able to commute in a white Volkswagen car, purchased from the proceeds of his enterprise, no doubt helped in the balancing act. At any rate, it is his business and entrepreneurial skills in education that he made a career of – no doubt based on sound (mechanical) engineering instincts; and he ended up by establishing an enviable network of ‘international’ schools (named after the one set up by Aristotle himself) that were eminently affordable to middle class parents. Not content with being limited to such endeavours, he ventured into politics as well, serving for a while as the State Minister of University Education.
These reminiscences would not be complete without mentioning a few charismatic teachers as well. Most of us would remember the one who at times devoted 10% of his lecture time to thermodynamics, and the rest to politics; this same teacher had returned to Sri Lanka after his PhD in London, driving a Morris Oxford all the way. We may recall too, a mathematics professor who asked us “How much is one plus one?”; and proceeded to gaze out of the window in deep thought, counting on his fingers and saying “Let me think”, as if to search for an answer – I think he was trying to teach us the notion of correspondence; or have I got it wrong? Let me think… Then there was a Dean whom all of us quaked to meet one-on-one. One of our batchmates who had to so do, had reportedly persuaded another to exchange shirts and footwear, so that he would appear more presentable to the irascible administrator.
We should not forget the Department Head who managed to get a new car with 10 Sri 1 as its registration plate; and then proceeded to convert it (probably in our Auto Lab) to run on LP gas – soon after we graduated he was named one of Ten Outstanding Young Persons by the Sri Lanka Jaycees. Finally, there was this teacher in charge of a somewhat snake-infested survey camp (for our junior batch), who when interrogated by a student representative as to who would be responsible if a student was bitten by a reptile, replied without batting an eyelid that “the snake will be responsible”. Jokes apart however, we are who we are because of the dedication and sacrifice of especially our academic staff. They had to teach in a relatively unknown institution at the time, and consistently put the institution and its students first; that is, ahead of developing their own academic careers. We were the beneficiaries of their labours, which by no means were in vain.
And so we graduated in early 1980, with around 15 first class holders among us. Almost as a symbol that the university was having a new beginning with our batch, we were the first to have a convocation (probably of course because we were the first to graduate after the 1978 Act under a University of Moratuwa banner) – and that too at the impressive new BMICH, under the chancellorship of Arthur C. Clarke, the eminent science fiction writer. We later produced over 20 doctoral degree holders, maybe 10 full professors, a few engineering deans and authors of scholarly books, and even some researchers in the so-called Stanford-Elsevier database of top 2% scientists (based on citation impact).
Others have become organizational leaders, and hence ‘movers and shakers’. Apart from the gentleman mentioned earlier, we have another who has been CEO of both a bank and a manufacturing company; and at least two entrepreneurs – one in furniture and the other in high tech start-ups (based in the U.S. but back-ending his operation with Moratuwa students and graduates); also a lady CEO of a large state-owned utility provider. Some are working in high tech environments in developed countries, pushing the boundaries of disciplines such as aerospace and nuclear and biomechanical engineering. Others have put Sri Lanka on the map through their involvement in signature projects; or coordinating multi-nation initiatives, for example in disaster mitigation. There is one of us still playing representative cricket! I am doubtless unaware of other significant contributions – our batch, while not large, is not small either.
More importantly, we have all, in different ways and contexts, been helping to “direct the great sources of power in nature for the use and convenience of humans” – and nowadays safeguarding the environment while doing so as well. Our degrees from Moratuwa have brought us socio-economic mobility, and I suppose all of us have been trying to ‘give back’ to family, community or country (motherland or adopted) in various ways and degrees, whether through technical or humanitarian ventures.
Most if not all of us contributed to a Moratuwa University scholarship scheme in the memory of a batchmate who tragically perished in the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami. Some of us have already gone the way of all the world, while the rest are awaiting our calls; probably trying to become better human beings, whether in the interests of the hereafter, or just to make life easier for those who will care for us in the bard’s seventh act of life!
