Connect with us

Sat Mag

When Yashoda forgets herself



By Uditha Devapriya

The faintest smile lit up her face. As her eyes widened, she seemed almost at ease. Then she leapt to the past, letting the memories overwhelm her. The frown subsided, the icy stare cooled down, and the words flowed. The wall she had placed in front of me cracked open. She was in character, though only barely.

The smile flickered even more. By now, she’d almost broken through.

But then the icy stare returned, the eyebrows furrowed, and the smile subsided. In their place was an enigmatic frown. Something in the past refused to come into recollection. As she ran through the corridors of her memory, she twitched, almost apologetically. Then tea came, and we halted our conversation. After tea she returned to her old self: the person I had seen onstage, for the first time, a week ago, and the person I had seen on the television and movie screens of my childhood, adolescence, and youth.

“It’s fascinating,” she said all of a sudden, “to forget yourself.”

Yashoda Wimaladharma is the most extraordinary actress of her generation here. Ever since 1986, when her uncle had her onboard a television series, and 1990, when that uncle cast her as a main character in a play which won for her the Best Actress statuette at that year’s State Drama Festival, she’s always tested herself, defied herself, surpassed herself. Part of that exercise, as she put to me several times in our interview, involves letting yourself go. “I don’t pick every script that comes my way,” she smiled. “But I make sure the ones that come my way, the ones I choose, push me beyond my limits.”

It hadn’t been easy at the beginning. Though she wasn’t born with a silver spoon, she was far, far from the first in her family to foray into the performing arts. Her father, Ravilal Wimaladharma, had been Professor of Hindi at Kelaniya University, and had engaged with poetry, music, and the media; he had later launched a Hindi service in the SLBC, to cater to Indian listeners. Her mother had been a teacher of dance. More importantly, her uncle had been a distinguished playwright, director, and actor: Bandula Vithanage. “I owe it to him for having encouraged me,” Yashoda remembered. “I hadn’t even completed my O Levels when he put me in front of a camera, for the first time.”

At St Paul’s Milagiriya, where Yashoda did her A Levels, the atmosphere was friendly and receptive. “Many of my teachers, and all of my friends, went out of their way to help me.

Excelling in her favourite subject, literature, she pursued her education at Kelaniya, where her father taught. “My campus life wasn’t all rosy,” she admitted. “Ragging of the violent, demeaning sort had become the norm then. But that didn’t hinder me.”

Right after her A Levels, Vithanage had chosen her as Emily in Hiru Dahasa, an adaptation of Thornton Wilder’s Our Town. Given that she came to theatre through television, she found the new medium a little hard to swallow, and much harder to digest. “There were problems from Day One. For instance, I found I couldn’t project my voice loudly enough. We had to spend six months rehearsing and I had to tone up during that period.”

In the end, fortunately, her efforts paid off. “Not only was there a standing ovation, but when we went to the State Drama Festival, I had all these veteran playwrights and thespians gathering around me. They told me I deserved the Best Actress prize.” Which is what she got in the end, of course, though she never expected it.

“Those days, a newcomer came onstage very rarely. So when people saw me, they were enthralled. Once I got that experience, the theatre became a much more fascinating place to me. Why? Because you’re hanging on to the moment, sustaining the audience’s interest without condescending or pandering to them. Up there you have no retakes and you get no break. You need to give your best performance, throughout.”

Yashoda told me that for an actress, any actress, living one’s role is the most difficult and yet most essential part of the job. “That’s why, when I played Emily’s role in Hiru Dahasa, I felt I needed to learn about this subject. I wanted to straddle campus life with acting.”

The problem was that there hadn’t been any acting schools at the time here. “Even now, we don’t have teachers for the subject.” In the 1970s, the peak decade as far as the cinema and theatre in Sri Lanka is concerned, there had been Salamon Fonseka and Shelton Payagala. But Salaman would soon fade into obscurity, while Payagala would die young.

By the time Yashoda came of age onstage, there remained only one professional well versed in the subject who could teach her. That man was Jayantha Chandrasiri. Yashoda’s father, realising her potential, took her to meet him.

In my interview I made the cardinal mistake of asking her when he finished teaching her. She raised her eyebrows. “I’ve never stopped learning under him.”

