Features
Hindu Ladies College and Peninsula idyll
Excerpted from Chosen Ground: The Clara Motwani saga
by Goolbai Gunasekera
Mrs. Visaladhy Sivagurunathan, a philanthropic Hindu lady, had gifted the property of Hindu Ladies’ College to the school in 1943. Mother was the school’s fifth Principal. Under her, the first Past Pupils’ Association was formed, with Mrs. Jeevaratnam Rasiah as its first President. Miss Thambu (Mother’s long suffering Tamil tutor) was its Secretary. Just recently, I was invited to speak to the Colombo branch of the HLC alumni.
I met a former HLC teacher there – Mrs Navaratna, formerly Leela Ponniah – along with many old friends. The reverence in which Mother was held was very heart- warming, and it was a moving experience to hear the stories they related of instances in which Mother had touched – and sometimes directed – their lives.
A glamour figure on the HLC campus was a Miss Shantha from India. She wore the most gorgeous saris and influenced my love of cotton saris in years to come. It is strange indeed that one’s perceptions can be so acutely honed when one is still so young. To this day I can recall most of Miss Shantha’s wardrobe.
Another fantastically good teacher was Vijayalakshmi Pathy. She was also one of the most attractive. She absorbed all Mother’s teaching methods; and her family in Britain, where she now lives, is a testimony to her fine guidance as a mother and grandmother, and not only as a teacher.
Picnics in Jaffna were given top priority. Mother liked to combine education with pleasure, so every picnic had some place of interest on the day’s agenda. We visited the Rosarian monks’ vineyards and place of retreat. We went to Keerimalai, which is a fresh water tank lying a few yards away from the sea. Bathing suits were not a part of our school wardrobes, but even in sarongs and bathing cloths we essayed a swimming stroke or two.
Visits to other schools were another distraction. Mother arranged netball matches with many Jaffna schools and colleges, and I particularly remember one with Vembadi Girls’ School, for I made a friend, Kiruba Moses, whom I remember to this day.
Mother was quickly drawn into the educational world of Jaffna. Miss Barker of Vembadi was a dose friend and Principals’ meetings were many. Being somewhat young at the time, many illustrious names have now escaped me. I do recall having tea with Lady Ramanathan, the British wife of the founder of Ramanathan College. Her daughter, Mrs. Nadesan, was the nominal Head of that school but it was the senior Lady Ramanathan who pretty much ran things. Transport was occasionally in cars – often in buggy carts.
Athough Mother did not keep diaries that recorded her personal experiences, she was a great one to keep detailed notes of the educational aspects of her life. That she would keep notes on my progress was to be expected, but they were not the sort of notes one expects of a mother: they were the notes of an educationist. In years to come I was not enchanted to read: ‘Goolbai would do better in Mathematics if she were not so over confident. This carries over into other subjects too, I find’.
Whatever Mother thought of my shortcomings as a student, she positively glowed at my accomplishments in Jaffna. Her notes took on a lyrical quality. She rhapsodized: ‘My experiments seemed to have worked at last, and Goolbai is really doing so well I can hardly credit it’. Never could it be said that dilly-dallying was one of Mother’s failings. Taking the tide at its flood she arranged for all the new academic interest I was showing to be further enhanced by a little advanced private tuition in Science.
My classmate Thilaka Karunanandan had a brother who had just finished his degree and was reputedly a brilliant scholar. Mother asked him if he would kindly tutor me in his spare time. He did.
When I was not studying on my own I was being tutored regularly. Along with my classmates, I played netball, studied, sang Tamil songs (which I quickly picked up) in the evenings, studied, had long icily refreshing well baths, studied, saw a movie once a month, studied and then studied some more.
My mind was soon becoming as razor-sharp as those of the brilliant Tamil girls with whom I was now competing although, truth to tell, I was never in their league. The students of HLC had the tenacity of Bruce’s spider. They were always on an upward track.
“But what did you do in Jaffna?” Colombo friends would ask Mother later.
