The Art of Collecting

A discussion at a collector’s home: 

L-R, Azara Jaleel, Niloo Jayatilake and Thinushka de Soysa

On June 29, ARTRA Magazine hosted a very interesting discussion on the subject of Art Collecting. It took the form of an informal panel discussion, with the Editor of ARTRA, Azara Jaleel, interviewing Niloo Jayatilake and Thinushka de Soysa, both from the finance and corporate sphere and both art collectors, interested in the way the acquisition and holding of original artworks by Sri Lankan artists helps build culture and community, as well as increasing awareness and recognition of the tremendous creativity in this country.

The discussion was hosted in the home of a private collector, where guests could walk around and view the artworks as they hung on the walls, or were placed in specific viewing areas. There had been several ‘Artist Walks’ held here at different times during the week, during which contemporary artists led a group through a viewing of their work, discussing their influences, their themes, their choice of medium, and their artistic process and creative journey.

The aim of the discussion was to offer insight into the world of art creation and acquisition: the fascinating process by which the work of a creative artist starts to become publicly known, recognised and valued, both monetarily and culturally.

The two speakers, in interaction with Azara, unfolded several aspects of this cultural landscape, one of them pointing out that it was only relatively recently that she had begun to consider herself a ‘collector’. She had grown up alongside several artists, as childhood friends, and had begun to purchase their work early in their careers. These works, bought decades ago, are now very valuable. But she highlighted that the joy she gains from seeing these works in her home, and resonating with her as part of her daily life, is the real measure of their value to her.

Artists become widely known through exhibiting their works. So the artistic community, and the interpersonal connections created and sustained within that community, are very significant. Friends and supporters become investors, and the owners of galleries and public spaces, as well as the curators of public art spaces which display artworks and showcase creatives, play an important role in the artist’s work becoming viewed as part of the culture in which it is created.

Organizations centred on promoting the work of specific artists, like the George Keyt Foundation, which celebrates the vibrant work of Sri Lanka’s most well known painter, and the Sapumal Foundation, which highlights the work of the ‘43 Group’, hold public viewings, and exhibitions, and fundraising events, throughout each year. The proceeds from these not only maintain the existing collections, but also help encourage and support young artists who are just starting out.

In the recent past, Udayshanth Fernando was one of the earliest promoters of young artists, by displaying and selling their artworks at Gallery Cafe for a few weeks at a time. Thereafter, his daughter Saskia set up an art gallery which does the same thing. Saskia has gone beyond her father with her annual KALA, where artists from here and South Asia come over to exhibit their works and talk about them. Both galleries are live and active, raising awareness and recognition of the works of art.

Azara pointed out in her discussion what an incredible growth has been taking place in recent years, among contemporary Sri Lankan artists, and that this shows positive progress and growth in the country’s cultural trajectory, as well as being a visible measure of its economic recovery and increased productivity.

The need is very clear to methodically facilitate the development of inter-generational interest and knowledge about the contemporary art world, and the past 100 years of work by Sri Lankan artists.

Viewing an artwork, the product of the creative vision of a fellow human being, is a repeating joy, and a source of inspiration and solace. Sometimes the subject matter of a painting or sculpture can be provocative, or prompt self reflection, and sometimes an artist can cause us to look anew at familiar sights, or think more deeply about political and social events which powerfully shape our lives, and the history of the country in which we live.

The companies in the corporate world who actively support the Sri Lankan creative sphere, such as the John Keells Group, and the Fairway Group, are displaying the works of contemporary painters not only in their board rooms but in public spaces. The Fairway Hotel, in Colombo, for example, showcases the work of Anoma Wijewardene on its walls.

The Galle Literary Festival, over the years, has also featured visual artists and the relatively new Ceylon Literary Festival, now in its second year, is also actively doing this, not only in one city, but in regional areas as well, aiming to make such events accessible to all.

The opportunity for artists to talk about their work, and participate in discussions about creativity in general, and their specific creative journeys, facilitated by groups and institutions dedicated to the creative arts, like AOD, the Academy of Design, and big hotels like the Cinnamon Group, which regularly offer their vibrant spaces to display the artworks, is also an opportunity for the public to gain insight and appreciation into the work process and artistic products of the remarkable creative talents who live and work amongst us.

Rites/Rights Of Passage

I have just been through the process of renewing my Sri Lankan passport for the next 10 years, and have some experience to share, which I hope will be useful.

I have seen FB posts shared by helpful people, outlining the step by step process, and followed them. They were certainly very useful. But I have some additional insights, based on the experiences I had, and observed.

If you want a ‘One Day Passport’ Process: We were warned that the queues are huge, and that it would be best to start the application process early in the morning. VERY early in the morning - by 4am. When we arrived at that time, there were already 100 people ahead of us in the line, and it took almost an hour to get into the first building.

Tip: Make sure your original identity documents are safely protected in plastic folders and placed in a watertight plastic bag as well. Also bring a fold up umbrella. This is the rainy season.

Make sure your mobile phone is charged, and bring bottled water and snacks with you. It is going to be a LONG day. If you take medications, ensure you take them before you begin the process. Particularly blood pressure medication. There are stairs to climb before you get to the initial processing floor.

Tip: Try to go with a friend, so you can chat while you go through the long initial waiting queues.

Documents: Ensure that you download and print out the Passport Application Form and fill it out beforehand.

Make sure you have a Certified Copy (or 5) of your original Birth Certificate. Only a Certified Copy is acceptable.

Make sure you have True Copies of your current NIC, and relevant sections of your current Passports, attested by JPs, or similar authorities. Multiple copies are best (at least 3, and 5 is better).

The NIC copy must be in colour.

Tip: Although this is in fact stated on the Government website, it is perhaps not well understood in this period of transition that the old NIC which many of us have must be replaced by the new one, even if the old one is in fine condition. This is mandatory.,

Try your best to get the new NIC beforehand. This involves getting a photo taken on government approved software from an accredited photo studio, and attested by both the Grama Niladhari from your area AND the Divisional Secretariat. This process alone takes a lot of time, and travel, especially as the Grama Niladhari does not work every day of the week, but only on specific days. You need a special form to apply for the new NIC.

