A Review of S.L.M. Hanifa’s "The Meccan Shawl" (மக்கத்துச் சால்வை)

Translated from Tamil by Professor Asokan, Pasmila Raviraj, and Professor Sivasegaram

Introduction:

The translation of S.L.M. Hanifa’s short stories into The Meccan Shawl is more than a mere linguistic exercise; it is a vital bridge between generations and a profound act of cultural preservation. Orchestrated by Professor Asokan (Eluttukkiniyavan), Pasmila Raviraj, and Professor Sivasegaram, this English rendering allows the vibrant, salt-tinged world of the Eastern Province to breathe in a new tongue.

To encounter Hanifa’s work is to touch the very soil of the Batticaloa region. As a contemporary and schoolmate of Professor Asokan at Trinity College, sharing the same Matale roots, I recall our youth in Kandy with great fondness. We would spend our annual prize money scouring the city's leading bookshops, a enduring tribute to a lifelong devotion to the written word that has clearly defined Asokan’s disciplined and humble path toward his current chair in academia. It is this shared history of literary discovery that made me accept his request to write a review of this collection as not merely a task, but a deeply personal mission.

In evaluating this work, I committed to a rigorous process: immersing myself first in the original Tamil prose to capture the "soul" of Hanifa’s regional dialect, and then devouring the English translation. While it is often said that local nuances are the first casualties of translation, these three translators have achieved something remarkable. They have navigated the treacherous waters between languages with such grace that the essence of the Moor community remains intact.

As the Italian proverb famously suggests, "Traduttore, traditore" (the translator is a traitor), yet here the opposite is true. The translators have been fiercely loyal to the spirit of the original. This English edition is a gift to the second-generation diaspora, those children who, through the vagaries of migration and time, may not read or write in Tamil, but who crave a connection to their rich, ancestral roots. Through this book, the stories of the East are no longer locked behind a language barrier; they are open, accessible, and enduring.

Review:

In the landscape of Sri Lankan Tamil literature, Islamic writers have long occupied a unique and vital space, tracing a lineage from the classical Arabu-Tamil traditions to the modern, socially conscious prose of today.. Historically, this literature was rooted in religious and didactic themes, but the 20th century saw a shift toward social realism and the exploration of the distinct cultural identity of the Moor community.

S.L.M. Hanifa is a cornerstone of this movement, specifically for the Eastern Province. He bridges the gap between the traditional folk wisdom of the Eastern Province and the sophisticated literary techniques of the "Manikkodi" era. Hanifa does not merely write about Muslims; he captures the very pulse of the Batticaloa region, using regional dialects and a deep humanism that elevates the "common man" to a level of literary significance.

Hanifa’s prose is a masterclass in the "Batticaloa dialect," a linguistic choice that is both a political act of cultural preservation and a stylistic triumph. He rejects the sterile, standardized Tamil often found in Colombo-centric publications in favor of the rich, earthy "Spoken Tamil" of the village. His style is influenced by literary giants like La. Sa. Ramamirtham and T. Janakiraman, yet it remains firmly rooted in the local soil. There is a rhythmic, almost poetic quality to his descriptions of the landscape, its poverty, the lagoons, the paddy fields, the scent of the earth, and its deep-seated traditions into literary art. By doing so, he didn't just write stories; he mapped the soul of a people.

The collection is a masterwork of regional realism. Hanifa’s commitment to the "Batticaloa dialect" is not just a stylistic choice but a vital preservation of a unique linguistic identity. His deep humanism ensures that even the most mundane activities are treated with a reverence that is truly professional and moving.

One potential criticism is that the dialect-heavy prose may occasionally alienate readers who are not familiar with the specific idioms of the Eastern Province, potentially limiting the work’s immediate accessibility. Additionally, the author’s focus on the purity of the "common man" can sometimes border on a romanticization of rural hardship, potentially glossing over the more abrasive aspects of village life in favor of a cohesive humanistic narrative.

However, this English rendition achieves a remarkable equilibrium, distilling the dense regionalism of the original into a prose that is as accessible as it is evocative, ensuring the soul of the stories remains uncompromised.

