Features
Sinhala Aluth Avurudda: Celebrating a Life-affirming Culture

The Sinhala Aluth Avurudda or the Sinhalese New Year is celebrated in the month of Bak according to the traditional lunar calendar of the Sinhalese people. The name ‘Bak’ comes from the Sanskrit word bhagya meaning ‘fortune’. The month of Bak corresponds to April in the Gregorian calendar, which is commonly used in Sri Lanka today as it is in other parts of the world. Although there is usually little conspicuous seasonal change experienced in the course of the year in tropical Sri Lanka except for a relatively hot August and a relatively cool December, the month of Bak is associated with a delightful vernal atmosphere, and an unusual freshness in nature enhanced by spring blossoms and azure skies despite occasional showers. This also used to be the time that the ripened paddy was gathered in, which gave rise to a pervasive sense of plenty, especially to rural Sri Lanka in days gone by.
The Bak festive season centres around a national cultural event which is unique in a number of ways. In deference to the obvious cultural kinship between the majority Buddhist Sinhalese and the majority Hindu Tamils, the British colonial rulers named it the Sinhala Hindu New Year. It is probably the only major traditional festival that is commonly observed by the largest number of Sinhalese and Tamils in the country. Its non-ethnic non-religious (secular) character is another distinctive feature. This festival cannot be described as ethnic because it is celebrated by both the Sinhalese and the Tamils, yet not by all of them either: only the Sinhalese Buddhists and the Hindu Tamils participate in it, the Christians in both communities having nothing to do with it. On the other hand, it is a non-religious celebration in that not all Buddhists nor all Hindus in the world take part in it; only the Sinhalese Buddhists and Tamil Hindus do. (I owe this description of the non-ethnic, non-religious nature of the Aluth Avurudda to Professor J.B.Dissanayake’s explanation of the subject in his booklet The April New Year Festival {Pioneer Lanka Publications. London.1993}).
In terms of traditional astrological beliefs, the sun is said to complete one circular movement across the twelve segments of the zodiac in the course of the year, taking a month to traverse each constellation. The arbitrary beginning of this circular solar progress is taken to be Aries (Mesha), which is conventionally represented by the zodiacal sign of ‘the ram’. Having travelled from Aries to Pisces (or Meena usually represented by the drawing of ‘two fish’), the sun must pass from Pisces to Aries to begin a new year. The solar new year (known as the Shaka calendar, a solar calendar that is used in astrology) is reckoned from this transit (Sanskrit sankranti, meaning transition or movement), which comes a week or two after the beginning of the new year according to the Sinhalese calendar. The Vesak Festival, which marks the dawn of the Buddhist new year, comes at least another month later. The Aluth Avurudda centres on the ‘transit’ of the sun from Pisces to Aries. It is remarkable for Sinhalese Buddhists to thus celebrate the beginning of the solar new year, rather than their own Buddhist new year. So the Aluth Avurudda appears to be in homage to the sun god, which is significant for an agrarian community. So the Aluth Avurudda is basically a harvest festival, a kind of thanksgiving to the sun, the source of all life on earth. The word ‘avurudda’ seems to have a connection with the Sinhala word for sunlight ‘avva’.
Because of the increasing popular attention that it receives in Sri Lanka nowadays, the first of January seems to eclipse the New Year in April in terms of the popular recognition it enjoys. Those of us who enjoyed the Sinhala Aluth Avurudda as the main secular festival of the year may wonder with some justification whether it is now beginning to be shelved as yet another “cultural anachronism”, which received an unfortunate boost in recent years.
This is indeed a regrettable state of affairs. Institutions such as the Aluth Avurudda and the various Esala Peraheras are vitally important cultural legacies we have inherited from the past, and they help sustain and define our identity as a people. In the face of the inexorable advance of misunderstood modernism and globalization, the threat of cultural obliteration and loss of national identity is very real.
The Aluth Avurudda is a part of our rich cultural heritage, which includes among other similar treasures the historic dagabas, tanks, sculptures, paintings, and specimens of ancient literature. Who among us, the inheritors of such an ageold culture, can be indifferent to the loss of this incomparable legacy? True, we must modernize, and participate in the emerging world order so as to keep pace with the rest of the international community in science and technology, and in the advancement of the general quality of living that it makes possible; yet, it would be most unfortunate if we were so foolhardy as to throw overboard the cherished possessions from the past in the name of progress.