Tip: Your new Passport photo must also be authorised by government approved software. Try to get multiple copies of this photo as well.

If you are a Dual Citizen, you must take your original physical Certificate of Dual Citizenship and True Copies of it with you.

Step One is filling out the Application Form and presenting your supporting documents to be checked. This is where any issues will arise, and you may have to take side trips to provide relevant documentation.

Tip: All the big things happen on the Second Floor, centering on Room 20.

Step Two is waiting patiently while your new NIC card is approved, and issued, and then separately waiting patiently (up to 4-5 hours) for the old NIC number previously issued to you to be deleted from the system. This whole process takes up to 8 hours. There are too many people for the staff to notify you.

There is a 2000 LKR fee for the NIC card issuance. This can vary if you are charged a Penalty Fee for any reason. Keep the receipt as proof of payment.

Tip: Hand over your stapled Application documents (they call this a ‘file’ but it is a sheaf of papers), in the mid morning. Go and have lunch and return in the afternoon. Do not lose your small paper token which is given to you. Keep it safe. You will need to produce it on demand.

The NIC events occur on the Ninth Floor.

Tip: The new NIC is not eternally valid. It must be renewed every 10 years.

Step Three is getting your fingerprints taken. This is back on the Second Floor, in Room 20.

Step Four is paying the fee for the One Day process. This is also on the Second Floor, near Room 20. It is 20,000 LKR, payable in cash. Have that with you. Keep the receipt.

Step Five is waiting patiently on the First Floor for the new Passport to be issued to you.

Bonus points to the Government for hiring very experienced and professional administrative staff, from the dignified ladies in saree, to the energetic and bearded young men, and the wise gentlemen and lady Security Guards, whose presence, patience and dedication make the whole experience a great deal smoother than it otherwise would be.

Thanks also to the brilliant individual (or team) who decided to put a popcorn machine in one of the largest waiting areas, much to the delight and sustenance of all.

The large numbers of people we saw as we all progressed at various stages through the entire process were in good spirits. Many had clearly travelled a long way, from regional and rural areas, and diverse communities, ethnicities, ages and classes were represented. Everyone treated each other with respect and courtesy. There was a heartening spirit of kindness prevalent. Many strangers advised others, who clearly needed guidance, about practical steps and things to watch out for.

Tip: Wear a mask, N395 standard if possible. Many people are coughing, in close proximity to each other, with various ailments, no one covers their mouths, and the lifts between floors are very crowded. Do not get ill, if you can avoid it.

Good luck! Do not listen to people who complain. The staff at the Department of Immigration and Emigration are dealing with immense numbers of people every day, and are doing so with great patience and tolerance.

ColourBlind Casting

Image credit: Glamour Magazine

Over the past 25 years, we have seen many adaptations of Jane Austen’s novels, and the adaptations have in several cases been visually very confronting and challenging, for some viewers. I believe this trend started with the Miramax adaptation of Mansfield Park, released in 1999.

While this production did not cast people of colour in the main roles, or even in minor roles, it is the first production ever to have vividly illuminated the cruelty, objectification and exploitation of slavery, as part of colonialism and enrichment, as practised by Sir Thomas Bertram, owner of Mansfield Park, in a way which shocks the heroine, Fanny, who is the moral centre of the story.

The revelation of the sources of his wealth and status show the questionable ethical conduct of the patriarch of this family, and provide a context for the subsequent moral disintegration of his children, who all fall prey to forms of temptation and depravity, even Edmund, who is intimately redeemed only by his affection for Fanny.

In more recent years, we have seen the quasi Regency Shondaland confection, Bridgerton, on our screens, openly using the slightest of speculations regarding the genetic ancestry of an English queen as a framing portal to usher in women and men of African and Indian heritage into the story landscape, each with their colourful back stories.

This inclusiveness and diversification trend has extended into the 19thC production ‘The Gilded Age’, in which wealthy African American families are brought into connection by the story writers with the Anglo-European families of New York.

In Bridgerton, the scenes where the elder sister of the Sharma family, in Season Two, participates with her younger sister and mother in the saffron/ turmeric paste beautifying rituals traditionally used by Indian brides before the impending wedding ceremony are beautiful to see. The love story between Miss Sharma and the eldest son of the Bridgerton family is based on an ‘enemies to friends’ arc which is very believable, and in which contrasting skin colour is no barrier to the recognition of beauty and desirable character qualities.

This preference to bring characters together across social barriers was foreshadowed in Season One when the eldest Bridgerton daughter falls in love with the dark and handsome Duke, and their magnetic attraction to each other is intensely illustrated in their words and actions, inter alia as a celebration of their equality or at least equivalence of social status.

In Jane Austen’s adaptations, we have not seen any casting director go beyond the pale, and venture into colourblind casting. Elizabeth Bennet may be accused by the jealous Miss Bingley of having ‘brown’ skin, but (fortunately for all of us clutching our pearls) it is only ‘tanned’, which is ‘no great wonder, in the summer’.

Shakespeare’s work, in contrast, has been often performed with people of all hues and from all ethnic backgrounds in the principal roles, and recent performances of Harry Potter on the stage actually cast a black Hermione Granger. The author herself, in her description of the characters, never specified Hermione’s ethnic heritage, only stating that she had bushy hair, and it is clear that the prettiest girls in Hogwarts School were the Indian Patel twins, and the Chinese Cho Chang.

Bridgerton aside, this embracing of diversity in the film and stage productions of beloved books which are regarded as central to the English literary canon is a trend about which I have mixed feelings. The realities of colonisation and the assertions of white supremacists created a conceptual underclass, in which people of colour lived their lives as minor characters and in service to the central characters. And therefore, in the cultural products of those eras, artworks were created in which people of colour were erased, or invisible.

The comments sections of Jane Austen online groups is an interesting snapshot of our times.

‘Mansfield Park has, to my mind, the best TV Austen adaptation of all time: www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/p04vfvpn via @bbciplayer

Impeccable costuming, wonderful casting, fidelity to the novel, understanding of the period, and no painful, anachronistic, ignorantly woke attempts to force every third character to be black or trans.’