But what of the university itself? If I may be permitted a personal reflection, I was one of five batchmates who returned to the university to serve on its academic staff. As a young staff member, I used to envy Peradeniya’s stature – many of its engineering faculty staff had Cambridge PhDs (for example) and their graduates seemed to have an open door to that ancient seat of learning. However, by the time I retired, some 40 years after joining the academic staff, our own graduates had been regularly accepted for PhDs not only at Cambridge but also at Oxford, Imperial, Caltech, MIT, Princeton and ETH Zurich. In addition, it goes without saying that Moratuwa is undisputedly the first choice now (from among seven engineering faculties) of the majority of those 1300 university aspirants with 3 As at their A-levels. I like to think that 1975-80 (our batch, in fact!!) was the turning point for Moratuwa University’s fortunes.
Written by a member of the 75-80 Katubedda Engineering batch who was later a Moratuwa University teacher for 40 years (with apologies for any inadvertent errors or omissions).
Features
Making ‘Sinhala Studies’ globally relevant
On 8 January 2026, I delivered a talk at an event at the University of Colombo marking the retirement of my longtime friend and former Professor of Sinhala, Ananda Tissa Kumara and his appointment as Emeritus Professor of Sinhala in that university. What I said has much to do with decolonising social sciences and humanities and the contributions countries like ours can make to the global discourses of knowledge in these broad disciplines. I have previously discussed these issues in this column, including in my essay, ‘Does Sri Lanka Contribute to the Global Intellectual Expansion of Social Sciences and Humanities?’ published on 29 October 2025 and ‘Can Asians Think? Towards Decolonising Social Sciences and Humanities’ published on 31 December 2025.
At the recent talk, I posed a question that relates directly to what I have raised earlier but drew from a specific type of knowledge scholars like Prof Ananda Tissa Kumara have produced over a lifetime about our cultural worlds. I do not refer to their published work on Sinhala, Pali and Sanskrit languages, their histories or grammars; instead, their writing on various aspects of Sinhala culture. Erudite scholars familiar with Tamil sources have written extensively on Tamil culture in this same manner, which I will not refer to here.
To elaborate, let me refer to a several essays written by Professor Tissa Kumara over the years in the Sinhala language: 1) Aspects of Sri Lankan town planning emerging from Sinhala Sandesha poetry; 2) Health practices emerging from inscriptions of the latter part of the Anuradhapura period; 3) Buddhist religious background described in inscriptions of the Kandyan period; 4) Notions of aesthetic appreciation emerging from Sigiri poetry; 5) Rituals related to Sinhala clinical procedures; 6) Customs linked to marriage taboos in Sinhala society; 7) Food habits of ancient and medieval Lankans; and 8) The decline of modern Buddhist education. All these essays by Prof. Tissa Kumara and many others like them written by others remain untranslated into English or any other global language that holds intellectual power. The only exceptions would be the handful of scholars who also wrote in English or some of their works happened to be translated into English, an example of the latter being Prof. M.B. Ariyapala’s classic, Society in Medieval Ceylon.
The question I raised during my lecture was, what does one do with this knowledge and whether it is not possible to use this kind of knowledge profitably for theory building, conceptual and methodological fine-tuning and other such essential work mostly in the domain of abstract thinking that is crucially needed for social sciences and humanities. But this is not an interest these scholars ever entertained. Except for those who wrote fictionalised accounts such as unsubstantiated stories on mythological characters like Rawana, many of these scholars amassed detailed information along with their sources. This focus on sources is evident even in the titles of many of Prof. Tissa Kumara’s work referred to earlier. Rather than focusing on theorising or theory-based interpretations, these scholars’ aim was to collect and present socio-cultural material that is inaccessible to most others in society including people like myself. Either we know very little of such material or are completely unaware of their existence. But they are important sources of our collective history indicating what we are where we have come from and need to be seen as a specific genre of research.
In this sense, people like Prof. Tissa Kumara and his predecessors are human encyclopedias. But the knowledge they produced, when situated in the context of global knowledge production in general, remains mostly as ‘raw’ information albeit crucial. The pertinent question now is what do we do with this information? They can, of course, remain as it is. My argument however is this knowledge can be a serious source for theory-building and constructing philosophy based on a deeper understanding of the histories of our country and of the region and how people in these areas have dealt with the world over time.