These things have come down to us through the ages because they are ingrained in our history and culture. For thousands of years our ancestors – the indigenous inhabitants of this island – built up a highly organized agrarian civilization based on the principles of harmonious coexistence with nature, non-violence, tolerance and peace. The Aluth Avurudda wonderfully demonstrates our national ethos with its characteristic emphasis of the renewal and reaffirmation of goodwill within families and among neighbours, and in the series of ritualistic practices and observances that are meant to revitalise an essential link between human beings and nature.
I have vivid memories of how the Aluth Avurudda festivities were held in the remote villages of the Nuwara Eliya District in the late fifties and early sixties when we were still children. The Avurudda was an event we looked forward to for a whole year through interminable months of school, and ups and downs of childish fortunes (such as exam success or failure, friendship or fighting among playmates). At this time of the year we were invariably aware of a general awakening in nature. It was the time when the paddy was harvested and the fields were left fallow for a few weeks, allowing us children to romp about and play ‘rounders’; it was the time when exotic birds with bright plumage like the siwuru hora (golden oriole) sang from the flower-laden trees; it was the time when the humble dwellings of the peasants were cleaned and whitewashed, adding to the sunny brilliance of the surroundings. Unlike children today, we had more time to play, because tuition and cramming was almost unknown then and nature had not yet been replaced by TV and computer in engaging the aesthetic sense of the young. The impression we got from observing the multitude of Wordsworthian ‘beauteous forms’ in the environment was that even nature joined us in our joy – a very positive sort of ‘pathetic fallacy’!
The sighting of the new moon was the first of the Avurudda rites. Then came ‘bathing for the old year’ as it was called, bodily cleansing, followed by the ‘nonagathe’ period (literally, a period without auspicious times); being considered inappropriate for any form of work, this idle period was entirely devoted to religious observances and play. Cooking and partaking of milk rice, starting work for the new year, anointing oil on the head, and leaving for work were the other practices. All these rites were performed at astrologically determined auspicious moments. Although belief in astrology and other occult practices is contrary to the spirit of Buddhism, in the villages it was the Buddhist monks themselves who prepared the medicinal oils in the temples and applied these on the heads of the celebrants, young and old, while chanting ‘pirith’ so as to ensure their good health for the whole year. In this way, the Aluth Avurudda traditions touched every important aspect of life: physical wellbeing, economy, religion, and recreation.
Children and adults walked in gay abandon about the village dressed in their new clothes visiting friends and relatives amidst the cacophony of ‘raban’ playing and the sound of firecrackers set off everywhere. The aroma of savoury dishes and smell of sweetmeats arose from every household. Visitors were plied with all sorts of sweetmeats. Amidst all this visiting, playing and merrymaking everybody was careful to be at home for the observance of the rites at the astrologically appointed times.
It never occurred to us (or to our parents, I am sure) to question the necessity, or disbelieve the efficacy, of these rites. The sun was a god; the shining thing in the sky was not the god himself, though; it was only his shining chariot! We really sympathized with him over the uncertainty and anxiety he was supposed to undergo during the interregnum between the demise of the old year and the dawn of the new, i.e. the period of ‘transit’ (sankranthi). The ‘Avurudu Kumaraya’ – the New Year Prince – was as real in our imagination as the Sun God. That we didn’t see him in flesh and blood was in the nature of things, too.
Today the Aluth Avurudda means much less significant to us than it did in the past. Our response to the theme of the festival has lost much of its emotional content. Those rites, auspicious times, and astrological beliefs are nothing more than irrelevant superstitions to many. Most of those who still follow the customs associated with the Aluth Avurudda do so as a concession to tradition, out of a sense of nostalgia. Our failure to participate in the joyous experience which the Aluth Avurudda was in our childhood is a very significant loss. The mystique charm and the sense of the numinous (holy, divine) which informed the event have evaporated.
Not all is lost, though. The Sinhala Hindu New Year still remains a powerful symbol of the renewal of hope for the future and a reaffirmation of our bond with nature and our commitment to the time-honoured values of our forefathers. It is truly a celebration of life and a life affirming culture.
By Rohana R. Wasala
Features
A plural society requires plural governance

The local government elections that took place last week saw a consolidation of the democratic system in the country. The government followed the rules of elections to a greater extent than its recent predecessors some of whom continue to be active on the political stage. Particularly noteworthy was the absence of the large-scale abuse of state resources, both media and financial, which had become normalised under successive governments in the past four decades. Reports by independent election monitoring organisations made mention of this improvement in the country’s democratic culture.
In a world where democracy is under siege even in long-established democracies, Sri Lanka’s improvement in electoral integrity is cause for optimism. It also offers a reminder that democracy is always a work in progress, ever vulnerable to erosion and needs to be constantly fought for. The strengthening of faith in democracy as a result of these elections is encouraging. The satisfaction expressed by the political parties that contested the elections is a sign that democracy in Sri Lanka is strong. Most of them saw some improvement in their positions from which they took reassurance about their respective futures.