The Blade

Anar (Original Tamil version)

Fareez Farook (English Translation)

The rooster, tied with string to a carved banana stump, writhed in discomfort. It was tethered to the very spot where my brother and I usually played, cooking imaginary meals of rice and curry.

Umma (mother) has already left a plate full of leftover shredded coconut after the milk has been squeezed out, to the rooster.

Waappa (father) headed toward the jackfruit tree with water in a bucket and a knife tucked into his waist. The sound of the knife being sharpened on a whetstone echoed sharply and the screech of steel made my ears wince. I clamped both ears tightly shut.

Oh, Allah! Why must it be me again who holds the rooster for slaughter? My brother never seemed to mind. But I, I hated it. Whenever I ate chicken curry, it was the act of killing that returned to memory. I told myself I must close my eyes before the moment came.

Waappa called. My brother and I untied the string from the rooster. I gripped its wings, pressing them down firmly. My brother held its legs. It cried out louder than usual. “Poor thing,” my brother said to Waappa, “it’s a tender rooster, only just grown.”

Waappa firmly held the rooster and separated its beak, pouring water down its throat. He plucked a bit of flesh from its neck and asked me to hold its legs tightly. Then, placing a sharp knife on the hen’s neck, he recited the Takbeer (a spiritual chant) and, without hesitation, made the cut. Blood splattered onto my shirt. Without letting go of the grip under the tree, the rooster was placed down and its wings were beaten rapidly as it struggled. With its neck severed, it darted off, hit the nearby fence, spilled blood, and lay on the wet soil. I felt a pang watching it lie there.

Waappa skinned and cleaned the rooster, handing it over to Umma. Just thinking of Umma’s chicken curry and saffron rice made my mouth water. My brother and I returned to our play area and resumed our make-believe cooking.

“Dhatha (sister), shall we open a shop or shall we cook rice and curry?”, my brother asked.

I said, “Let’s also make rice & curry today.” I asked him to grind some chili powder for the curry. He diligently crushed a piece of brick between two larger ones, preparing the ‘powder’ with great care.

That was when a woman’s voice rang out, “Is this the house of Vellathambiyar Salma?” An old woman with sun-darkened skin approached, smiling. “Ah, I’ve been searching through two, three houses to find you,” she said with a grin.

Her face was heavily creased, lines etched deep like ravines. She chewed betel, her reddened tongue flashing. She called out to Umma, who was inside. “Umma is feeding my baby sister. You can go inside.” I sent the woman away and turned to finish my other chores.

I plucked a few moringa leaves from the fence and collected Bilimbi fruit (Vili Maanga) in a coconut shell. Into another, I preprepared the mixture for the curry. Stirring it on the clay stove, I watched it simmer. I washed the leftover beetroot from yesterday and then poured the reddish water into empty syrup bottles to make ‘juice’. I scooped some white sand, mixed it with ‘juice’ in place of sugar. The curry was boiling and I asked my brother for the chili powder. He brought a bit of powdered brick in a scrap of paper. I added it to the boiling pot with a splash of water.

“Now the curry will be very spicy, Dhatha… You added too much chili powder” he said, wrinkling his nose.

“Hush,” I replied. “I’m doing a good job. Alright, cooking is done. Now, let’s eat!”

He joyfully spread pieces of small banana leaves in neat shapes on the sandy ground by the doorstep. Thinking that if I got angry, the game would be disrupted, my younger brother was gentle and attentive. We sat on the earth and began to eat.

Because his shorts had no button, his little “bird” peeked through the gap. I stifled a laugh and continued to serve him. He scooped up sand, mixed it with his mock curry made of mango and brick dust, and brought it up to his mouth, hovering near his lips, then dropped it back down, smacking his lips theatrically as he pretended to eat.

“You're eating so vigorously! Is it tasty?” I asked.

“Mmm… mmm… it’s just like Umma’s,” he said. “But the salt’s a little off, maybe?”

“That's okay, it's just the right amount for me.” I replied. “Quickly drink your Sarbath (juice). Waappa might return soon, we should go and fetch water before that.”

