All art lovers who are concerned about the dismantling of the Arts Council and the four bills gazetted should listen to the song ‘Mawathe Api’ which gives an insight into the possible fate of the arts in Sri Lanka which are soon to be engulfed in the domain of the politician and the be-spectacled bureaucrat.
In this context a picture seen in the media comes to mind. A Minister of the previous govt. along with his wife, both wearing tin hats, were seen inspecting the hi-tec control complex of a hydro-electric power project in China. An engineer or two from the C.E.B. could have been sent in place of the better half for the benefit of our country.
So one can expect in the future, politicians and bureaucrats and their progeny gracing cultural exhibitions and art shows worldwide, while our artists, musicians, writers and craftsmen remain stranded in the cultural desert.
Colombo 5
The instance of the Sri Lanka Police baton-charging and tear-gassing a group of student protesters and sympathisers near the Fort Railway Station throws up many interesting issues.
In the first instance it is a well-known fact that the actions of the police in a delicate situation are carefully considered within their higher echelons. In other words the use of excessive force would be usually reflective of the attitude of persons who govern their official policy. I do believe that a three year acqaintance is long enough to establish a sympathetic understanding on expectations while events in the neighbourhood of Negombo of the recent past are a reasonable indicator of the policy and its execution. There was also a flat statement of the need of measures for ‘‘self-defence’’ through processes identified as being outside the law!
However in phase two of the Fort Railway Station incident, the Police have been un-ceremoniously dumped by their employers and have also been ‘‘exposed’’ for not seeking the appropriate ‘‘cover’’! This is in a rapid sequence commencing with the harassment of TNL television over a so-called false news item and ending (for the time being) with the illegal detention of Sirisena Cooray, earning strictures from the Courts along with suitable penalties for the Police and their employers.
The lesson from these episodes ought to be that the execution of justice should be as required by law and through correct interpretation of the law rather than through influences that have nothing to do with justice. But will lessons be ever taken when the very fact of being an underprivileged citizen is qualification in so-called democratic Sri Lanka for arrest and indefinite detention? Which power is possessed of suitable integrity to ensure correct enforcement?
The last word about the Fort Railway Station matter is that it presented a golden opportunity for a breathtaking political coup. Which national politician would have dared to drive up to that scene and asked to speak to a representative handful of the demonstrators without fear of personal consequence? And then proceeded to eloquently disarm their misgivings with a worthwhile undertaking of possible reviews?
There would then have been a complete dissipation of all frustration and aggression and a welcome breath of refreshing statemanship on the national horizon.
It appears that only the late Lalith Athulathmudali would have dared to do so and then succeeded. But the process of elimination of genuine worth that is a national malady ensured that he would never reach the pinnacle to which he was best fitted. There certainly was no equal or part-equivalent available on that day at the Fort incident. The national malady lives on.
Once on a time our land was gay; fearless we went to work and to play; Home was a place to relax without fuss; School had teachers who cared for us; And Mrs. Motwani came from the USA; To walk through our land in her dignified way. Trustful and kind, With intellectual mind, She set her hand To enrich our land. For her the joy of work well done, And now the rest after race well run; And some day will surely dawn Uni goal - the everlasting morn.
Thank you Sanath; it gave me limitless joy, Fighting at the Front, To hear that you brought glory to Mother Lanka! Your bat speaks of Guts and Runs, While mine reverberates to the Sound of Guns. The Turf is your playing field, While mine, the gory Mine-field To go down fighting until That very turf would lay savagely on me! Yet the glory is also mine To fight for a United Land Where my dear brothers and sisters of every kind Could enjoy your brand Of cricket, in Peace! May your bat bring us joy While I do my duty in this Hell’s Abscess, Fashioned on either side By Power and Greed Of the Avaricious Breed, Whose wily designs have caused this Miserable Mess. But your gutsy, rustic rue, The bucolic milieu And mine, too, Beckon us both to fight to the end. You on your turf, me on mine, So may you bat and bring us joy, While I pray That you may, Not fall prey To the Lure and Wiles Of the Vote-Vulture’s way!
Tracing footsteps down memory lane, Fifty years back in my boyhood days. I could yet picture, many friends at play Cricket, lovely cricket, come sun or rain.
Nestled in the valley where the mountains rise There lies the village where the sweet birds cry, Mahaveli snakes her way, with majestic poise Near the ‘Salem Bridge’ spread the fields bathed in sunlight.
Harvesting over and school holidays begin The abandoned paddyfields beckon to start our spin Lads prepare the pitch, sweat pouring down their chins Inter-village matches, the whole village to action springs.
‘Willie’ invariably is the Captain of the team, Not because of his ability to courageously lead But as his parents own this stretch of paddyfields, Else, we lose the fields which we helplessly need.
‘Bakala Soma’ is the keeper, sharp-eyed, ‘Lord Alfred’, the opener who earnestly tries, To get the wickets with googly flights, And ‘Ekmon‘ the cheat, an unreliable guy.
Cat-eyed ‘Lattu’ fields in the muddy spot, When play is over he is clothed in mud. Although the pitch is uneven and full of ruts, We are masters in scoring plenty of runs.
Inter-village matches are full of thrills, With Dekinda serving us manioc with Kurumba to drink, Rambukpitiya gives us rice, sambol and Kiri Hodi mix Karahandungala, bread, parippu and water to drink.
We, in our turn serve Kos (Jak), coconut scraped, Julis Condostara’s "Lunumiris" gives an added taste Parents too join in, though they hate Our playing cricket throughout the holidays.
Only catches and wickets are taken as ‘Outs’ Woe be unto the unmpire for"LBW outs". "Oka Hora-Hora Umpire" the crowds will shout He would be at the mercy of the angered crowds.
When play is over and the day is done, There are no enemies but all are friends, To the Mahaveli we plunge, naked for fun, How sadly we part, awaiting the rise of the next day sun.
Return to the Letters to the Editor contents page
Write a letter to the editor : editor@suntimes.is.lk