Shoehorning people of colour into European landscapes is problematic. But what seems to really offend some people is the high status which these people of colour are afforded, in these fictional narratives. It is ‘anachronistic and painful’, because it clearly offends supremacist beliefs that people of colour could be so well established, so dignified, and elegantly costumed, and coiffured, and move as equals through gilded drawing rooms, and be centered in narratives instead of sidelined.

One of the worst and laziest equations ever made is the lumping together of minorities as second class citizens, seen as having lesser value: women, disabled people, trans people, people of colour and people exhibiting other forms of divergence from a standard of normativeness which is male, heterosexual and with skin containing less melanin, into the messy category of ‘different’, which to the minds of many is a euphemism for ‘deviant’. Women are not even a minority, statistically.

In Georgette Heyer’s novel, These Old Shades, the Duke of Avon’s sister has a black servant boy, called Pompey. The social mobility we are being shown in what I term Regency concoctions is wish fulfillment on the part of those who prefer a more colourful and equitable world, and have chosen to create it themselves, in fictional storytelling, reality falling far short of the way they clearly wish the world to be.

Colourblind casting on the one hand asserts the primacy of human personality, of intelligence and soul and emotion, as being more significant than external identifiers of race, colouring, facial features, hair type, physiognomy and body shape. In these contemporary performances, it is visually suggested that calibre, and content of character, is more important than the colour of a person’s skin. We relate to the characters on our screens as human beings, and we become interested and involved in their challenges and experiences as if they were real, and relatable.

However, in our identity obsessed world, it is also a form of false equivalence, and erasure of difference. We are not all human flat packs, culturally constructed the same. Our unique social and anthropological characteristics, and the cultural traditions in which we have evolved, are part of us.

The genders are different, and more diversely and subtly formulated these days. The actor who played the eldest Bridgerton son could not be more than a good friend to the lovely Miss Sharma, in real life.

This celebration of difference is at the heart of any union of human beings, whether personal in marriage, or political, in the form of nations. Tolerance is not a grudging recognition of someone else’s equivalent centre of self, but ideally, in a less threatened and defensive society, a more positive delight in multifoliate hues and difference.

In our excitable contemporary world, in which people find it difficult to do anything other than compete for territory and contest the most desirable sociocultural space to occupy, and the most compelling platforms on which to speak their truths, it is the reinterpretations of classic stories which portray to us the evolution of our species. Both in the bold steps forward, with the diversification of what we are now being shown as admirable and worthy, and the hue and cry (often muted, in genteel literary groups) that inevitably follows.

Home Maintenance

I had thought that the house would feel empty and forlorn, but it does not.

I know the art of entertaining, you see. I have been learning it for five years, now.

But now, the hosts have gone, bowing out one by one, and what are left are some items to be inventoried, and evanescence. If I stop and sit for a while each day, in silence in their rooms, thinking of them, each beloved face, will they see me, remembering them?

At first, I just put framed photographs up everywhere, and further contained them in garlands of fairy lights in the shape of butterflies. Battery operated, to withstand the vagaries of powercuts.

When I come home from an evening out, I find these fancifully lit portraits illuminated, like modern Books of Hours. As I remove shoes and shawls and cloaks, it feels as if I am being gently welcomed.

My friend asked a priest to come and bless the house and all those who had dwelled there, and he went through from room to room, saying the words of a cumulative blessing, and went through to the gardens, and did the same.

I let my thoughts trail, and they trace a sparkling path, up the oak stairs carved with large acorns, representing resilience and endurance, and the lights in their rooms down the hall suggest that the inhabitants of these rooms might still be amongst us, or I amongst them. I was the youngest, you see.

This feeling of their presence is even stronger when I play music that they loved, or watch the films my parents used to view together.

My Mother left me a list of movies she said I absolutely had to see. Old films, some from the first half of the 20th century. Those flared skirts, those intimate words, the subtle details of those stories.

The aerated vowels of those actors and actresses, emulated now by the gorgeous facsimiles of confectionery, Bridgerton and The Gilded Age, the way we want to believe everyone was. The certainty with which everyone seemed to say just what they felt. The soft brushing undercurrents of what was not said, leaving us second guessing. The living coral, left at the depths where it was still alive, not dragged up by facilitators today, petrified into lumpenness.

What is needed in these stormy seas is to be like one of those carved figures on the prow, you know, that would face outwards, challenging any storm. Withstanding. Outstanding.

Each one of these films contained a message for me, she told me in her note. It was my task to find out what that wisdom was, image by image, and construct meaning from it. Like a treasure hunt, or a paper trail, or white pebbles in a fairy tale.

So I view The Ghost And Mrs. Muir, and Yellow Rolls Royce, and Doctor Zhivago, and many starring Ingrid Bergman, and of course Roman Holiday and Somewhere In Time, and The King And I. And the house was full of movement and pictures. Starry, starry nights.

Lena Horne and Dinah Washington and Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald roll out the velvet carpets of their voices.

Mourning used to mean wearing black or grey or white for a year, denuding oneself of encumbering jewels and costumery, and abstaining from merriment and from going out to crowded places. This was to protect the public from the sudden weaknesses that blow up like storms in the psyche, which compel those of us who are grieving to excuse ourselves and go home.

At Christmas, there were crackers ornamenting the festive table. And people forgot, and said, take some home for the family.

Like new lovers, understandably eager for privacy, we who grieve seek the solace of the silence. There is a sacredness in turning away from the outside world, and laying aside the masks and carapaces, and letting our softer sides show.

There are tiny shot glasses, in jewel colours. Arrayed on polished trays, they dazzle the tired eyes.

All the veterans of loss tell me that a routine helps get through the consecutive days. A rope we throw ourselves, to prevent sinking. But we can wrap our days so tightly that nothing fresh can get through, and that is unnatural. It’s important to have calendars and clocks, to measure the time passing, because there are two times in which a grieving person lives, at once. And both need to be felt, and their impact allowed to shape us.

I do not know any answers to the questions I used to contemplate so contentedly, and with such assurance, when all the seats at the table were filled.

Hello, I want to say, raising my glass in a flamboyant and generous gesture, all you beautiful people, wherever you are, all my best wishes go with you tonight. This is how I welcome thoughts that are difficult to greet, and learn to entertain them.