Most scholars in our country and elsewhere in the region believe that the theoretical and conceptual apparatuses needed for our thinking – clearly manifest in social sciences and humanities – must necessarily be imported from the ‘west.’ It is this backward assumption, but specifically in reference to Indian experiences on social theory, that Prathama Banerjee and her colleagues observe in the following words: “theory appears as a ready-made body of philosophical thought, produced in the West …” As they further note, in this situation, “the more theory-inclined among us simply pick the latest theory off-the-shelf and ‘apply’ it to our context” disregarding its provincial European or North American origin, because of the false belief “that “‘theory’ is by definition universal.” What this means is that like in India, in countries like ours too, the “relationship to theory is dependent, derivative, and often deeply alienated.”
In a somewhat similar critique in his 2000 book, Provincialising Europe: Postcolonial Thought and Historical Difference Dipesh Chakrabarty points to the limitations of Western social sciences in explaining the historical experiences of political modernity in South Asia. He attempted to renew Western and particularly European thought “from and for the margins,” and bring in diverse histories from regions that were marginalised in global knowledge production into the mainstream discourse of knowledge. In effect, this means making histories of countries like ours relevant in knowledge production.
The erroneous and blind faith in the universality of theory is evident in our country too whether it is the unquestioned embrace of modernist theories and philosophies or their postmodern versions. The heroes in this situation generally remain old white men from Marx to Foucault and many in between. This indicates the kind of unhealthy dependence local discourses of theory owe to the ‘west’ without any attempt towards generating serious thinking on our own.
In his 2002 essay, ‘Dismal State of Social Sciences in Pakistan,’ Akbar Zaidi points out how Pakistani social scientists blindly apply imported “theoretical arguments and constructs to Pakistani conditions without questioning, debating or commenting on the theory itself.” Similarly, as I noted in my 2017 essay, ‘Reclaiming Social Sciences and Humanities: Notes from South Asia,’ Sri Lankan social sciences and humanities have “not seriously engaged in recent times with the dominant theoretical constructs that currently hold sway in the more academically dominant parts of the world.” Our scholars also have not offered any serious alternate constructions of their own to the world without going crudely nativistic or exclusivist.
This situation brings me back to the kind of knowledge that scholars like Prof. Tissa Kumara have produced. Philosophy, theory or concepts generally emerge from specific historical and temporal conditions. Therefore, they are difficult to universalise or generalise without serious consequences. This does not mean that some ideas would not have universal applicability with or without minor fine tuning. In general, however, such bodies of abstract knowledge should ideally be constructed with reference to the histories and contemporary socio-political circumstances
from where they emerge that may have applicability to other places with similar histories. This is what Banerjee and her colleagues proposed in their 2016 essay, ‘The Work of Theory: Thinking Across Traditions’. This is also what decolonial theorists such as Walter Mignolo, Enrique Dussel and Aníbal Quijano have referred to as ‘decolonizing Western epistemology’ and ‘building decolonial epistemologies.’
My sense is, scholars like Prof. Tissa Kumara have amassed at least some part of such knowledge that can be used for theory-building that has so far not been used for this purpose. Let me refer to two specific examples that have local relevance which will place my argument in context. Historian and political scientist Benedict Anderson argued in his influential 1983 book, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism that notions of nationalism led to the creation of nations or, as he calls them, ‘imagined communities.’ For him, unlike many others, European nation states emerged in response to the rise of ‘nationalism’ in the overseas European settlements, especially in the Western Hemisphere. But it was still a form of thinking that had Europe at its center.
Comparatively, we can consider Stephen Kemper’s 1991 book, The Presence of the Past: Chronicles, Politics, and Culture in Sinhala Life where the American anthropologist explored the ways in which Sinhala ‘national’ identity evolved over time along with a continual historical consciousness because of the existence of texts such as Mahawamsa. In other words, the Sinhala past manifests with social practices that have continued from the ancient past among which are chronicle-keeping, maintaining sacred places, and venerating heroes.
In this context, his argument is that Sinhala nationalism predates the rise of nationalist movements in Europe by over a thousand years, thereby challenging the hegemonic arguments such as those of Anderson, Ernest Gellner, Elie Kedourie and others who link nationalism as a modern phenomenon impacted by Europe in some way or another. Kemper was able to come to his interpretation by closely reading Lankan texts such as Mahawamsa and other Pali chronicles and more critically, theorizing what is in these texts. Such interpretable material is what has been presented by Prof. Tissa Kumara and others, sans the sing.