I mimed drinking the beetroot juice. A strange sour scent rose from it, but I acted like it was sweet and delicious, not letting my brother see my disgust. He took his turn. Though his face twisted, he said nothing.

“Eh-hai!” he exclaimed, letting out a loud burp, proud as if he’d eaten a full meal. It sounded just like the noise Waappa makes after eating. He stood up, declaring he was full. The sun had begun to scorch our faces. We gathered our cooking tools, putting everything neatly back in place.

“You go near the well to take a wash and I will join you shortly,” I told my brother and ran to the house. Inside, I found Umma and the old woman whispering in the corner. Umma nodded at everything the woman said. I gently touched my baby sister, asleep in her cradle. She looked like a tiny rosebud, her face pink, her fingers curled like a mouse’s, her legs slender like bamboo shoots. What a beauty. I rocked her cradle gently, and a faint smile flickered across her lips.

“Look how she smiles in her sleep, Umma” I said. “The angels must be giving her flowers,” the old woman replied. “Let the baby sleep. Go and take a bath with your brother,” Umma said. “Enough chatter now.”

I asked, “Who is this granny, Umma?'” She replied, “She has come to treat the baby.” I asked again, “But the baby doesn’t have a fever, then what is there to treat?” Umma angrily said, “Don’t ask too many questions, just do what’s told.'"

My younger brother and I Jumped into the small tub filled with water near the well and played while bathing. We played a game of "crawling turtle." We placed ripe jackfruit leaves and pretended to catch fish.

Waappa had returned from the market and was lying down to rest in the afternoon. My younger brother and I finished bathing and ran straight into the house. When she saw my brother, the old woman laughed, covering her face with her head covering, and said, "Look at him, my grandson is running around showing his 'Kunju' (a word for penis used by older people). Daughter, this boy needs to have his 'Sunnath Kalyanam' (circumcision ceremony) soon" she said to Umma. My brother, in a fit of anger, came to me and said, "I'll keep showing it like this," and threw the clothes that were given to him into a corner.

Umma was fetching hot water to bathe my little sister. I asked, "Umma, aren't you bathing her on the porch today? Are you going to do it inside the room?" She called me over with a secretive tone, beckoned me closer, and whispered softly into my ear so no one could hear, "Be a good child, and take your brother to your Periyaumma’s (mother’s elder sister) house. I'll give you both some money. Go play on the swing for a little while and come back."

I whined, "I can't... I can't, Umma..."

She touched my back and pushed me, saying, "Listen to what I said."

Since Waappa was around, I didn’t make a fuss. Still wondering why Umma was sending me away, I went to console my brother. He was still standing with his legs spread apart, his face pulled into a pout, and crying.

I gave the money that Umma had given me to my brother and dressed him up. I convinced him by saying, “Go to the shop and buy your favorite unripe Wood Apple (udakkai vilaanga)…Be a good boy… Then go play at Periyaumma’s house for a while. I’ll join you soon, okay?” and sent him off.

Then, silently, I slipped into the room and bolted the door behind me.

From inside came the wailing of my baby sister, who had woken up. When she cried, Umma usually called out to me. If not me, then Waappa. I was puzzled as to why Waappa was acting as if nothing were amiss.

The old woman and Umma locked the door to my sister's room. My baby sister kept crying continuously. Yesterday, Umma has said, "I'll get you and your brother new clothes for your sister's fortieth day ceremony. I'll also make chicken curry and 'kalyana choru' (wedding rice which literally means ghee rice)." But instead of doing any of that, they just locked the door, what are they even doing? My sister's cries were getting louder. Hearing her shrill, spastic cries, I felt like my life was draining away, it was so hard. The voice of that old woman was louder than Umma’s from inside the room.