Her training took some years. It hadn’t been difficult. By nature a voracious reader, she had collected as many books as she could on the subject. While technique isn’t the be-all and end-all of acting, she nevertheless educated herself on the latest methods, tips, tricks, and shortcuts. Of particular interest had been the Method, perhaps the most misinterpreted acting approach the world has ever known.

Being an exponent of the Method, Jayantha Chandrasiri had naturally taught it to her as well. “The point with the Method is to seamlessly enter a character’s life. This appealed to me, since back then I wanted to know how one could forget oneself, to create the illusion that one is being another person.”

Surprisingly for someone who went through all this because of the theatre, Yashoda hasn’t been in many plays. Four productions over 30 years hardly amount to much, after all. Once she was done with Hiru Dahasa, she took part in Venisiye Velenda, Trojan Kanthawo, and Makarakshaya. The latter two, by Dharmasiri Bandaranayake, go on record as two of the finest contemporary political dramas this country has ever seen.

In Trojan Kanthawo, as Andromache, Yashoda acts opposite Anoja Weerasinghe. Part of the pleasure of watching Bandaranayake’s story unfold is seeing these two collide with each other. The level of dedication and commitment required, to personify not just the suffering of the women but also, more importantly, their submission in the face of the victors, is no doubt immense. Both Yashoda and Anoja have thus been nothing short of brilliant in their performances, as Hecuba and Andromache, over the last two decades.

She has been much more prodigious in film, though even there she’s been spare in her choices. According to Nuwan Nawayanjith Kumara, her first role had been in an Indian film: 1992’s Acharyan. Next was Vijaya Dharma Sri’s Guru Gedara, in 1993. Her first major performance came two years later, in Vasantha Obeyesekere’s Maruthaya: in hindsight one of his lesser works, but important to me because, in it, Yashoda acts in a way radically different to how she would perform in later productions.

In Maruthaya, Yashoda is all hysterics, barely containing her anger and barely concealing her contempt for all those hostile towards her and her family. Cast opposite that other actress as symbolic of her era as she would be, Sangeetha Weeraratne, Yashoda fumes, rages, and scowls perpetually. She is uncharacteristic, almost unlike herself. When in the second half of the film she and her sister (Sangeetha) enter the world of nightclubs, she goes beyond the limits of her usual self without breaking her credibility. In contrast to the more vociferous sister, she seems almost tame, but more often than not she breaks down.

No better film can illustrate the contrast between this detour in her career than the next role she got through Obeyesekere: as a girl, ostensibly born to rich parents, in search of her origins in Theertha Yathra. And no better actress juxtaposes with her better than Sangeetha. This twin disjuncture, or contradiction – between her outbursts in Maruthaya and her calm demeanour post-Maruthaya on the one hand and between her and Sangeetha’s approaches on the other – comes up in Jayantha Chandrasiri’s Guerilla Marketing.

Here, at least until that point in her career, we see Yashoda at her best: the former lover of the protagonist, who is now married to the partner at his ad agency at which both women work. Sangeetha’s outbursts at her husband’s descent into madness, at once sincere and unendurable, are a world away from Yashoda’s more introspective posture.

Among her most recent work, Samanala Sandhwaniya takes the cake. “Jayantha aiya posed a unique challenge in that project. When he gave me the script, he told me to finish all my other work and come back with a fresh mind.” While she had brought her preconceived notions about acting to her other roles, Jayantha had been adamant that she approach it as a newcomer here. “The effect he wanted was basically this: when I come onscreen, you don’t see me, you see my character, Punya.”

He had, in other words, wanted her to go beyond a simple naturalism of style. “Until then I’d always consciously get into the skins of my characters. Jayantha aiya told me to take one step further. With Soorya Dayaruwan it was easy, since he was literally a newcomer. I wasn’t. That’s why I relished acting in the film. The challenge was unique, unlike any other I’d faced until then.” Not surprisingly, it was celebrated as her finest performance in years, the sort you almost never get to see with Sri Lankan actors.

Quite a different challenge, also unique, faced her in Vaishnavee, where for the entirety of the story she has to act emotionless while, at the end, she unearths its emotional core. But that’s for another time, another essay. For now, I’m done with this one.


The writer can be reached at

Continue Reading
Click to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Sat Mag

George Floyd, African-Americans, and Sri Lanka’s Estate Tamils (Part I)



By Uditha Devapriya

Over two weeks, the George Floyd protests spread practically everywhere. From Kansas to Kenya, from Baltimore to Berlin, they turned into symbols of dissent against not just the racism, but also the xenophobia, of White America.