“We were always doing something,” Mother would answer, and we were.
Socially, a lot went on behind those cadjan walls that screened the houses and gardens of Jaffna residences from the road. Right opposite our home and almost next to the school lived Dr. and Mrs. Canagasabai and their family. Dr. Canagasabai – a Malaya returned doctor, whose youngest daughter Dharma, had just left school –quickly struck up a friendship with us.
Dr. Canagasabai had a very large garden with a badminton court and every evening we would play strenuous matches with the Canagasabai nieces, nephews and friends. It was a sort of informal club. On moonlit nights picnics would be arranged to beaches and similar places, with no thought of danger in anyone’s mind. It was a time of peace. It was a time of friendship. These were the last few years before politics and politicians divided the island as surely as if they had taken a metaphorical knife and cut this lovely land and its people in half.
Sincerity, simplicity and affection were
what Mother found in Jaffna. She had expected immovable bastions of conservatism. She found instead pliable minds and flexible brains. Jaffna has always remained a special place to the Motwanis. Before the 1983 tragedy stopped travel to the North, I took my husband and daughter to revisit my old school. It was a nostalgic time.
The school was on vacation but I had the permission of the Principal to wander through it. Buildings had quadrupled in size but the familiar classrooms still stood. I recalled with a shudder the time I opened my desk and found that a little snake had got in through the inkwell. Could this have been the very desk perhaps? There was still an inkwell in it.
Mother had begun the study of Tamil a week after she got to Jaffna. Our brand-new house had a broad veranda running right around it. An enormous desk occupied the shady side of it, and it was here that Mother had her lessons. She could never rid herself of that very American trait which had every waking moment gainfully utilized. Despite a heavy work schedule, Mother seriously tried to learn the language.
“Did she ever pick it up?” I asked her teacher, Thailnayagi Thambu (now Karunanandan) recently.
“She was not in Jaffna long enough to really get into it,” was the tactful reply. Mother’s flair for languages did not translate well into the Oriental variety. She was considered the class wizard in Latin, French and Spanish but somehow her ear was not attuned to Sinhala and Tamil. Neither was it vital to learn either language when she first came to this island as the British still ruled and everything was in English. Father, on the other hand, picked up Sinhala in three months and was soon well able to berate our long suffering cook-amme in an understandable lingo.
I drifted into Mother’s old office. It was still the same office but very modernized. It was here Mother had drilled her teachers in the requirements of the Dalton Plan.
This plan was a system she had greatly admired when visiting the Dalton School in New York. It required that teachers made detailed plans of their subject, and students were given these plans in the form of six-weekly advance schedules. A gifted student could then even proceed on her own, while a weak one could get help before the subject was taken up in class. At the Dalton School in New York, which I attended for a short time, I never got beyond History and English — but I did complete those syllabuses to Mother’s satisfaction.
“Your Mother motivated us instantly,” said Miss Leela Navaratne (nee Ponniah). “We understood the Plan, and it was brilliant from the start.” Of course it worked well. The teachers of Jaffna were born with that same workaholic gene that Mother was finding in her pupils.
As I left the familiar grounds I took one long last look around. I somehow knew I would never see HLC again. Visits to Jaffna take a long time, and were not planned too easily even at that time. The memory of the picture my tall, lovely and gracious Mother made as she said her goodbye to the girls and Staff at Assembly that last day, is still fresh in my heart. And in my own heart the remembrance of Jaffna will always be green.
Our lovely days of quietness and harmony in Jaffna had drawn to a close and Mother returned to Colombo to head Musaeus College. One footnote that bears telling is that thanks to Mother’s recommendation, Dharma Canagasabai became an air hostess on the newly fledged Air Ceylon soon after Mother returned to Colombo.