Waappa stood idly in the front porch and was frantically smoking a cigarette. I peeked through the gap in the door. Suddenly, Umma opened the door and ran out... She called Waappa and asked, "Here... give me a good, new blade quickly." He immediately came and reached near the slab of washing stone by the well, took a new blade from his shaving kit, and gave it to her... Umma rushed into the room crying. My sister's screams were piercing. Umma came out again, banging her head gently against the bars of the window, moaning. My own throat tightened. I held back tears, covering my mouth so no sound escaped. My legs trembled with fear. I cursed in my mind that Allah would throw that damned old woman into hell. A little while later, the old woman opened the door and said, "It's done, my dear, there's no problem," and handed my crying sister to Umma. Due to her long, pained screams, my sister's voice was hoarse and worn out. On Umma’s shoulder, my sister's head was limp like the neck of a slaughtered chicken.

“First give her a bath, child,” the old woman said. “Alright, Maami (Aunty),” Umma replied and returned with a tray containing betel leaves, areca nut, coins, and cloth. She handed it to the old woman, who wrapped them all up and tucked them into her bag.

“May Allah show mercy,” the woman said, adjusting her shawl and drawing it across her face in a long veil as she walked away.

When the old woman said, “First pour the water, child,” Umma responded, “Okay, Maami (Aunty),” and got up. She brought a round tray. In it were betel leaves, areca nut, fruit, money, and a piece of cloth. She gave it to the old woman. The old woman wrapped everything, placed it in a bag and saying, “May Allah show mercy,” she pulled the pallu of her saree over her head and left.

The Ripple of DeepSeek: Unveiling Jevons Paradox

27th January, 2025 was a Monday morning like any other, until news broke that sent shockwaves through the stock market. China's DeepSeek, a relatively unknown AI startup, had unveiled a groundbreaking AI model that could rival the best in the industry at a fraction of the cost. This revelation caused a massive upheaval, particularly for NVIDIA, which saw its stock plummet by a staggering $589 billion in a single day. The entire market felt the tremors, with tech stocks taking a significant hit. 

DeepSeek's AI model, known as R1, was not just another incremental improvement. It was a leap forward, offering capabilities on par with or exceeding those of established models like OpenAI's ChatGPT, but at a fraction of the cost. DeepSeek claimed it cost them less than $6 million to train their latest AI models, compared to the $100 million it cost to train ChatGPT. This drastic reduction in cost sent a clear message to the market: the era of expensive AI models might be coming to an end.

The market's reaction to DeepSeek's announcement was a stark reminder of how quickly things can change in the tech world. It was a humbling experience, seeing the value of investments drop so dramatically. But on that fateful Monday morning, as we all felt a mix of disbelief and concern, it also underscored the importance of understanding the broader economic principles at play.

Amidst this turmoil, Microsoft's CEO, Satya Nadella, mentioned Jevons Paradox, an economic concept that seemed eerily relevant to the situation and it caught my attention. 

But what exactly is Jevons Paradox? To put it simply, Jevons Paradox occurs when technological advancements that increase the efficiency of resource use lead to an overall increase in the consumption of that resource. 

This paradox was first described by the English economist William Stanley Jevons in his 1865 book, "The Coal Question".

Jevons observed that improvements in the efficiency of coal use, such as the development of the Watt steam engine, actually led to an increase in coal consumption. This was because the more efficient use of coal made it cheaper and more attractive to use, thereby increasing its overall demand. In the context of AI, as systems become more efficient and accessible, their use skyrockets, leading to higher overall energy consumption, despite the initial efficiency gains.

William Stanley Jevons was a pioneering economist who made significant contributions to the field of economics. His work on the paradox that bears his name is particularly noteworthy. 

In "The Coal Question," Jevons argued that technological improvements that increased the efficiency of coal use would not lead to a reduction in coal consumption. Instead, these improvements would make coal more economically attractive, leading to an increase in its overall use.

Jevons' insights were based on his observations of the Industrial Revolution in England. The introduction of the Watt steam engine, which was far more efficient than its predecessors, led to a dramatic increase in the use of coal. This was because the more efficient engines made it cheaper to produce goods, which in turn increased the demand for coal to power these engines. This paradoxical outcome has been observed in various other contexts as well, including modern energy consumption and, as Satya Nadella pointed out, the use of AI technologies.