From other worlds, those who no longer live in this house may be aware of the lights in the rooms, through the windows, visible from outside.

The State Of The Union

Image credit: Economic Times

We live in a time of great change: disruptions in what we have all taken for granted, right down to the sources of our survival and security. The rules and codes of conduct are being rewritten every day.

Of course, this is reflected in our personal relationships: and the marriage and divorce rates, in particular. In recent days, religious leaders have declared that marriage between same sex couples is invalid, as marriage is designed as a protection for children.

But is it? Is a home unbroken and whole when the couple stay together but fight all the time, and commit deceptions and betrayals against each other within the relationship? Often with their children seeing and hearing the conflicts in the home?

The marital landscape in Sri Lanka has become increasingly complicated. The traditional scenario, as explained to me fairly recently, was that people here get married in their late twenties, or early thirties, to please their parents and secure their status in their social groups.

They have children, and then they start to grow in their professional lives and expand their horizons and sense of personal entitlement and aspirations in their thirties and forties. Having married to please others, and with comparatively little knowledge of the character of their partner, they then have opportunistic affairs with people they encounter, usually at work, with these connections being intensified by secrecy and a sense of operating in illicit and clandestine circumstances. In their late thirties, and early forties, with the children becoming teenagers, they try to persuade their partners to enter into open marriages.

An open marriage in 2025 seems like a relic of the swinging sixties, popularized in London and California. In conservative South Asia, where sex education is not taught to young people, dating culture is repressive, and pornographic material is widely available, such a lifestyle meets very little moral resistance. In fact, it is seen by many who proclaim themselves as participants in these arrangements as a measure of a person’s desirability and high value: an index of their success in life. These values are evident in the lives of those for whom monetary success, public image and social status are paramount, and whose relationships are often transactional, because that is what is modelled for them in every aspect of their lives, and reinforced by their peers.

But polyamorous and multiple partner relationships are not imported from the West. Americans always think they invented everything first, from sexuality to superfoods. But polyandry was practised in Sri Lanka for centuries, before colonial culture stamped it out, and imposed monogamy and monotheism and marital monotony.

The only way that complex interconnections between human beings who are simultaneously impacted on by traditional culture, biological imperatives and colonial impositions can be navigated is through a societal normalisation of polyamory. Both partners must be equally desired by others, for such an arrangement to truly offer equal opportunity. Obviously, protection must be used, against STDs, as well as pregnancy. And to prevent the time wasting emotional debris of jealousy and recrimination, pre-nuptial agreements should be mutually agreed on, so that if any of the relationships becomes more significant than any other, or the number of extra marital liaisons cumulatively wear away any residual loyalty or affection, the material assets of each party in the marriage are protected. Because they will each need to move on with their lives after they separate.

The people who suffer most in so-called open marriages are those who still adhere to the traditional beliefs of marriage: that the union of two people is a bond entered into for life, protected by mutual promises to care for each other, and undertaken primarily as a foundation for building a family. This concept does not allow any third party into the marital landscape, and places all the onus on the two marital partners to maintain a harmonious and fulfilling connection, navigating their differences and the challenges of modern life with as much goodwill as they can summon up.

Today, unlike the relationships which were brokered in the past, many people marry across boundaries of race, religion, social class and economic disparity. This complicates matters, but also helps expand the scope of the personal commitment between the partners. It looks as if love alone is what is guiding their decisions. Yet even amongst these love marriages there has been a significant recent, and very sharp, increase in divorce, and ‘open marriages’ in Sri Lanka entered into after the monogamous model has proved too restrictive, are usually one-sided, franchising one partner whose sexual rights and freedoms are imposed on the weaker partner against their will.

However, I would argue that in our twenties, and thirties, at the height of our biological fertility and virility, we are also often comparatively ignorant of our true self. The decisions we make are often self serving, or self sacrificial, and quite superficial. We do not yet know our value, or what our own preferences and best interests are.

It is wise to identify romantic relationships early on as being the single most avoidable cause of distress and drama in human life. They are risky. And they are rarely worth entering into. Because we enter in ignorance - not only blind but multi-handicapped. The odds are hardly ever in our favour.

We are warned in the religious scriptures to not be ‘unequally yoked’ in life. This is an image taken from the days when oxen were harnessed by farmers into a wooden frame to enable them to keep an even and steady pace, side by side, when furrowing a field, to ensure a good harvest. Marriage is a harness into which both partners willingly enter. Both at the outset give up other opportunities to choose each other. To the extent that they remain in unity, the productivity is high, the yield abundant.

But such a unity develops over time. And most people who do not select their partners wisely are unequally yoked from the beginning. In addition to sexual naivety is the related problem of psychological unawareness: lack of insight into one’s own specific circumstances, needs and desires. Social stigmas operate here, to keep us unsafe and vulnerable.

Superficial selection processes stress the physical appearance of the partner, and look at their social and economic status rather than their emotional and psychological resilience and mental health, and what their aims are, in life. Discussions about financial ambitions, monetary habits, health issues, and daily routines rarely seem to occur before the splashy or showy ceremonies are planned.

Marriage experts say that the best predictor of longevity in marriage is how well the couple handles conflict. And the best indicator that the marriage is beyond saving is when they feel and express not hatred, but contempt and indifference for each other, and dismiss their concerns as irrelevant. Intimacy is defined as ‘Into Me You See’, and this is only positive when such insight is handled respectfully, and with care, not weaponised when the couple argue.

Respect is the healthiest foundation of a good union, and long term friendship, and accountability. The ability to identify patterns of behaviour and work to alter them is also a key component in durable marital relationships. The vital skillset required is the ability to adapt to changing circumstances. People evolve in astonishing ways throughout their lives: at a far deeper level than a mere makeover.

Marriage requires us to confront the roles society would try to allocate to us: wife and mother; husband and father; head caterer; financial provider; bill payer; bacon home bringer; multi tasker; activities organiser; supporter; social engineer; tower of strength behind the scenes; unsung hero, etc. And outside this circle of respectable covered wagons are the freelancers: the unicorns; the potential homewreckers; the sugar babies; the filles de joies, the women with the push up bras, the men with the ambiguous visages; the escorts and third wheels.