One of the most haunting images to emerge from the demonstrations was that of a young Sri Lankan girl, draped in the flag of her country, posing defiantly on the streets of an American city. The image and the girl in it attracted both support and opposition, the latter coming from militant Sinhala nationalists who felt she dishonoured a national symbol by using it as a sign of civil disobedience involving a domestic issue of another country.

The response of the nationalists to the George Floyd uprisings was, if at all, amusing. One section of this crowd took to social media to condemn White America for exhibiting its racist, chauvinist face yet again. Another section – no less big or significant – took the opposite stance, censuring those protesting against the murder of a black civilian because, to them at least, Floyd’s murder did not warrant the rampaging and the pillaging of public property. To the latter group, these protests seemed disproportionate to what they regarded as an instance of police authority enforcing the law over a minority community.

The few within the nationalist crowd who did support the raging protests were, even more amusingly, taken to task on social media by another group, this one ideologically opposed to nationalism. The latter crowd seemed to think, not without justification, that the nationalists sharing posts and posting comments against White America were myopic: they seemed to sympathise with George Floyd, but not with the Tamils and Muslims of Sri Lanka, whom the anti-nationalists alleged are as discriminated against over here as George Floyd’s community is over there. Thus both nationalists opposed to the protests AND anti-nationalists critiquing the selectivity of those supporting the protests persisted in comparing African-Americans to the Tamils and Muslims of Sri Lanka.

In that sense the protests taught us two important lessons. Though they don’t form the subject of this essay, they are relevant to it, and hence need to be examined.

Firstly, the inability of many Sinhala nationalists to take their struggle against neo-colonialism and Western hegemony forward. Resistance to colonialism has historically formed the bedrock of the Sinhala nationalist lobby, yet their denunciations of this uprising betrayed a failure to think beyond geographic borders. This came out quite despairingly in their reaction to the only local political party that saw it fit to organise a protest in front of the US Embassy. The government’s crackdown on the demonstration didn’t seem to ruffle their feathers, nor did the point that the demonstrators were making.

Secondly, and just as importantly, the inability of local left-liberal outfits to come up with a proper front, in Sri Lanka, against the George Floyd murder. The Frontline Socialist Party (FSP) organised the protest against the US Embassy, while the Socialist Equality Party (SEP) organised a discussion on it online. But neither of these belongs to what is traditionally labelled as “civil society.” The point can be made that the issue at the centre of these protests was not Sri Lankan and that is why civil society ignored it, but that excuse pales away when one considers that the moment sections of the nationalist crowd let out their anger at the US’s handling of the protests, certain social media civil society activists focused their energies more on pointing out the hypocrisy of the nationalists.

Despite the hostile exchanges between the two factions, one particular point brought them together: their comparison of African-Americans to Sri Lankan Tamils and Muslims. They underscored this comparison from two different vantage points.

Thus the nationalists who critiqued the protests seemed to believe that, like extremist Tamils and Muslims, African-Americans and other minorities in the US were unfairly questioning the legitimacy of rule by an ethnic majority. Those opposed to the nationalists, on the other hand, inadvertently, by their critique of the nationalists’ sidelining of Tamils and Muslims, equated the latter two with the community which Floyd hailed from. The question to be asked here is whether such an analogy is, if not plausible, then at least tenable.

In 2011, a year before Barack Obama won election for a second term, Vinod Moonesinghe wrote a cogent reply to someone who in an article had wished for a Tamil or Muslim to be elected as this country’s leader. Vinod made two points there: considering Obama’s win as a win for all African-Americans failed to distinguish between his class origins and those of most African-Americans; and equating African-Americans with Tamils and Muslims was anachronistic, given the economically privileged status of the latter two groups.

Taking class and caste into consideration, then, Ranasinghe Premadasa’s election win seemed closer to such a comparison than the potential coming to power of a member of a “minority.” Taking class, caste, AND ethnicity into consideration, the analogy would have to extend, not to Jaffna and Colombo Tamils, Moors, and Malays, or Borahs and Sindhis, but instead to a community that, like the blacks of the US, was imported as dirt cheap labour, cut off from the rest of the population, and supervised under a setup no different to the plantations of the southern US. In other words, the migrant Indian Tamils of Sri Lanka.