The implications of Jevons Paradox extend beyond just coal and AI. It highlights a fundamental challenge in achieving sustainability through efficiency improvements alone. As technologies become more efficient, they often become more widely used, leading to an overall increase in resource consumption. This paradox suggests that simply improving efficiency is not enough to reduce resource use; it must be accompanied by measures to manage and limit overall consumption.

In the case of AI, as systems become more powerful and accessible, their use is likely to grow significantly. This could lead to increased energy consumption, as more industries and individuals adopt AI to perform a wider variety of tasks. Understanding this paradox is crucial for policymakers and businesses as they navigate the complexities of technological advancement and sustainability.

The events triggered by DeepSeek's announcement were a powerful lesson in market dynamics and economic principles. Understanding concepts like Jevons Paradox can provide valuable insights into why markets react the way they do.

Also in times of market turmoil, it's helpful to remember the wisdom of seasoned investors. Warren Buffett once said, "Be fearful when others are greedy and greedy when others are fearful." This quote resonates deeply during such unpredictable times. It reminds us to stay calm and make rational decisions, even when the market is in turmoil.

I hope this blog post helps you understand the recent market events and the relevance of Jevons Paradox in a simple and engaging way. If you have any questions or need further clarification, feel free to email me at fareezfarook@yahoo.com.

“Anura Kumara Dissanayake: The Sun That Awakens Sri Lanka’s Soul”

* ‘Anu’ derived from Sanskrit, meaning ‘atom’ or ‘essence’

* ‘Ra’ symbolizes the Sun

Anura, the dawn carries your name,

Sri Lanka rises on the cusp of change,

where the palms sway not to the whispers of old,

but to the chorus of a people unchained,

their hearts beating in unison,

hoping for skies clear of corruption’s clouds.

We seek no magician,

          no conjurer of instant dreams,

but a man, grounded in soil and struggle,

who knows the weight of history’s shadow,

yet carries the future in his calloused hands.

Anura, they call you the flame,

the one to burn away the rot,

to sweep aside the ancient chains of greed - 

nepotism’s hollow throne,

self-aggrandizement’s brittle mask,

all crumble beneath the eyes of a nation

that dreams of justice,

that craves the warmth of equality.

You stand not as king,

          but as one among us,

lifting the veil of division,

where race is no more than the echo of yesterday,

and today, every name rings with the same worth.

Sinhala, Muslim, Tamil, Burgher - 

we are threads in the same flag,

woven together by hope, by resilience.

But, Anura, the road is not paved with ease,

          and we know it too.

We stand patient,

knowing that the tree does not bear fruit

the day it is planted.

A Marxist’s heart beats with the rhythm of toil,

and we, too, must labor,

hand in hand, for this promised land.

A nation’s hope is a delicate thing,

          fragile, like the first touch of rain

on the parched earth.

It demands time,

and so, we give you time - 

to shape this island into the home we dream,

where power bows before the people,

and equality stands at every door.

Anura,

          be the essence, the atom of new beginnings.

We will wait,

for the sun that bears your name.

Three Paths, One Nation: Who will lead Sri Lanka in 2024?

 

“I offer my opponents a bargain: if they will stop telling lies about us, I will stop telling the truth about them” (Adlai Stevenson)

The 2024 Sri Lankan General Election, scheduled for September 21, is one of the most pivotal in recent history, with the country at a crossroads both politically and economically. In the aftermath of significant economic challenges, including hyperinflation, foreign exchange crises, and energy shortages, Sri Lankans are seeking new leadership that can stabilize the nation and foster recovery. Three main contenders stand at the forefront of this election: Ranil Wickremesinghe, Sajith Premadasa, and Anura Kumara Dissanayake, each offering distinct visions for Sri Lanka’s future. Let us delve into their political careers, agendas, and the possible impact they may have on the country.

The Election’s High Stakes

Sri Lanka’s recent political landscape has been shaped by the 2022 economic crisis, which resulted in months of mass protests, a change in government, and a dramatic shift in public trust towards established political parties. The ruling party, the Sri Lanka Podujana Peramuna (SLPP), and its former leader, Gotabaya Rajapaksa, were ousted from power amidst a public outcry. The country is currently in a phase of recovery, having secured a bailout package from the International Monetary Fund (IMF), but the road ahead remains fraught with economic challenges.