Peninsula idyll
It cannot be said that I am one of those persons who look at the past through a rose-tinted veil. I do not think that my school days were the happiest times of my life. During my childhood, and even during the teen years, life was restrictive. It was often pleasant, but that was more the luck of the draw. Parents did not lay themselves out to entertain their children or keep them happy. They saw to it that we were reasonably well disciplined and well fed. Our ongoing happiness was not their problem. They had no reason to assume we were anything but totally contented. Today’s collective genuflecting at the shrine of teenage whims and fancies was simply not on.
Mother and Father did not expect either Su or me to feel depressed, insecure, uncertain or unsure. What cause did we have, parents would ask each other in honest bewilderment, to be any of the above? They saw to it that we were told all they felt we needed to know. We went straight from girlhood to adulthood with no dithering along the way. One day we looked like nothing on earth in sober uniforms, tightly braided hair and bright shiny faces, and the very next day we were in a sari (of Mother’s choice or else the choice of Mr. Chandiram, proprietor of the ‘in’ sari shop of the time and the arbiter of teen fashions), looking very grown up and quite glamorous. There was no in-between time.
If I was happy anywhere during my school years, it was in Jaffna. Perhaps it -was the laid-back lifestyle of the Peninsula that caused me to have Mother’s company for much of the time. This is what made it so pleasurable. We were always exceptionally close. For years we were pretty much alone together, while Father was traipsing round the world on lecture tours, and Su was in the USA with our grandparents or else at St. Bridget’s Convent which she loved.
As a result, Mother and I bonded more closely than we would have done if we had had a normal family life. It was a closeness that Su always resented. Sometimes Father did so too. I was more attuned than they were to Mother’s moods — such as they were, for she was not a moody person. She had a happy outlook, an optimistic one. Her occasional worries became my worries, and as I grew older, I could always sense if she were ill.
I worried about her health. Mother had rather brittle bones, and a fall could mean a fracture. She had a low tolerance of pain, and I hated to see her suffer. Her joys, likewise, were shared with me. I understood her. We loved being together. Her gentleness, imposed on my more aggressive personality, has benefited me all my life.
Mother feared and disliked cats intensely. This aversion extended to anything furry, even a fur coat.
“Would you rather have a snake curled round you or have a cat on your lap?” we would ask her.
“A snake any day,” she’d reply, shuddering. “I would hyperventilate if a cat sat on my lap.”
This fear caused her much grief When she was a teenager my grandmother had taken her to hear the great pianist Paderewski play. (He was later the Prime Minister of Poland). The lady seated next to Mother had slung her fur coat over the arm of her chair, and poor Mother sat rigidly through what should have been one of the most wonderful experiences of her life.
Features
‘Lord Edgware Dies’
It has been some time since I read an Agatha Christie, the plot of which I cannot remember. So, I was delighted to find on the shelves of a friend Lord Edgware Dies, which I had a vague memory of, but no certainty about who had done it.
When I read it, I found that my memory of who was probably the killer was correct, but I could not be certain and the red herrings Christie threw in were so diverting that until almost the very end I wondered if I had been wrong.
The plot is very simple. Jane Wilkinson, who is married to Lord Edgware, tells him that she is desperate for a divorce since she is in love with a very proper Anglo-Catholic peer, Lord Melton, but Edgware refuses to divorce her. She asks Poirot to talk to him, which he does, and is surprised to find that Edgware has told Jane he is prepared to give her a divorce. This was, after he had categorically refused, through a letter, which Jane said she had not received.
That night Edgware is murdered, after Jane had been to see him, or so the butler said, and also Edgware’s secretary. But Jane had been that evening at a grand dinner many miles away, where a dozen fellow guests could swear to her presence.
There was a solution however to the mystery of two Jane Wilkinsons, namely a skilful impersonator called Carlotta Adams who, in the opening chapter had impersonated Jane Wilkinson, who had also been at the performance. But when Poirot goes to see her, he finds that she had been found dead on the morning after Edgware had been killed, of an overdose. And in her bag was a gold case, with a strange inscription, that contained the drug, along with a pair of pince-nez.