If a person marries with a sense of a soulseated and spiritual bond, and an intellectual connection, as well as with the attractions of their hearts and bodies, this is the most connected two people can be. But even such a blessed union can only deepen and strengthen with mutual observance of what is due to it.

Marriages face innumerable challenges in the predatory society of today, where people are deemed to lose value when they age, or lose money, or become less successful, or are otherwise devalued by society. Women who have children believing they will gain respect are often disillusioned when the opposite occurs, if their husbands are not family men: they are taken for granted, and diminish from a trophy girlfriend to a mother of children, too tired to hang on a partner’s arm or be one half of a glamorous power couple. Many men in a patriarchal society seek to have both a private life and a public one: the most brazen conduct their affairs publicly.

How does a person develop their life path in a productive way, in such a volatile context? How do people commit to responsibilities and commitments as part of being a partner in a union, instead of seeking temporary escapes every time something frustrates them? If a person is surrounded by fawning and flattery at work, but confrontation and challenge at home, where his/her flaws are known by his/her partner, how can s/he withstand the contrast? Will s/he not choose the easier option?

In Celtic culture, marriages were deemed to end each year, unless both parties agreed to continue them. There is much to be said for this approach: it flips the script on the assumed longevity, and takes nothing for granted, bringing any grievances out into the open, where they can be dealt with.

We human beings live a long time, now. And the odds are against a partner chosen in their 20s being able to grow in compatible ways with us throughout the eras of our long lives. Children are our legal responsibility for 18 years. Once they are mature enough to make their own path, the parents still have each other to care for. It’s at this point that some people choose to return to a single state. They have shared their lives, bodies, dreams and finances with another person, and there’s a time limit on that level of exposure when the need is gone.

Now there is less stigma in divorce. Everyone understands that mistakes are made, in early life. Open marriages prolong the messiness and the boundary collapses which erode a primary connection. Some practitioners of open marriages say infidelity provides safety valves and avenues of release. But it draws third parties into unwanted drama, and contaminates the dynamic between the marital partners, eroding mutual trust and safety, and devaluing the promises the partners initially made to each other. It makes heartfelt repair of a relationship almost impossible to achieve.

I want to add that in a good union, it is the increased need of partners for each other’s support as they grow older that consolidates the marriage.

But that if they are unequally yoked, or incompatible, or at different levels of evolution, one partner’s illness or frailty causes the other to draw away. This is the unmistakeable sign of true commitment. That a partner wants to stay, in sickness and in health, and the best of them, if asked, would say there is nowhere else they would rather be.

Marriage is a marvellous melding of multiple undertakings: to care, to protect, to provide for, to nurture, to give as well as take, to find joy and belonging in a mutual flow of feeling and action. It sets a high bar, and is a test many people fail. If we enter it, we should be better prepared and more realistic and open-minded than we currently are, if we want better results. It is a life changing decision, whatever the outcome.

Day dreams and soft focus romantic fantasies will not prepare us for the consequences.

Interview With Devika Brendon, re: Her New Novel ‘Aversion’. By Ifham Nizam, of The Island

Exploring Contemporary Sri Lanka – Your novel captures the turbulence of contemporary Sri Lanka. Were there specific historical or political events that particularly shaped the narrative?

In the last 8 years, the period during which I was writing sections of this novel, the entire world has become turbulent. So many systems and processes and values and relationships we all seemed to take for granted have been completely and often violently overturned, globally. Chaos seems to be the daily norm. So what began as a personal response to a specific country opened into a more universal consideration: how do we as human beings navigate the abrupt breakdown of what we thought was true, and real, and reliable? The global pandemic made this the universal question all of us faced. Could our infrastructure, both personal and national, handle the challenges and the crises of everyday life in the 21st century?

 

Influence of Dante and Mythology – You mentioned drawing inspiration from Dante’s Inferno, Buddhist and Hindu mythology, and Carl Muller’s Colombo. How did these influences shape your storytelling style and character development?

Dante’s Divine Comedy - and specifically the Nine Circles of Hell from The Inferno - were concepts that often came to mind as I watched the news every day, and shaped the way I saw the characters in the landscape around me. This is where the magical realism element came in: Colombo to me became a kind of theatre, a series of performance spaces in which people enacted their stories. Under the gloss and the sheen of the city, there are scenes of real horror, as Carl Muller’s book indelibly shows, but also moments of great beauty and tenderness. My protagonist begins the story with no understanding of what she sees: she judges people on face value, without knowing their histories. As she begins to engage with the people she works with, who are trying to uplift the country in a number of ways, she sees that many people act out of a sense of torment that they carry: frustration, fear and anger. They are suffering, and their actions are formed out of that suffering. If they have no self awareness, they could ricochet forever in the circles of hell, exchanging one situation of torment for another, and never emerge. She begins to develop empathy, and compassion.

The troubled person cannot help others, and if we respond to things that happen in anger, which is easy to do, we often burden others or make situations worse. So a study of Buddhist scriptures and Hindu mythology showed me that to really grow, a person needs to stop reacting to everything that occurs, but rather step back and observe. Try not to rush in with hasty assumptions or biases. Try not to carry grievances. Try to see under the surface of what is happening with people, and what they present. Respect the equivalent self of the other, rather than project onto them. Then the surging sea, the suffering of the human condition, in which we are all caught, stops at the threshold and does not enter the space where we reside.

 

Interpersonal Conflict and Aversion – Your novel explores aversion as both a personal and societal issue. Do you believe social media has amplified this tendency in modern society?

Aversion is the feeling of almost automatic opposition we feel towards people and situations. Interestingly, a constant state of irritation, and being easily triggered, are signs of stress, and anxiety. These are sharply on the rise in our society and the wider world, and definitely there is a correlation between the onset of this escalation and the increased use of social media. People are caught in a web of interpersonal conflict and complexity, being impacted by what they see and read, from the moment they open their technological devices, each day. Conflict and differences of opinion have been weaponised, very strategically, and many people today live a hybrid life, with a lot of communication going on in the virtual spaces of digital technology, and our capacity to relate in physical interaction being drained. The building of real community, meaningful communication and human connection across the various divides is the only real remedy for this estrangement and isolation.