The local government elections also confirmed that the NPP and its core comprising the JVP are no longer at the fringes of the polity. The NPP has established itself as a mainstream party with an all-island presence, and remarkably so to a greater extent than any other political party. This was seen at the general elections, where the NPP won a majority of seats in 21 of the country’s 22 electoral districts. This was a feat no other political party has ever done. This is also a success that is challenging to replicate. At the present local government elections, the NPP was successful in retaining its all-island presence although not to the same degree.
Consolidating Support
Much attention has been given to the relative decline in the ruling party’s vote share from the 61 percent it secured in December’s general election to 43 percent in the local elections. This slippage has been interpreted by some as a sign of waning popularity. However, such a reading overlooks the broader trajectory of political change. Just three years ago, the NPP and its allied parties polled less than five percent nationally. That they now command over 40 percent of the vote represents a profound transformation in voter preferences and political culture. What is even more significant is the stability of this support base, which now surpasses that of any rival. The votes obtained by the NPP at these elections were double those of its nearest rival.
The electoral outcomes in the north and east, which were largely won by parties representing the Tamil and Muslim communities, is a warning signal that ethnic conflict lurks beneath the surface. The success of the minority parties signals the different needs and aspirations of the ethnic and religious minority electorates, and the need for the government to engage more fully with them. Apart from the problems of poverty, lack of development, inadequate access to economic resources and antipathy to excessive corruption that people of the north and east share in common with those in other parts of the country, they also have special problems that other sections of the population do not have. These would include problems of military takeover of their lands, missing persons and persons incarcerated for long periods either without trial or convictions under the draconian Prevention of Terrorism Act (which permits confessions made to security forces to be made admissible for purposes of conviction) and the long time quest for self-rule in the areas of their predominance
The government’s failure to address these longstanding issues with urgency appears to have caused disaffection in electorate in the north and east. While structural change is necessarily complex and slow, delays can be misinterpreted as disinterest or disregard, especially by minorities already accustomed to marginalisation. The lack of visible progress on issues central to minority communities fosters a sense of exclusion and deepens political divides. Even so, it is worth noting that the NPP’s vote in the north and east was not insignificant. It came despite the NPP not tailoring its message to ethnic grievances. The NPP has presented a vision of national reform grounded in shared values of justice, accountability, development, and equality.
Translating electoral gains into meaningful governance will require more than slogans. The failure to swiftly address matters deemed to be important by the people of those areas appears to have cost the NPP votes amongst the ethnic and religious minorities, but even here it is necessary to keep matters in perspective. The NPP came first in terms of seats won in two of the seven electoral districts of the north and east. They came second in five others. The fact that the NPP continued to win significant support indicates that its approach of equity in development and equal rights for all has resonance. This was despite the Tamil and Muslim parties making appeals to the electorate on nationalist or ethnic grounds.
Slow Change
Whether in the north and east or outside it, the government is perceived to be slow in delivering on its promises. In the context of the promise of system change, it can be appreciated that such a change will be resisted tooth and nail by those with vested interests in the continuation of the old system. System change will invariably be resisted at multiple levels. The problem is that the slow pace of change may be seen by ethnic and religious minorities as being due to the disregard of their interests. However, the system change is coming slow not only in the north and east, but also in the entire country.
At the general election in December last year, the NPP won an unprecedented number of parliamentary seats in both the country as well as in the north and east. But it has still to make use of its 2/3 majority to make the changes that its super majority permits it to do. With control of 267 out of 339 local councils, but without outright majorities in most, it must now engage in coalition-building and consensus-seeking if it wishes to govern at the local level. This will be a challenge for a party whose identity has long been built on principled opposition to elite patronage, corruption and abuse of power rather than to governance. General Secretary of the JVP, Tilvin Silva, has signaled a reluctance to form alliances with discredited parties but has expressed openness to working with independent candidates who share the party’s values. This position can and should be extended, especially in the north and east, to include political formations that represent minority communities and have remained outside the tainted mainstream.