Her maid said she had written a letter to her sister in America and posted it the previous night. Poirot asks Inspector Japp to get the letter, and a transcript is received from America, and in it the name of Edgware’s nephew Ronald Marsh is mentioned; he had taken Carlotta to dinner after her performance, with which the book opens, and had then set her a challenge. Japp arrests Marsh, but Poirot is not happy and asks for the original of the letter, which the sister sends him. That shows that a page is missing, and the tear is obvious, though that raises the question as to why it had not simply been cut.
Matters are further complicated by the fact that Marsh had gone in a taxi to the Edgware house, along with Edgware’s daughter Geraldine, in the interval of an opera which had previously seemed to provide them with cast iron alibis. Geraldine had gone in to fetch her pearls so that Marsh could raise money he needed, and thus had an opportunity to kill Edgware, as did Marsh, for the driver said he had got out of the taxi while waiting and gone into the house.
Marsh explained why he had gone to the house on the night of the murder as having followed Bryan Martin, an American actor, who had been in love with Jane, whom he saw go into the house with a key. But there was no one visible when he entered, and Geraldine almost immediately came down and they left together. And Martin too has become an object of suspicion to Poirot, for he had been to see him before the murders were discovered with a story of being followed by a man with a gold tooth – a story Poirot immediately realized was false when he was asked how old the man was, and was told he was young, for young people did not have gold teeth.
A heap of French money Edgware had got for a trip to Paris was missing, but since Marsh had no need for it after his cousin’s offer of help, Poirot deduces that it must have been taken by the butler, who has disappeared. Christie has stressed that he is astonishingly handsome, unusual in a butler, and Poirot notes a resemblance to Martin, so he thinks the mysterious man going into the house must have been him.
Incidentally, later Poirot assumes that Edgware’s change of mind was because he was involved in some scandal, and I believe Christie intends us to see the cause of this in his handsome butler, though this is not specified.
Meanwhile, Poirot has asked Japp to find out the provenance of the case found in Carlotta’s handbag, and it turns out to have been made in Paris, specially commissioned, and collected by a woman with pince-nez.
But then another murder occurs—that of another guest at the grand dinner, which provided Jane with her alibi. The victim is an actor who had been bemused when Jane, at a lunch, thought the Judgment of Paris referred to the city. He told Hastings he wanted to see Poirot, but was killed before he could get to the appointment. Poirot had rushed there when told about his request, but it was too late.
Meanwhile, Poirot has tried out the pince-nez on Edgware’s secretary, but she could not see through these. It was only a chance remark heard outside the theatre that led him to try them out on Wilkinson’s maid Ellis, a spare pair that had been appropriated for the night of the murders.
Poirot then lays things out, having summoned Martin and told him that he probably suppressed Edgware’s letter, as he had been dropped by then and he did not want Jane to marry another. But after teasing Martin, Poirot says that Jane was in fact the murderer, and she got Carlotta to impersonate her at the dinner while she went to the house and killed her husband. After meeting Carlotta later and checking with her through a call that she had
not been rumbled, Jane had gone ahead with the murder – she put veronal into her drink and the case with veronal into the handbag. She forgot to take out the pince-nez she had used earlier to imitate an American. Carlotta had registered as the American in a hotel and Jane had gone to see her, and there they exchanged identities. After seen the letter, she made use of it by tearing off the page that referred to her, and the S of She, so that the person who had challenged Carlotta to impersonate her seemed to be a man.
There is a coda in which Jane, condemned to death, writes to Hastings, still full of pride at her ingenuity hoping she will be remembered.
Features
Desilt reservoirs, learn from our ancient irrigation systems
by Prof. O. A. Ileperuma
Silting of reservoirs is a major problem today affecting our hydropower production and irrigation systems. The main Mahaweli reservoirs are silted to a considerable extent reducing the water holding capacity of them. Due to poor soil management practices, floodwaters deposit large amounts of silt in these reservoirs. When the Polgolla reservoir was fully drained about two years back, one could see mountains of silt in the lower reaches of the reservoir. A rough estimate is that 50% of the total capacity of these reservoirs has been lost to siltation. This is a serious issue which affects not only power and agriculture but also flood control.