Symbolism of the Lotus – The lotus motif plays a key role in Aversion. Did your interpretation of this symbol evolve throughout the writing process?

The lotus with its multiple petals represents awakening and blossoming consciousness. The roots of the lotus nurture the flower, which flowers in muddy waters. This can be seen around us on multiple levels: beauty and grace emerging unexpectedly from dark circumstances; the human being transforming themselves into a more elevated and enlightened entity through the effort of inner exploration and self nurturing; the citizens of the nation itself showing such strength and capacity to continue to live and hope, and encourage each other amidst difficult circumstances. To blossom in life requires respect for our roots, and mindfulness. The lotus to me symbolizes all this.

Experimental Narrative Style – Your book blends prose fiction, opinion pieces, poetry, and diary entries. Did you face challenges in maintaining coherence across these different styles?

The story emerged in a series of outbursts, in response to various diverse events, at different times between 2016 and 2024, and it was actually fascinating to lay the sections out at the end of the process, and see the connections glimmering and gleaming and glinting between the segments. It felt as though I was stitching pieces together on a sewing table. There are 26 chapters, each subdivided into shorter parts. I tried to match like with like, but not in too neat a way. I wanted a slight asymmetry, so certain elements sparkled, when viewed at certain angles - like the stars on the cover!

Audio Book Experience – You mentioned that Aversion has a unique soundscape. How did you approach narrating your own work, and what challenges did you encounter in bringing it to life through audio?

There’s a dreamlike quality to some of the scenes in the book: the words convey at times the motions of the sea, of the dancing at clubs and in parades, of joy and sorrow. So when narrating the audio, I tried to sense those feelings intuitively, rather than intellectually, and portray the way the narrator finds them flowing through her. She tends to use her intellect in her work to try and cut life into manageable parts; so it’s interesting to feel the irrepressible energy of the country filtering through her defences.

One of my favourite scenes ends with a question that is not answered. It’s a moment of high tension for the protagonist. I didn’t feel the need to show what happened next.

Transition from Poetry to Prose – You compared poetry to a fireworks explosion and prose to the slow unfolding of a lily. Did you find yourself naturally drawn to one form more than the other while writing Aversion?

I felt that it was easy to intersperse one with the other. Situations faced by the characters in the book and in life call for both reason and feeling, a duality, and the story shifts accordingly, in step with the movement of the action. So much of our lives goes on in our minds: what we think, what we believe, what we remember, and hold onto; and what we forget and release. It’s like the flow of a dance, a sequence of yoga or the beginning of a sung Chalisa. The ideas begin and the story rises like a slow tide, and the mind is like a drum, finding the rhythm and the energy that the words attempt to convey.

Writing Routine and Discipline – You described a structured writing routine. How do you handle creative blocks, and do you have any specific rituals to get back into the flow of writing?

I find that creative energy and productivity is very much determined by physical health and well-being. We learn if we are most productive in the morning or the evening, and we learn how to pace ourselves to maximise our joy. The creative blocks for me are usually caused by too many projects coming in at the same time, and colliding deadlines cause paralysis. Clear boundary setting is needed, not only with incoming demands or concerns, but within ourselves. If things feel stacked up, only we can unstack them, and recalibrate our schedules to serve our workflow. Twelve minute stretches are an excellent break, throughout a working day. So is doing something that needs to be done like washing or sweeping or tidying a space in the home. Clearing the space in which we live is a calming sort of mindfulness.

Upcoming Projects – You have multiple books in progress, each in a different genre. How do you shift between writing styles and maintain distinct voices for each project?

I don’t consciously strategize it. I drafted all the 5 books as concepts in point form and affixed certain visual images to each. Then I live my life, and whichever book landscape appeals to me at that time, I visit with that, dividing my time more or less equally until one pushes itself forward and takes over. That’s what happened with this book.

Advice for Aspiring Writers – Given your experience as an author and editor, what advice would you give to aspiring writers, especially those navigating multiple literary forms like you?

Get a lot of rest; avoid burnout; and do as much active, detailed research as you can into the contexts in which you are writing. Worldbuilding starts with curiosity. Read a lot, watch a lot of movies, intake information - but not only from manmade sources. Absorb the energy of life around you, see how each being tries to move towards its fulfillment, each in its own way.

 

Opportunity Costs: Identity Politics and Sri Lankan Diaspora Writing

The Asian Literary Society (ALS) facilitated a Forum at The National Library in Colombo on May 7th. The convenors invited a range of academics, scholars, journalists, and creative writers, to discuss a timely and relevant topic: ‘How far do we adhere to our roots? Exploring literature, language and cultural heritage of Sri Lanka’.

ALS is a platform established in 2017 to celebrate and support Asian literary arts and indigenous languages. It operates in the international digital sphere, and in the last year has organised physical events, which they call ‘Caravan’ events, in several Asian countries, to celebrate the literature of each country. The recent event held in Colombo was the ALS Caravan 2025 Forum, and it comprised a panel discussion, poetry readings, and the awarding of prizes in the ALS Caravan 2025 Poetry Contest, for poems offered in all 3 main languages of Sinhala, English and Tamil.

ALS has members in over 100 countries, and almost 25,000 active followers on Facebook, encouraging members to share articles, poems and short stories which are relevant to Asian art, literature and culture. The community ALS is creating is inclusive, intergenerational and diverse. Young and emerging writers are welcomed to participate and engage with the work of established authors and teachers, and this forum facilitates mentoring which is a vital component of building literary culture.

The venue for the ALS Caravan Forum was the Main Auditorium, at the National Library and Documentation Services Board, in Colombo. The Chief Guest was Dr. Rajiva Wijesinha, writer and former MP, the Guests of Honour included Professor Ankuran Dutta from the High Commission of India, Mr. W. Sunil, Director General of the National Library and Documentation Services Board, and Dr. Bina Gandhi, Deputy Director of the SAARC Cultural Centre, and Distinguished Guests were Dr. Ratna Sri Wijesinghe, Chairman of the National Library and Documentation Services Board, and Professor Emeritus Walter Perera of Peradeniya University, who was also invited to be the Chairperson of the Panel.