Before making an analogy between these two groups, though, it would do well to reflect, very briefly, on the historical trajectory of slavery in the West.

Following the Arab invasions of the seventh and eighth centuries, Europe turned inward. The eminent historian Fernand Braudel has written of a “second serfdom” that sprang up in parts of the continent where feudalism failed to give way to capitalism. The result was the growth of a kind of slavery, white slavery, across the East, in what is now Russia; it’s a testament to the legacy of the trade which emerged there that the word “slave” derived from the ethnicity of those marshalled into it from that region, Slav.

With the influence of the Arabs and the Ottoman Turks after them waning after the fall of Granada in 1492 (the same year Columbus “discovered” the New World), a liberated Europe, discovering hitherto unchartered colonies in the Americas on one side and Australia on the other, gradually instituted a system of indentured white bondage.

It has been estimated that around 67% of all white immigrants to the new colonies arrived there as servants. These immigrants were bound to a contract that compelled them to work for an overseer, without pay, over a specified period of time. Most often such contracts were drawn for those who had a prior obligation to these overseers which they couldn’t meet, such as a debt. Since the government usually didn’t interfere with these contracts, extortion and kidnappings became common, as they would among Africans later on. The situation was such that even in as late as 1910 the US government was trying to put an end to white slavery: the White Slave Traffic Act (or the Mann Act) that year made it a felony to transport women across state borders for the purposes of “prostitution or debauchery.”

Debt bondage, however, applied in the early period only to white immigrants to the white colonies, and the Irish; the difference between their situation and that of African slaves was that the latter were never recruited to pay off an obligation; most of them ended up as lifelong labourers, unpaid and treated as chattel or property. As Liam Stack once observed, “[u]nlike slaves, servants were considered legally human.”

To put this in its proper perspective, the position of those shipped to the sugar plantations of the West Indies and the cotton mills of the southern United States fitted that of neither indentured servants nor wage labourers. The process of recruiting and transporting these Africans, in the long term, thus became, as Gordon K. Lewis put it, “quasi-militarised”, while once quartered in the plantations their owners did everything to isolate the unfortunate immigrants, prisoners really, from the world outside.

Revisionist historians, white and black, have tried to understate the full weight of black slavery, either by pointing at the involvement of African intermediaries in it or by showing that European Christians became as entangled in it as Africans.

Thus Robert Davis (Christian Slaves, Muslim Masters) argues that while the Atlantic slave trade was 12 times as large, more Christians than Africans were captured between 1500 and 1650, while Henry Louis Gates, Jr. (“How Many Slaves Landed in the US?”) contends that of the 10.7 million Africans who survived the passage to the West, “only about 388,000” were shipped to the United States. What these “findings” fail to show is that black slavery was not geographically limited to the US, or for that matter to Western Europe, and that from 1530 to 1780, when more than five million Africans found themselves dispatched to Portugal and Brazil, only about a million Christians were forced into servitude in North Africa, along the Barbary Coast and into the Ottoman Empire.

The Abolitionist movement, no doubt representative of a progressive, enlightened wing in the Evangelical Revival, agitated for African slavery’s end. It did this as much for moral reasons as for pragmatic ones; the rise in Britain of an industrial Whig bourgeoisie over a landed Tory gentry and the expansion of British interests in Asia and Africa had by then necessitated the rise of plantation colonialism. It is hence not a coincidence that African slaves in the British West Indies were emancipated by official proclamation in the same year (1833) that the most ambitious set of administrative proposals were tabled in Sri Lanka (Colebrooke-Cameron) to lay the foundation for the new colonial plantation economy.

Against this backdrop, black slavery soon receded to countries where a white settler class predominated, including Rhodesia, Canada, Australia and New Zealand. S. B. D. de Silva in The Political Economy of Underdevelopment refers to these as “settler states”, a distinction I will return to later. In any case, what we have here is the first of many differences between the plight of African-Americans and that of Sri Lankan Tamils and Muslims.

Plantation colonialism demolished and also made use of existing traditional political, cultural, social, and economic patterns in much of Asia and Africa. The most immediate result of that, of course, was the impoverishment of the peasantry; in Sri Lanka, as we know, the peasantry most directly affected by these policies remained the Kandyan Sinhalese.