In this context, the upcoming general election is seen as crucial in determining Sri Lanka’s future direction. Voters are grappling with questions about how to sustain economic reforms, address corruption, and improve public services. All three main contenders bring different experiences and perspectives, and their campaigns reflect distinct ideologies and approaches to solving the nation’s deep-rooted issues.

Ranil Wickremesinghe: The Seasoned Statesman

Political Career

Ranil Wickremesinghe is a familiar face in Sri Lankan politics, having served as the Prime Minister on six occasions since 1993. Currently the President, Ranil ascended to the presidency in July 2022 after Gotabaya Rajapaksa fled the country amid protests. A member of the United National Party (UNP), Ranil is known for his pro-Western stance and his commitment to liberal economic reforms.

Throughout his career, Ranil has been seen as a pragmatic leader who prioritizes economic stability and modernization. However, his leadership style has also been criticized for being technocratic and disconnected from the common man’s concerns. Despite this, he has built a reputation as a reformer, especially with regard to the economy and governance.

Political Agenda

As the current President, Ranil’s agenda is largely focused on continuing the reforms initiated after the 2022 crisis. His government secured a $2.9 billion IMF bailout, and he has emphasized fiscal discipline, structural reforms, and attracting foreign investment as cornerstones of his economic recovery plan. He advocates for a market-driven economy and aims to reduce the budget deficit through austerity measures.

Ranil also seeks to strengthen Sri Lanka’s relations with Western powers and regional neighbors like India, while maintaining a delicate balance with China, which holds significant debt. His foreign policy leans towards leveraging international alliances to stabilize the economy and attract investment, particularly in the technology and manufacturing sectors.

However, his reliance on austerity measures has drawn criticism from opposition parties, who argue that these policies disproportionately affect the poor. Ranil will need to convince voters that his economic strategy is the best path forward, especially given the difficult reforms already implemented.

Sajith Premadasa: The People’s Candidate

Political Career

Sajith Premadasa, leader of the Samagi Jana Balawegaya (SJB), represents a new generation of leadership in Sri Lanka. The son of former President Ranasinghe Premadasa, Sajith has carved out a distinct political identity over his years in public service. He served as the Minister of Housing and Construction and later as the Opposition Leader. Known for his emphasis on poverty alleviation, social welfare, and rural development, Premadasa has positioned himself as a champion of the working class.

In the 2019 presidential election, Sajith garnered significant support but ultimately lost to Gotabaya Rajapaksa. However, he has remained a vocal critic of the Rajapaksa regime and its handling of the economy, particularly in the lead-up to the 2022 crisis.

Political Agenda

Sajith’s platform for the 2024 election focuses on social justice and economic equity. He has called for increased investment in healthcare, education, and rural infrastructure, with a particular emphasis on reducing poverty. His approach to economic recovery contrasts sharply with Wickremesinghe’s, as he advocates for a more inclusive strategy that prioritizes job creation and social welfare over austerity.

Sajith has also been critical of the IMF bailout package, arguing that its conditions, particularly those related to public spending cuts, are too harsh on ordinary Sri Lankans. Instead, he favors a more gradual approach to economic reform that protects vulnerable populations while still attracting foreign investment.

On foreign policy, Sajith has stressed the need for non-alignment, advocating for balanced relationships with global powers like the U.S., China, and India. He has also pledged to combat corruption and promote transparency in governance, an issue that resonates deeply with voters in the wake of the Rajapaksa era.

Anura Kumara Dissanayake: The Radical Challenger

Political Career

Anura Kumara Dissanayake, leader of the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP), is perhaps the most radical contender in the race. The JVP, historically a Marxist-Leninist party, has transformed into a more moderate, left-wing movement under Anura’s leadership, though it still maintains its roots in working-class advocacy and anti-imperialism.

Anura has been an MP since 2000 and has positioned himself as a voice of the underprivileged. The JVP, once associated with violent uprisings in the 1970s and 1980s, has rebranded itself as a democratic socialist party committed to eradicating corruption and establishing a more equitable society.