Similarly, local texts in Sinhala such as kadaim poth’ and vitti poth, which are basically narratives of local boundaries and descriptions of specific events written in the Dambadeniya and Kandyan periods are replete with crucial information. This includes local village and district boundaries, the different ethno-cultural groups that lived in and came to settle in specific places in these kingdoms, migratory events, wars and so on. These texts as well as European diplomatic dispatches and political reports from these times, particularly during the Kandyan period, refer to the cosmopolitanism in the Kandyan kingdom particularly its court, the military, town planning and more importantly the religious tolerance which even surprised the European observers and latter-day colonial rulers. Again, much of this comes from local sources or much less focused upon European dispatches of the time.
Scholars like Prof. Tissa Kumara have collected this kind of information as well as material from much older times and sources. What would the conceptual categories, such as ethnicity, nationalism, cosmopolitanism be like if they are reinterpreted or cast anew through these histories, rather than merely following their European and North American intellectual and historical slants which is the case at present? Among the questions we can ask are, whether these local idiosyncrasies resulted from Buddhism or local cultural practices we may not know much about at present but may exist in inscriptions, in ola leaf manuscripts or in other materials collected and presented by scholars such as Prof. Tissa Kumara.
For me, familiarizing ourselves with this under- and unused archive and employing them for theory-building as well as for fine-tuning what already exists is the main intellectual role we can play in taking our cultural knowledge to the world in a way that might make sense beyond the linguistic and socio-political borders of our country. Whether our universities and scholars are ready to attempt this without falling into the trap of crude nativisms, be satisfied with what has already been collected, but is untheorized or if they would rather lackadaisically remain shackled to ‘western’ epistemologies in the sense articulated by decolonial theorists remains to be seen.
Features
Extinction in isolation: Sri Lanka’s lizards at the climate crossroads
Climate change is no longer a distant or abstract threat to Sri Lanka’s biodiversity. It is already driving local extinctions — particularly among lizards trapped in geographically isolated habitats, where even small increases in temperature can mean the difference between survival and disappearance.
According to research by Buddhi Dayananda, Thilina Surasinghe and Suranjan Karunarathna, Sri Lanka’s narrowly distributed lizards are among the most vulnerable vertebrates in the country, with climate stress intensifying the impacts of habitat loss, fragmentation and naturally small population sizes.
Isolation Turns Warming into an Extinction Trap
Sri Lanka’s rugged topography and long geological isolation have produced extraordinary levels of reptile endemism. Many lizard species are confined to single mountains, forest patches or rock outcrops, existing nowhere else on Earth. While this isolation has driven evolution, it has also created conditions where climate change can rapidly trigger extinction.
“Lizards are especially sensitive to environmental temperature because their metabolism, activity patterns and reproduction depend directly on external conditions,” explains Suranjan Karunarathna, a leading herpetologist and co-author of the study. “When climatic thresholds are exceeded, geographically isolated species cannot shift their ranges. They are effectively trapped.”
The study highlights global projections indicating that nearly 40 percent of local lizard populations could disappear in coming decades, while up to one-fifth of all lizard species worldwide may face extinction by 2080 if current warming trends persist.
- Cnemaspis_gunawardanai (Adult Female), Pilikuttuwa, Gampaha District
- Cnemaspis_ingerorum (Adult Male), Sithulpauwa, Hambantota District
- Cnemaspis_hitihamii (Adult Female), Maragala, Monaragala District
- Cnemaspis_gunasekarai (Adult Male), Ritigala, Anuradapura District
- Cnemaspis_dissanayakai (Adult Male), Dimbulagala, Polonnaruwa District
- Cnemaspis_kandambyi (Adult Male), Meemure, Matale District
Heat Stress, Energy Loss and Reproductive Failure
Rising temperatures force lizards to spend more time in shelters to avoid lethal heat, reducing their foraging time and energy intake. Over time, this leads to chronic energy deficits that undermine growth and reproduction.
“When lizards forage less, they have less energy for breeding,” Karunarathna says. “This doesn’t always cause immediate mortality, but it slowly erodes populations.”
Repeated exposure to sub-lethal warming has been shown to increase embryonic mortality, reduce hatchling size, slow post-hatch growth and compromise body condition. In species with temperature-dependent sex determination, warming can skew sex ratios, threatening long-term population viability.