Marx was largely correct in his comparison of British domination of India to that of Ireland. He was more prescient in the implication that the British brought with them to the colonies their experience in subjugating the Irish peasantry. Two policies make it clear to what extent they were following the Irish example in India and Sri Lanka: the expropriation of peasant land, and the pursuit of divide and rule. I shall turn to these next week, and with them, the growth and evolution of Indian migrant labour.

To be continued next week…

The writer can be reached at

Continue Reading

Sat Mag

Imagine yourself being fried and eaten bit by bit



I cannot make up my mind: Is the meat eater, who eats dead animals killed in slaughterhouses, worse than the meat eater who kills the animal himself while eating it?

There is a certain type of person who goes to a restaurant, chooses a live fish, octopus shrimp or snake in a transparent aquarium tank, has it taken out of the glass and killed and cooked in front of him. His only reason for this to himself is that the meat should be “fresh”. In actual fact some people truly enjoy suffering. That, for them, is as important as the taste.

What can I say about people who enjoy eating these foods?

The Chinese Ying Yang fish is fried but kept alive. You can see videos of diners prodding at the face and eyes with their chopsticks while the fish struggles to breathe with its mouth and gills. It is prepared extremely quickly, with care not to damage the internal organs, so that the fish can remain alive for 30 minutes. Fish are the most sensitive of all to pain. Imagine yourself being fried and then eaten bit by bit.

In Japan, Sashimi, which means pierced body, is a common Japanese dish consisting of fresh raw fish or meat sliced into thin pieces and eaten with soy sauce. One kind of Sashimi is Ikizukuri (“prepared alive”) made with live sea beings. Fish and octopus are common ingredients that move on the plate as you eat them. Sashimi could also include live frogs. The frog is stripped of its skin while alive and stabbed delicately with a fork and eaten. One restaurant in Shinjuku serves the frog’s fresh, still beating heart, as starters. Lobsters are not always boiled alive and dead by the time they reach your plate. Restaurants in New York serve lobsters while they’re still alive. They are upturned and diners pick out “belly sashimi” from the lobster which flails in pain for all the time you take to slash and take out his stomach meat. Another common dish in Japan is swallowing live baby eels dipped in vinegar and saké.

In South Korea, Sannakji is a dish that involves hacking the tentacles off a baby octopus and serving them still wriggling. Sannakji connoisseurs enjoy the sensation of the still-active suction cups on the octopus’ arms as they stick to the mouth.

The Chinese cannot be bested for their addiction to cruelty. Live shrimp are put into a liquor called Baijiu and diners bite their heads off while drinking it. This can give you lung fluke disease, but what is more important than proving your manhood by killing a shrimp. In China there is a dish called “Three squeaks” in which live baby mice are dunked in sauce and eaten alive. The reason why it is called “Three Squeaks” is due to the sounds the mice make when grabbed with chopsticks, dunked in the sauce and bitten through.

Raw live baby monkey brain is a very expensive dish eaten by rich people in China and Hong Kong. The chef puts a live monkey beneath a table with its head poking up through a hole. The chef slices the top of the head off and the customers eat its brains while it screams. Fresh baby donkey, or Huo Jiao Lu. The animal has its legs tied and its body held down, while the chef cuts its body and serves the meat immediately to customers.

Live baby duck embryos, just a day from being hatched, are a famous Chinese specialty which is now common in the Philippines as well. In the latter country it is called Balut. The Filipinos eat the egg boiled. The Chinese eat it raw to get the full taste of the egg white, the little yolk left, and the live squirming chick. No wonder the Chinese make such dangerous enemies. They love violence and gore.

Odori ebi or “dancing shrimp” is a Japanese sashimi in which the baby pink shrimp is still moving its legs and antennae while being eaten. The shrimp only dies when chewed. Odori Don is a live cuttlefish whose tentacles twitch as you pour the soy and chew it.

Consuming the beating heart and blood of live snakes is common in Vietnam. You choose the live snake at roadside stalls and they cut it and serve it within a minute. I have seen this in Hong Kong. In China people eat live baby snakes.

Sea urchins are the porcupines of the sea; globular animals with long spines to defend themselves. They live on the seabed. But their spines cannot protect them from human greed. They are caught and served live. Their testicles are a delicacy across the world, specially Europe. The live animal is cut on the plate with scissors and its salty gonads are taken out and eaten raw.