Our ancient irrigation systems ensured that desilting of reservoirs took place under royal decree where all users of the reservoirs were ordered to carry out desilting of reservoirs during the dry season. The clay thus collected was used in making bricks for the construction of great stupas which dot the landscape of our ancient kingdoms. This ensured that the reservoirs had their full capacity filled with water for the next cultivating season. Our ancient kings were clever enough not to construct reservoirs by blocking main rivers such as the Mahaweli. A classic example is the Minipe left canal where they tapped only the surface water of Mahaweli. Even the bigger tanks such as Nuwara Wewa and Parakrama Samudraya were fed with minor rivulets. There were also other ingenious features in the cascade irrigation systems built by the ancient kings, such as mud sluice canals and forest reservations between the reservoirs in the cascade system. These reservations helped trap silt and remove excess nutrients, which could otherwise contribute to increasing salinity as water flowed from one reservoir to another.
- Parakrama Samudraya
- Kalawewa
- Kotmale
A classic engineering marvel is the former Yoda Ela, which carries water from Kalawewa to Nuwara Wewa and Tissa Wewa. It is 87 km long although the straight distance between these points is only about 40 km. The gradient of this canal is about 10 cm per km or 6 inches per mile. Yodha Ela functions as a moving reservoir and feeds about 4,600 hectares of paddy lands. It is a winding canal with about 120 smaller reservoirs on its way. It was constructed during the reign of King Dhatusena around 459 AD and later expanded by King Parakramabahu by connecting more reservoirs to the network. Unfortunately, during the Mahaweli project our modern-day engineers constructed a concrete canal replacing the winding path of this Yoda Ela also called Jaya Ganga. This effectively removed the ability of the old Yoda Ela to remove silt and nutrients. The bank of this Ela has wet zone trees such as jak and areca nut growing well. They take up the nutrients from the flowing stream making the water suitable for irrigation later.
Ancient Mesopotamian civilisations depended on dams constructed along the two main rivers, Euphrates and Tigris. After continuous irrigation of their fields over several thousand years, salinity of the irrigated lands increased making them unsuitable for agriculture. People died due to famine and this clearly illustrates the danger of blocking main rivers for agriculture. There is scientific evidence that the salinity of paddy soils in the Mahaweli C area is increasing.
We saw the devastation caused by Cyclone Ditwah. The sluice gates of the Kotmale Reservoir were opened, and Kandy and Peradeniya were flooded. If the reservoir had had greater storage capacity, couldn’t the opening of the gates have been delayed? This may not be an argument that modern-day engineers would readily accept, and I am not an irrigation expert. These ideas may well be naïve. But most of us tend to think of reservoirs mainly in terms of hydropower generation and irrigation, while their role in flood control receives much less attention. The question therefore deserves serious consideration. Could restoring lost reservoir capacity through desilting help improve our ability to manage extreme rainfall and reduce flood risks?
Desilting our reservoirs should be considered a national priority.
Features
Losing out to Ethiopia
Export diversification – Missing the wood for the trees – Part III
by Gomi Senadhira
In Sri Lanka, the word “Ethiopia” is often used as disparaging slang to describe individuals or areas experiencing extreme poverty, starvation, or severe economic hardship. This linguistic habit originated in the 1980s with the Western media coverage of the devastating Ethiopian famine of 1983-85. That media coverage shocked the world but also left an outdated and offensive global stereotype that the country is permanently starving. Much has changed since then. By now, with an annual growth rate of around 9%, it is the fastest-growing economy in sub-Saharan Africa. Ethiopia has also emerged as a highly competitive exporter and is challenging not only its competitors in the region but also countries like Sri Lanka. This article is on how Sri Lanka has lost ground to Ethiopia (and a few other countries) in the GCC markets for agricultural and floricultural products.