The focus of the Panel was a discussion about adhering to our roots, as writers. This is a topic of interest for Sri Lankan writers, who are born into diverse ethnic and religious communities, and who as a broad category now also comprise writers who have emigrated to other countries, who have studied, worked and lived in Australia, the USA, Canada and the U.K., amongst other countries, and who identify as part of the diaspora Sri Lankan community.

Dr. Vivimarie Vanderpoorten, Senior Lecturer in English and Linguistics at the Open University, commenced discussion by pointing out that cultural identity these days is a fluid concept. It is not solely determined by where you are born or grow up. We all have unique relationships to the nation and of Sri Lanka, its history and culture, and its society, determined by our own personal and familial experience of the country in the timeline of its formative events.

Shankari Chandran, for example, born in the U.K., identifies herself as a ‘Tamil Australian’ author on her website. She was educated in Australia and lives and works in Australia, and was recently awarded Australia’s Miles Franklin Literary Prize. She has been open in interviews about her complex relationship with both Australia and her Tamil family’s experience of Sri Lanka. The subject matter of her books contains references to both countries and the lived experiences of generations of her family in both cultures.

https://lithub.com/miles-franklin-winner-shankari-chandran-on-defining-australianness/

Michael Ondaatje, in ‘Anil’s Ghost’, was criticized for writing a book set in Sri Lanka and dealing with its recent history at the time of publication, when he had emigrated to Canada decades before. It seemed to matter a great deal to Sri Lankan local authors that anyone writing about contemporary Sri Lanka should be physically domiciled here, and have viscerally lived through the events they portray in their fiction. If they had not suffered, as part of the country, they should not speak about it.


Some commenters went so far, in the social media discussions that have had such a strong impact on literary culture in Sri Lanka, as to suggest that anyone who had chosen to emigrate to another country should not write about the country they had left behind, as if their roots were severed, or should be severed, as a sort of penalty for their choice to live and work elsewhere. Even within Sri Lanka, if a writer living in Colombo had not gone out into the field and lived in the war zones, lost family members or been directly affected by the tsunami, could their fictional narratives of the recent war or the natural disaster of 2004/5 really be taken at all seriously? Research is part of the answer to that rhetorical question; but surely the other part is imaginative empathy, essential to the creation of any truly great literature.

Whether diaspora writers have a right to stand up and be counted as Sri Lankan writers is a contentious subject, as the reasons for the mass exodus of Sri Lankans from the country over the past few decades have been socio-economic, and the inevitable consequence of war, austerity, economic frustration and diminishing productivity, and those who had the opportunity to go abroad and study and work abroad were usually the more likely to be English educated. In fact, many countries today demand English proficiency as part of their immigration admission criteria into their country.

The spectre of the post-Independence Sinhala Only legislation of the late 1950s, which was not directly raised in this discussion, hovered over us as we discussed the diversities of words and breadth of meaning in the Sinhala language, as illustrated by Dr. Dhammika Jayasinghe, and Dr. Ramola Rassool. We were charmed when Dr. Kamala Wijeratne, having explored the complexities of the ‘Russian Doll’ layered identities of race, religion, region and caste built into our very names, referred to the well known children’s song ‘Me Gahe Boho’, which many of us from all communities had heard sung in our childhood.

The cultural focus on the Sinhala language which is evident in Sri Lanka makes sense politically in its context, in the need to cultivate national pride, post-Independence, but in 2025 it is clear that short-sightedly relegating English and Tamil to secondary status for the last 70 years has resulted in the talents and creative skills of many local writers being restricted in their impact to the borders of Sri Lanka. Not being taught English Language or Literature at an excellent level from a young age in Sri Lanka has limited many writers in their 20s, 30s and 40s (and above) from reaching an international audience. This is a loss to the international literary community, not just the writers themselves. And an inevitable result is the hostility directed towards the English speaking elite, who are always perceived as differentially and unfairly advantaged.

https://www.dailymirror.lk/news-features/Sinhala-Only-in-retrospect/131-157978

The rise of the internet and the digital proficiency of the millennial generation since the early 2000s has to a great extent opened the borders of the imagination for readers and writers in contemporary Sri Lanka, who have access to computers and international English language and literature forums discussions, via digital media. Poets, short story writers, essayists and novelists are now not limited to entering the literary competitions available in Sri Lanka. Many international journals accept incoming contributions from all over the world, and so it is possible to be published widely in English speaking countries, as a local Sri Lankan author.

To encourage poetry submissions in all 3 languages, the ALS Caravan team appointed judges to assess contributions in all 3 languages, and all those poets whose contributions won recognition were awarded Certificates to commemorate the occasion.

 
It was noticeable that the entries in Tamil were fewer in number, and that reaching out actively to educators and members in the regional communities outside Colombo is vital to ensure that good representation is maintained, going forward.

Reconciliation after civil war and socio-political disruption is an ongoing process, and it is evident that many writers have been contending with unwanted challenges in recent years. For my part, as an outsider coming into the country 9 years ago, I was struck by the number of excellent women writers in Sri Lanka, and also by the way many of them had been unfortunately subjected to misogynistic stereotypes and verbal harassment after winning some of the few awards that were available to writers in this country.

Articulate and expressive women in South Asia are intersectionally discriminated against: both because of their gender and their race. By writing their stories, and articulating their narratives, they assert their right to occupy cultural space, and this seemed to be resented by many men, who saw themselves as disrespected and threatened and potentially excluded from the echelons they so wished to enter, and in which they sought acclaim.

It was clear that there was then, circa 2015, no objective reviewing culture in the literary sphere in Sri Lanka, and that the reviews of people’s work that were offered on social media were often biased, and based on personal viewpoints that would be considered inappropriate in both content and mode of expression, in other countries. Unfortunately, as it was in other spheres of this country, unacceptable and damaging conduct in the literary sphere had become normalized in the Sri Lanka of those times.