In a plural and multi-ethnic society like Sri Lanka, democratic legitimacy and effective governance requires coalition-building. By engaging with locally legitimate minority parties, especially in the north and east, the NPP can engage in principled governance without compromising its core values. This needs to be extended to the local government authorities in the rest of the country as well. As the 19th century English political philosopher John Stuart Mill observed, “The worth of a state in the long run is the worth of the individuals composing it,” and in plural societies, that worth can only be realised through inclusive decision-making.
by Jehan Perera
Features
Commercialising research in Sri Lanka – not really the healthiest thing for research

In the early 2000s, a colleague, returning to Sri Lanka after a decade in a research-heavy first world university, complained to me that ‘there is no research culture in Sri Lanka’. But what exactly does having a ‘research culture’ mean? Is a lot of funding enough? What else has stopped us from working towards a productive and meaningful research culture? A concerted effort has been made to improve the research culture of state universities, though there are debates about how healthy such practices are (there is not much consideration of the same in private ‘universities’ in Sri Lanka but that is a discussion for another time). So, in the 25 years since my colleague bemoaned our situation, what has been happening?
What is a ‘research culture’?
A good research culture would be one where we – academics and students – have the resources to engage productively in research. This would mean infrastructure, training, wholesome mentoring, and that abstract thing called headspace. In a previous Kuppi column, I explained at length some of the issues we face as researchers in Sri Lankan universities, including outdated administrative regulations, poor financial resources, and such aspects. My perspective is from the social sciences, and might be different to other disciplines. Still, I feel that there are at least a few major problems that we all face.
Number one: Money is important.
Take the example American universities. Harvard University, according to Harvard Magazine, “received $686.5 million in federally sponsored research grants” for the fiscal year of 2024 but suddenly find themselves in a bind because of such funds being held back. Research funds in these universities typically goes towards building and maintenance of research labs and institutions, costs of equipment, material and other resources and stipends for graduate and other research assistants, conferences, etc. Without such an infusion of money towards research, the USA would not have been able to attracts (and keeps) the talent and brains of other countries. Without a large amount of money dedicated for research, Sri Lankan state universities, too, will not have the research culture it yearns for. Given the country’s austere economic situation, in the last several years, research funds have come mainly from self-generated funds and treasury funds. Yet, even when research funds are available (they are usually inadequate), we still have some additional problems.
Number two: Unending spools of red tape
In Sri Lankan universities red tape is endless. An MoU with a foreign research institution takes at least a year. Financial regulations surrounding the award and spending of research grants is frustrating.
Here’s a personal anecdote. In 2018, I applied for a small research grant from my university. Several months later, I was told I had been awarded it. It comes to me in installments of not more than Rs 100,000. To receive this installment, I must submit a voucher and wait a few weeks until it passes through various offices and gains various approvals. For mysterious financial reasons, asking for reimbursements is discouraged. Obviously then, if I were working on a time-sensitive study or if I needed a larger amount of money for equipment or research material, I would not be able to use this grant. MY research assistants, transcribers, etc., must be willing to wait for their payments until I receive this advance. In 2022, when I received a second advance, the red tape was even tighter. I was asked to spend the funds and settle accounts – within three weeks. ‘Should I ask my research assistants to do the work and wait a few weeks or months for payment? Or should I ask them not to do work until I get the advance and then finish it within three weeks so I can settle this advance?’ I asked in frustration.
Colleagues, who regularly use university grants, frustratedly go along with it; others may opt to work with organisations outside the university. At a university meeting, a few years ago, set up specifically to discuss how young researchers could be encouraged to do research, a group of senior researchers ended the meeting with a list of administrative and financial problems that need to be resolved if we want to foster ‘a research culture’. These are still unresolved. Here is where academic unions can intervene, though they seem to be more focused on salaries, permits and school quotas. If research is part of an academic’s role and responsibility, a research-friendly academic environment is not a privilege, but a labour issue and also impinges on academic freedom to generate new knowledge.
Number three: Instrumentalist research – a global epidemic
The quality of research is a growing concern, in Sri Lanka and globally. The competitiveness of the global research environment has produced seriously problematic phenomena, such as siphoning funding to ‘trendy’ topics, the predatory publications, predatory conferences, journal paper mills, publications with fake data, etc. Plagiarism, ghost writing and the unethical use of AI products are additional contemporary problems. In Sri Lanka, too, we can observe researchers publishing very fast – doing short studies, trying to publish quickly by sending articles to predatory journals, sending the same article to multiple journals at the same time, etc. Universities want more conferences rather than better conferences. Many universities in Sri Lanka have mandated that their doctoral candidates must publish journal articles before their thesis submission. As a consequence, novice researchers frequently fall prey to predatory journals. Universities have also encouraged faculties or departments to establish journals, which frequently have sub-par peer review.
Alongside this are short-sighted institutional changes. University Business Liankage cells, for instance, were established as part of the last World Bank loan cycle to universities. They are expected to help ‘commercialise’ research and focuses on research that can produce patents, and things that can be sold. Such narrow vision means that the broad swathe of research that is undertaken in universities are unseen and ignored, especially in the humanities and social sciences. A much larger vision could have undertaken the promotion of research rather than commercialisation of it, which can then extend to other types of research.