Political Agenda

Anura’s campaign centers on systemic change. He advocates for an overhaul of Sri Lanka’s political and economic systems, arguing that the country’s problems are deeply rooted in the corruption and nepotism that have plagued its leadership for decades. His platform includes nationalizing key industries, strengthening labor rights, and increasing state control over natural resources.

On the economic front, Dissanayake rejects neoliberal policies, instead proposing a state-led development model that prioritizes public ownership and equitable distribution of wealth. He has also called for debt restructuring with international creditors, rather than relying on IMF bailout packages, which he views as exacerbating inequality.

Anura’s anti-corruption stance has gained significant traction, especially among younger voters who are disillusioned with the traditional political class. His focus on transparency, accountability, and grassroots governance appeals to those seeking a break from the status quo.

Who Will Be Better for Sri Lanka?

As Sri Lanka approaches this critical election, voters are faced with three very different paths forward.

Ranil Wickremesinghe represents stability and continuity, offering a technocratic approach to economic recovery that focuses on attracting foreign investment and implementing difficult reforms. However, his reliance on austerity measures could alienate lower-income voters who feel the brunt of these policies.

Sajith Premadasa offers a more populist alternative, emphasizing social justice and poverty reduction. His critique of the IMF’s role in Sri Lanka’s recovery may resonate with voters who are weary of external influence on domestic policy. However, there are questions about whether his approach can sustain long-term economic growth without alienating international investors.

Anura Kumara Dissanayake, meanwhile, represents the most radical break from the past. His anti-corruption platform and calls for systemic reform may appeal to voters fed up with the political elite. However, his economic policies could face resistance from both domestic business interests and international creditors, potentially complicating Sri Lanka’s recovery.

In the end, the question of who will be better for Sri Lanka hinges on what voters prioritize. If economic stability and international credibility are paramount, Wickremesinghe may be the safer choice. If addressing inequality and poverty is the priority, Premadasa offers a compelling vision. For those seeking a fundamental restructuring of the system, Dissanayake is the candidate who promises the most change.

The 2024 election will likely be defined by these competing visions. In a country still reeling from economic collapse and political upheaval, the path forward is far from certain, but the choices made in September will undoubtedly shape Sri Lanka’s future for years to come.

Khalil Gibran’s ‘Fear’

Khalil Gibran’s poem “Fear” explores the profound human experience of confronting the unknown. Through the metaphor of a river hesitating before merging with the ocean, Gibran reflects on the nature of fear—how it arises when we face transitions in life, especially those that seem to threaten our very identity. The river’s journey symbolizes life’s progression, with the ocean representing a vast, uncharted future, or perhaps the eternal, infinite self.

Philosophically, Gibran delves into the illusion of separation. The river fears disappearing, yet in reality, it is not losing itself but becoming part of something greater. This speaks to the human tendency to cling to individuality and the familiar, while true liberation lies in surrendering to the larger flow of existence. Gibran subtly suggests that fear dissolves when we embrace the idea that we are not isolated beings, but deeply interconnected with the whole, and in that merging, we find freedom—not annihilation, but unity.

It is said that before entering the sea

A river trembles with fear.

She looks back at the path she has traveled,

from the peaks of the mountains,

the long winding road crossing forests and villages.

And in front of her,

she sees an ocean so vast,

that to enter

there seems nothing more than to disappear forever.

But there is no other way.

The river can not go back.

Nobody can go back.

To go back is impossible in existence .

The river needs to take the risk

of entering the ocean

because only then will fear disappear,

because that’s where the river will know

it’s not about disappearing into the ocean,

but of becoming the ocean.”