Certain people were even apparently designated ‘attack worthy’ and women writers in particular were critiqued not for the quality of their work, but for their appearance and their clothing, and even the elitist locales of their homes. These sneering attacks reached up to 20,000 followers on social media, and inevitably influenced the ideas of many impressionable writers in the country. Several writers stopped writing creatively after they were subjected to this sort of barrage, and our literary culture is poorer for the loss of their voices.

It is easy for perpetrators of such denigratory behavior to claim that they never intended their blogs or their FB posts or comments to be taken so seriously, yet that is how careers are built in the contemporary era, through approval ratings measured in sensationalist content, digital likes and follows. The older generation, operating in the sphere of print papers, formality, self-restraint and old school courtesy, had no idea of the impact and influence that could be wielded by proponents of social media in the literary sphere. Wielded carelessly or intentionally to cause harm, their unfiltered and often wilfully inflammatory commentary could cause lasting reputational damage.

The late Anne Ranasinghe the poet, praised for her work and efforts on behalf of literature in Sri Lanka by Dr. Rajiva Wijesinha in his opening remarks, had been attacked a decade ago when this low point in the culture was prevalent, in a ‘review’ of her work, where she had been accused of elitism and classism, in some of her poetic works set for the local English Syllabus. Looking at this and other critiques of that kind today, they seem to have been an attempt on the part of the authors to clear space in the Syllabus, and the literary culture as a whole, for local Sinhalese authors, by excluding people like Anne Ranasinghe, who was of European origin, although marrying and living her entire adult life in Sri Lanka.

Her socio economic status of relative privilege as the wife of a doctor also seemed to influence the writer of that review against her. It is easy, but also lazy, to claim that a person who is economically secure must also be blinded by their privilege, entitled and indifferent to human suffering, and to then view their writing through that lens of self-justifying moral contempt. Anne Ranasinghe, then in her eighties, threatened to sue the paper in which the review was published, for defamation, and reputational damage. To have your poetic works misunderstood, and written about as being damaging to the culture, and having an author suggesting that they should be thus removed from the national Syllabus, is surely an example of the impact of this kind of so called literary criticism. Under the aegis of ‘free speech’, some people felt empowered and free to express such opinions in the Democratic Socialist Republic of Sri Lanka, on social media, which seemed so informal, so ephemeral - but was, in fact, so impactful.

A truly vibrant Sri Lankan literary culture cannot be built on the indulgence of personal bias and perceived grievance, and self-serving, narrow definitions of race, gender, religion and class. People like Anne Ranasinghe who write in English because it is their primary language, seem to have often been looked at askance by local writers, who feel that they themselves are disadvantaged or disrespected in comparison: this grievance clearly being a residue, inevitable and pernicious, of the vicious colonialism to which the country was subjected.

The impact of identity politics operating to exclude or marginalise diaspora writers who have achieved public recognition encompasses writers as diverse as Nayomi Munaweera, and Michelle de Kretser, both highly awarded internationally, but the one often criticized for her ‘exoticism’, and the floridity of her fiction, and the other relatively little recognised or written about in Sri Lanka.

It is evident that we are short changing ourselves as a literary culture if we continue to narrow rather than expand our definitions of what we term ‘Sri Lankan’. To expand the metaphor of ‘roots’, which was suggested as the topic of this Panel, we could say that sometimes unsightly or unwanted emergence of elements which are part of the growth process must at times be cut back, to promote healthier flourishing at the root level, and good future growth and longevity.

On a personal note, I gather, from engaging with people from diverse communities here, that issues based on the facts of their birth into whatever physical form and social context into which they were born, profoundly shape their world view. The daily life of many people involves dealing with acts of random hostility and aggression, and derogatory accusations levelled at them, and they are therefore quite likely to misunderstand and misinterpret others.

I find Sri Lanka to be a vantage point from which I can process the bicultural life I’m now living. For the first time in my life since I was a very young girl, I am in a country where the majority of people look like me. The roots I have started to uncover are racial, ethnic, reconnecting with extended family, culinary, and artistic and creative - responding to a hugely contrasting tropical landscape, and the complex history of the country with its multiple strands and threads.

We grew up in Australia eating Sri Lankan food, reading traditional folk tales, and the Buddhist scriptures, listening to baila music, and going to the temple. The rhythms of SL music, the ornate jewellery and the lively conversations I have always loved, and the bright colours and the atmosphere of chaos, overwhelming at first, is like a vibrant cacophony and a mystic kaleidoscope. But I lost the Sinhala language. I can’t read it or write it. I’m learning Sinhala and Tamil only now. The written scripts are beautiful to my eye, and I am slowly understanding the rhythms and idioms used in daily life. I am impatient with my ignorance. I want to fill the gaps in my knowledge. It was my loss.

When we were kids, the chicken curry our fellow expatriates made for the Sunday lunch in Sydney was too ‘chilli hot’ for me. Now I have a bowl of green chillis next to my plate for my meals. I appreciate the less processed food here, and the fresh vegetables and fruits in profusion. It’s healthier. I haven’t watched television since I left Australia. Real life produces enough drama!

I feel that it would benefit Sri Lanka to be more inclusive in its appreciation of what constitutes Sri Lankan literature.

Many diaspora writers are not regarded as having a ‘right’ to write about SLan topics or themes, if they emigrated to other countries years ago, as punishment for being able to make a choice to live a life of greater opportunity. Their lesser recognition in their country of origin is an opportunity cost. But it’s a collective loss.

Photo credit: Grace Wickremasinghe

Some are seen as ‘exoticising’ SL to suit a Western audience, or catering to Western stereotypes, because they write in English, and live in the ‘First World’. Some are even seen as appropriating their own culture, focusing on aspects which will appeal to Western sensibilities, marketing their root culture for profit, skewing their history, parading stereotypes, exoticising their own personae.

I argue that a more inclusive, compassionate and less threatened and defensive approach to diaspora writers would be helpful in appreciating the complex journeys of immigration and cultural dislocation that Sri Lankan writers undergo in the globalized world of today. These disruptions produce a wealth of experience which are the source of rich content for writers of poetry and fiction.


If we collectively revision the way we view each other, as all being creative entities operating variously in a broad and diverse framework, we need not experience a breach, in which otherisation and hostility can operate, but instead create expansion, breadth and greater depth in Sri Lanka’s literary landscape.