This brings us to the issue of what types of research is seen as ‘relevant’ or ‘useful’. This is a question that has significant repercussions. In one sense, research is an elitist endeavour. We assume that the public should trust us that public funds assigned for research will be spent on worth-while projects. Yet, not all research has an outcome that shows its worth or timeliness in the short term. Some research may not be understood other than by specialists. Therefore, funds, or time spent on some research projects, are not valued, and might seem a waste, or a privilege, until and unless a need for that knowledge suddenly arises.
A short example suffices. Since the 1970s, research on the structures of Sinhala and Sri Lankan Tamil languages (sound patterns, sentence structures of the spoken versions, etc.) have been nearly at a standstill. The interest in these topics are less, and expertise in these areas were not prioritised in the last 30 years. After all, it is not an area that can produce lucrative patents or obvious contributions to the nation’s development. But with digital technology and AI upon us, the need for systematic knowledge of these languages is sorely evident – digital technologies must be able to work in local languages to become useful to whole populations. Without a knowledge of the structures and sounds of local languages – especially the spoken varieties – people who cannot use English cannot use those devices and platforms. While providing impetus to research such structures, this need also validates utilitarian research.
This then is the problem with espousing instrumental ideologies of research. World Bank policies encourage a tying up between research and the country’s development goals. However, in a country like ours, where state policies are tied to election manifestos, the result is a set of research outputs that are tied to election cycles. If in 2019, the priority was national security, in 2025, it can be ‘Clean Sri Lanka’. Prioritising research linked to short-sighted visions of national development gains us little in the longer-term. At the same time, applying for competitive research grants internationally, which may have research agendas that are not nationally relevant, is problematic. These are issues of research ethics as well.
Concluding thoughts
In moving towards a ‘good research culture’, Sri Lankan state universities have fallen into the trap of adopting some of the problematic trends that have swept through the first world. Yet, since we are behind the times anyway, it is possible for us to see the damaging consequences of those issues, and to adopt the more fruitful processes. A slower, considerate approach to research priorities would be useful for Sri Lanka at this point. It is also a time for collective action to build a better research environment, looking at new relationships and collaborations, and mentoring in caring ways.
(Dr. Kaushalya Perera teaches at the Department of English, University of Colombo)
Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.
By Kaushalya Perera
Features
Melantha …in the spotlight

Melantha Perera, who has been associated with many top bands in the past, due to his versatility as a musician, is now enjoying his solo career, as well … as a singer.
He was invited to perform at the first ever ‘Noon2Moon’ event, held in Dubai, at The Huddle, CityMax Hotel, on Saturday, 3rd May.
It was 15 hours of non-stop music, featuring several artistes, with Melantha (the only Sri Lankan on the show), doing two sets.
According to reports coming my way, ‘Noon2Moon’ turned out to be the party of the year, with guests staying back till well past 3.00 am, although it was a 12.00 noon to 3.00 am event.

Having Arabic food
Melantha says he enjoyed every minute he spent on stage as the crowd, made up mostly of Indians, loved the setup.
“I included a few Sinhala songs as there were some Sri Lankans, as well, in the scene.”
Allwyn H. Stephen, who is based in the UAE, was overjoyed with the success of ‘Noon2Moon’.
Says Allwyn: “The 1st ever Noon2Moon event in Dubai … yes, we delivered as promised. Thank you to the artistes for the fab entertainment, the staff of The Huddle UAE , the sound engineers, our sponsors, my supporters for sharing and supporting and, most importantly, all those who attended and stayed back till way past 3.00 am.”

Melantha:
Dubai and
then Oman
Allwyn, by the way, came into the showbiz scene, in a big way, when he featured artistes, live on social media, in a programme called TNGlive, during the Covid-19 pandemic.
After his performance in Dubai, Melantha went over to Oman and was involved in a workshop – ‘Workshop with Melantha Perera’, organised by Clifford De Silva, CEO of Music Connection.
The Workshop included guitar, keyboard and singing/vocal training, with hands-on guidance from the legendary Melantha Perera, as stated by the sponsors, Music Connection.
Back in Colombo, Melantha will team up with his band Black Jackets for their regular dates at the Hilton, on Fridays and Sundays, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays at Warehouse, Vauxhall Street.
Melantha also mentioned that Bright Light, Sri Lanka’s first musical band formed entirely by visually impaired youngsters, will give their maiden public performance on 7th June at the MJF Centre Auditorium in Katubadda, Moratuwa.
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