“These impacts often remain invisible until populations suddenly collapse,” Karunarathna warns.
Tropical Species with No Thermal Buffer
The research highlights that tropical lizards such as those in Sri Lanka are particularly vulnerable because they already live close to their physiological thermal limits. Unlike temperate species, they experience little seasonal temperature variation and therefore possess limited behavioural or evolutionary flexibility to cope with rapid warming.
“Even modest temperature increases can have severe consequences in tropical systems,” Karunarathna explains. “There is very little room for error.”
Climate change also alters habitat structure. Canopy thinning, tree mortality and changes in vegetation density increase ground-level temperatures and reduce the availability of shaded refuges, further exposing lizards to heat stress.
Narrow Ranges, Small Populations
Many Sri Lankan lizards exist as small, isolated populations restricted to narrow altitudinal bands or specific microhabitats. Once these habitats are degraded — through land-use change, quarrying, infrastructure development or climate-driven vegetation loss — entire global populations can vanish.
“Species confined to isolated hills and rock outcrops are especially at risk,” Karunarathna says. “Surrounding human-modified landscapes prevent movement to cooler or more suitable areas.”
Even protected areas offer no guarantee of survival if species occupy only small pockets within reserves. Localised disturbances or microclimatic changes can still result in extinction.
Climate Change Amplifies Human Pressures
The study emphasises that climate change will intensify existing human-driven threats, including habitat fragmentation, land-use change and environmental degradation. Together, these pressures create extinction cascades that disproportionately affect narrowly distributed species.
“Climate change acts as a force multiplier,” Karunarathna explains. “It worsens the impacts of every other threat lizards already face.”
Without targeted conservation action, many species may disappear before they are formally assessed or fully understood.
Science Must Shape Conservation Policy
Researchers stress the urgent need for conservation strategies that recognise micro-endemism and climate vulnerability. They call for stronger environmental impact assessments, climate-informed land-use planning and long-term monitoring of isolated populations.
“We cannot rely on broad conservation measures alone,” Karunarathna says. “Species that exist in a single location require site-specific protection.”
The researchers also highlight the importance of continued taxonomic and ecological research, warning that extinction may outpace scientific discovery.
A Vanishing Evolutionary Legacy
Sri Lanka’s lizards are not merely small reptiles hidden from view; they represent millions of years of unique evolutionary history. Their loss would be irreversible.
“Once these species disappear, they are gone forever,” Karunarathna says. “Climate change is moving faster than our conservation response, and isolation means there are no second chances.”
By Ifham Nizam ✍️
Features
Online work compatibility of education tablets
Enabling Education-to-Income Pathways through Dual-Use Devices
The deployment of tablets and Chromebook-based devices for emergency education following Cyclone Ditwah presents an opportunity that extends beyond short-term academic continuity. International experience demonstrates that the same category of devices—when properly governed and configured—can support safe, ethical, and productive online work, particularly for youth and displaced populations. This annex outlines the types of online jobs compatible with such devices, their technical limitations, and their strategic national value within Sri Lanka’s recovery and human capital development agenda.
Compatible Categories of Online Work
At the foundational level, entry-level digital jobs are widely accessible through Android tablets and Chromebook devices. These roles typically require basic digital literacy, language comprehension, and sustained attention rather than advanced computing power. Common examples include data tagging and data validation tasks, AI training activities such as text, image, or voice labelling, online surveys and structured research tasks, digital form filling, and basic transcription work. These activities are routinely hosted on Google task-based platforms, global AI crowdsourcing systems, and micro-task portals operated by international NGOs and UN agencies. Such models have been extensively utilised in countries including India, the Philippines, Kenya, and Nepal, particularly in post-disaster and low-income contexts.
At an intermediate level, freelance and gig-based work becomes viable, especially when Chromebook tablets such as the Lenovo Chromebook Duet or Acer Chromebook Tab are used with detachable keyboards. These devices are well suited for content writing and editing, Sinhala–Tamil–English translation work, social media management, Canva-based design assignments, and virtual assistant roles. Chromebooks excel in this domain because they provide full browser functionality, seamless integration with Google Docs and Sheets (including offline drafting and later (synchronization), reliable file upload capabilities, and stable video conferencing through platforms such as Google Meet or Zoom. Freelancers across Southeast Asia and Africa already rely heavily on Chromebook-class devices for such work, demonstrating their suitability in bandwidth- and power-constrained environments.