(Tamil translation by Fareez Farook)

கடலில் கலக்குமுன்னே

ஆறு நடுங்குமாம் அச்சத்தினால்

மலையின் மடியில் ஜனித்து

காடுகள், கிராமங்கள் எனப் பயணித்து

தான் கடந்து வந்த நீண்ட நெடியப் பாதையைப் பேதை ஆறு

ஒரு கணம் நின்று திரும்பிப் பார்க்கிறாள்

கண் முன்னே கட்டித் தழுவ

காத்திருக்கிறது

கண்ணில் புலனாகா கரையோடு கடல்

ஆனால், அதில்

கலந்து பின் கரைந்து

தன்னை இழந்து விடுவோமோ எனப்

பேதை ஆறு ஏங்குகிறாள்

ஆயினும் மறுகுவதில் பயனில்லை

மாற்றுவழி ஏதுமில்லை

தான் கடந்த பாதையில் மறுபடியும்

தடம் பதித்தல் ஆற்றுக்குச்

சாத்தியமில்லை

இடைவிடாது இயங்கும்

இயற்கையின் சுழற்சியில்

மறுபடியும் எவராலும்

திரும்பிப் போக முடியாது

ஆறு தன் அச்சத்தைக் களைய

கடலில் கால்பதித்தல் வேண்டும்

அப்போதுதான்

ஆற்றுக்குப் புரியும்

கடலில் கலப்பதென்பது

காணாமல் போவதல்ல - ஆனால்

தானே கடலாய் மாறுவதென்று!

A 55-meter kick, a lion’s heart, and the roar that shook Kandy

 

As I sat glued to the screen, watching the live telecast of the Bradby Shield second leg, I could feel my pulse quicken with every passing minute. Though I wasn’t physically in Kandy, the energy, the spirit, and the weight of tradition reverberated through the screen, filling my living room with the essence of what it means to be a Trinitian.

 

This year, the Bradby Shield had an even deeper significance. We had won the first leg in Colombo, but that didn’t guarantee us victory. The Bradby has always been about more than a single match—it’s a test of perseverance, resilience, and the soul of the team. Trinity and Royal, battling it out for decades, both schools steeped in a rivalry that has become legendary. The origins of this epic encounter go back to 1945, when the shield was introduced by Royal’s Principal E.L. Bradby, marking the start of a new chapter in Sri Lankan rugby.

As the game kicked off in Kandy, I found myself on the edge of my seat, my heart beating in time with the plays on the field. The excitement of the first leg win coursed through me, but I knew the second leg was crucial. Every Trinitian knows that no Bradby victory is ever truly secure until the final whistle.

The match was intense, with both teams giving it their all. Royal, having come close to reclaiming the shield, fought fiercely, and for a time, it felt like they might pull ahead. The pressure was suffocating. Each pass, each run, each scrum seemed like a battle within itself. Yet, it was our boys who held their ground, refusing to let the shield slip away.

 

And then, the moment came. It was almost surreal. Trinity was awarded a penalty—55 meters from the posts, a near-impossible distance. Shan Althaf, our fly-half, stood ready. The commentators whispered in disbelief. A 55-meter penalty kick? With only moments left on the clock? But deep down, I knew. Every Trinitian watching knew. Shan wasn’t just playing a game; he was defending a legacy.

Time seemed to stretch as Shan took his place, eyes focused, unwavering. The whistle blew. The ball soared, almost in slow motion, cutting through the Kandy sky. I held my breath as it arced perfectly between the posts. It was a kick that defied logic, one that sealed the fate of the match and ensured our victory. In that instant, I erupted in joy, as if I were in the stands myself, screaming alongside thousands of proud Trinitians.

 

Shan Althaf had done it. With that one kick, he secured the Bradby for us. His name will be forever etched in the annals of Trinity’s rugby history. Through a live stream, from miles away, I felt the rush of triumph as strongly as if I had been standing at Pallekele myself.

 

As the final whistle echoed through the stadium and the screen, an overwhelming pride surged through me. Fifty-two Bradby Shields, each with its own story, but this one will remain special. Not just because of the incredible effort from our boys, but because of the heart, the grit, and the unforgettable final moments that will be retold for years to come.

Though I wasn’t in Kandy physically, my heart was there on the field, among the boys who fought for our legacy. We are Trinitians, bound by more than geography. We are connected by tradition, by our unwavering spirit, and by moments like these—when the roar of the lion is heard even across screens, and pride swells in every one of us. Today, I couldn’t be prouder to be a Trinitian.