The most common animal to be eaten alive is the oyster which is served alive. Its spine is broken, and its insides are slurped up raw. This was originally a French dish but is now eaten all over.

A famous chain of restaurants in Copenhagen serves salads crawling with live ants supposedly to add a zesty taste. These move slowly because they have been kept in the fridge previously. Wichetty grubs are chewed live in parts of Australia. They are said to taste like nutty fried eggs.

Casu Marzu is a traditional Sardinian sheep milk cheese eaten in Italy.  Its specialty is that it contains the live maggots of the cheese fly, which jump about in panic as you scrunch them. Casu Marzu has so much ammonia in it from its faeces that it scorches the tongue. Milk cheeses containing living insect larvae are produced in several Italian regions.

Television game shows that I have repeatedly complained about to the Ministry over the years is Fear Factor and Survivor where contestants eat live insects, spiders, cockroaches and worms. But by the time they take action, the series is already over. Then we start the cycle again with the next series. Man vs Wild is another show in which Bear Gryllis shows his manhood by eating live insects.

What is the word for people who demand food that is so full of pain? Monsters? Ugly terrifying evil beings that are probably a menace to human society as well. 

(To join the animal

welfare movement contact, www.

Continue Reading

Sat Mag

The elephant and alli mankada



By Ashley de Vos

In 1999, a proposal was made by the undersigned as President of the Wildlife and Nature Protection Society of Sri Lanka, to document from the existing information in the Department of Wildlife Conservation, held in the archives of Mr. Wilson, an erudite Officer, and draw a map showing the original Alli Mankada, as they existed prior to 1977. Many ‘Experts’ objected, that they had all changed. They had all changed, yes, but we were after the Ayurveda solution to the problem, instead of the ampicillin solution of the western educated experts.

As a quick fix an ampicillin solution in the form of an electric fence was promoted and installed at enormous cost. This we all know has failed. These elephants for centuries have travelled from A to B along the Alli Mankada. Today this highway or the Mankada they travelled along has been blocked, and a detour has been introduced. Let’s apply the very same scenario to us humans. We are merrily travelling along the highway with our family trying to get to B. Half way we are confronted with a road block, we are not told why, but forced to take a detour. We have now to travel along narrow roads, not properly sign posted, across unfamiliar territory, meet new people, some friendly, some not, they are agitated, because of the sudden increase in traffic encroaching into their privacy and disrupting their life styles as well. Some put up boards requesting that the traffic should move slowly and hope the detour would be closed down and the highway opened up as soon as possible.

The poor elephant faces the very same scenario. They have travelled the highway, the Alli Mankada for centuries. Suddenly without any warning, due to a politically influenced decision and without a bird brain of thought the elephant highway, the Alli Mankada is closed. The disruption could be a badly located chicken farm belonging to a friend of the politician, an ill designed housing scheme, or the indiscriminate distribution of land usually for political expediency. Remember the people have a vote, the elephants don’t. The elephant journey from A to B, now for no real researched reason has been diverted through new areas. Through villagers have never seen the movement of the elephant herds in their village before. Some of the coconut trees destroyed are close to 10 years of more. They had been safe till the indiscriminate blocking of the Alli Mankada that diverted the herds, via electric fences in a new direction.

It is certainly not the fault of the elephant, but they are forced to suffer, they are shot, they are electrocuted, fed the insane Hakka Pattas. Those who indulge in this method, should lose any good karma that they may have accrued in the past, and be relegated to spend the rest of their million lives in the darkest hell hole. One cannot induce arbitory changes to the Alli Mankada, the fact is that these highways are engraved in the genes, is why we still see elephants climbing Koslanda on their way up to the highest landscapes like Poonagala.

Any good research has to commence from the base not from a contorted half way, leaving elephants on both sides of the electric fence. The cause has to be understood first, to arrive at the real solution. If people have been wrongly settled, if industries have been wrongly placed, if national parks have been compromised, now is the time to change, to get back. To look for permanent solutions, even if it means alternate lands. This would then constitute a permanent solution. To open up the Alli Mankada. We will not need the electric fences or the Hakka Pattas anymore, much to the disappointment of the suppliers. The politicians responsible for creating the illegal encroachments should be taken to task. If the map of the original Alli Mankada could be produced and forwarded to all authorities at least the Officers will understand the possible repercussions of their folly. No one can fane ignorance and say, THEY DID NOT KNOW.

Continue Reading