A third category involves remote employment and structured part-time work, which is also feasible on Chromebook tablets when paired with a keyboard and headset. These roles include online tutoring support, customer service through chat or email, research assistance, and entry-level digital bookkeeping. While such work requires a more consistent internet connection—often achievable through mobile hotspots—it does not demand high-end hardware. The combination of portability, long battery life, and browser-based platforms makes these devices adequate for such employment models.
Functional Capabilities and Limitations
It is important to clearly distinguish what these devices can and cannot reasonably support. Tablets and Chromebooks are highly effective for web-based jobs, Google Workspace-driven tasks, cloud platforms, online interviews conducted via Zoom or Google Meet, and the use of digital wallets and electronic payment systems. However, they are not designed for heavy video editing, advanced software development environments, or professional engineering and design tools such as AutoCAD. This limitation does not materially reduce their relevance, as global labour market data indicate that approximately 70–75 per cent of online work worldwide is browser-based and fully compatible with tablet-class devices.
Device Suitability for Dual Use
Among commonly deployed devices, the Chromebook Duet and Acer Chromebook Tab offer the strongest balance between learning and online work, making them the most effective all-round options. Android tablets such as the Samsung Galaxy Tab A8 or A9 and the Nokia T20 also perform reliably when supplemented with keyboards, with the latter offering particularly strong battery endurance. Budget-oriented devices such as the Xiaomi Redmi Pad remain suitable for learning and basic work tasks, though with some limitations in sustained productivity. Across all device types, battery efficiency remains a decisive advantage.
Power and Energy Considerations
In disaster-affected and power-scarce environments, tablets outperform conventional laptops. A battery life of 10–12 hours effectively supports a full day of online work or study. Offline drafting of documents with later synchronisation further reduces dependence on continuous connectivity. The use of solar chargers and power banks can extend operational capacity significantly, making these devices particularly suitable for temporary shelters and community learning hubs.
Payment and Income Feasibility in the Sri Lankan Context
From a financial inclusion perspective, these devices are fully compatible with commonly used payment systems. Platforms such as PayPal (within existing national constraints), Payoneer, Wise, LankaQR, local banking applications, and NGO stipend mechanisms are all accessible through Android and ChromeOS environments. Notably, many Sri Lankan freelancers already conduct income-generating activities entirely via mobile devices, confirming the practical feasibility of tablet-based earning.
Strategic National Value
The dual use of tablets for both education and income generation carries significant strategic value for Sri Lanka. It helps prevent long-term dependency by enabling families to rebuild livelihoods, creates structured earning pathways for youth, and transforms disaster relief interventions into resilience-building investments. This approach supports a human resource management–driven recovery model rather than a welfare-dependent one. It aligns directly with the outcomes sought by the Ministry of Education, the Ministry of Labour and HRM reform initiatives, and broader national productivity and competitiveness goals.
Policy Positioning under the Vivonta / PPA Framework
Within the Vivonta/Proprietary Planters Alliance national response framework, it is recommended that these devices be formally positioned as “Learning + Livelihood Tablets.” This designation reflects their dual public value and supports a structured governance approach. Devices should be configured with dual profiles—Student and Worker—supplemented by basic digital job readiness modules, clear ethical guidance on online work, and safeguards against exploitation, particularly for vulnerable populations.
Performance Indicators
From a monitoring perspective, the expected reach of such an intervention is high, encompassing students, youth, and displaced adults. The anticipated impact is very high, as it directly enables the transition from education to income generation. Confidence in the approach is high due to extensive global precedent, while the required effort remains moderate, centering primarily on training, coordination, and platform curation rather than capital-intensive investment.
We respectfully invite the Open University of Sri Lanka, Derana, Sirasa, Rupavahini, DP Education, and Janith Wickramasinghe, National Online Job Coach, to join hands under a single national banner—
“Lighting the Dreams of Sri Lanka’s Emerging Leaders.”
by Lalin I De Silva, FIPM (SL) ✍️
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