Sri Lanka – A Pioneer in the Agriculture and Floricultural Market in the GCC
As discussed in Part II of this article, by the mid-1980s Sri Lanka had established a strong foothold in the GCC’s fruit, vegetable, and floricultural market. Geographical proximity and well-established shipping and air links gave Sri Lanka a strong comparative advantage over Southeast Asian and African nations. Thailand, Vietnam, and Kenya were not even in the market. At that time, Ethiopia was experiencing (as BBC news reports described) “a biblical famine”.
The market was not very large, but it was lucrative and growing. Trade Minister Lalith Athulathmudali as well as the Chairman of the Export Development Board, Victor Santiapillai, who visited Kuwait (and the GCC countries), recognised the market potential for these products and encouraged us to continue with our work. The minister was particularly keen to further develop links between the market for these products, exporters, and his Export Production Villages (EPVs). So, it was becoming a successful case not only for export diversification but also for transferring gains from exports directly to rural households.
From Trailblazer to Tailender
As a result, even by the beginning of this century Sri Lanka had a larger market share than most of its competitors from Asia or Africa. But since then, our competitiveness has weakened significantly. The tables below provide a comparative snapshot of Sri Lanka’s performance vis-à-vis Thailand, Vietnam, Kenya and Ethiopia in the GCC market for vegetables, fruits and floricultural products. As illustrated therein, in 2001 Sri Lanka was ahead of Thailand, Kenya and Ethiopia in this small but rapidly growing market. Since then, we have fallen behind Thailand, Kenya and many other countries in that lucrative market. If this trend continues, Sri Lanka will fall behind Ethiopia within the next few years. (See Table 1)
In the GCC market for vegetables (covered in HS chapter 07), Sri Lanka was ahead of most other competitors in 2001. As illustrated in Table 1 , Sri Lanka had failed to develop this market, while Thailand, Kenya, and even Ethiopia had very efficiently increased their market shares. The GCC is a market to which Sri Lanka can supply some vegetables, like cabbages, by sea. It appears Sri Lanka had also failed to exploit this mode of supply.
We can see a similar trend in the market for fruits. Vietnam, Kenya, and Thailand have emerged as major players, while exports from Sri Lanka have staggered on slowly. In this segment, Vietnam has emerged as a leading player during the last twenty years and the GCC imports from Viet Nam have shot up from US$44 thousand in 2001 to US$346 million by 2024. In part one of these articles, I discussed the remarkable increase of jackfruit exports from Vietnam “…just $3 million in 2015 to an impressive $236.8 million in 2023” while most of our jackfruit production rots under the trees. This explains how countries develop their markets, geographically and product-wise. (See Table 2)
Sri Lanka’s performance has been weakest in the market for floricultural products (HS Chapter 06), which groups live trees, cut flowers, and ornamental foliage. When we first entered the market in the 1980s, the market was dominated by the Netherlands, and Kenya and Ethiopia were not even in the market. At that time, we identified the Gulf states as a market where Sri Lanka could have a dominant presence due to geographical proximity. Even in 2001, Sri Lanka was ahead of Kenya, Ethiopia, and Thailand. But by now, Kenya has emerged as the dominant supplier. Ethiopia is also expanding its market share and is the third-largest exporter. (See Table 3)
Missing the Wood for the Trees
In the mid-1980s, Sri Lanka first established its foothold in the GCC market. Since then, Thailand, Vietnam, Kenya, and even Ethiopia have moved well ahead of us and have become leading players. Why did we lag behind in our export diversification efforts in general and, more particularly, in the GCC market?
The reasons are very clear. After the initial attempts in the 1980s and early 1990s, Sri Lanka has not been proactively involved in identifying, developing, and promoting new products and markets, or protecting and further developing new markets already established. The focus has simply been on traditional exports: tea, coconut, cinnamon, and garments, while other products were almost ignored. In essence, we have been and continue to focus intensely on a narrow group of products and markets, and we have lost sight of the bigger picture.
(The writer can be reached at senadhiragomi@gmail.com)
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