Doctors strikes and their Moral Responsibility- ND Amerasekera

Doctors strikes and their moral responsibility

Dr Nihal D Amerasekera

Industrial action is when workers collectively refuse or reduce their work due to a dispute. It is often organised by a trade union when negotiations have failed. Common forms of industrial action include strikes and picketing. 

The British Medical Association is the doctors' trade union in Britain. Recently, the organisation has marshalled the junior doctors (now called resident doctors) to a series of strikes. This has seriously affected patient care in hospitals and has damaged the esteem and goodwill the patients have for the profession. The long-running dispute of the junior/resident doctors with the government started in March 2023. The BMA argues that resident doctors' pay is 20% lower in real terms than it was in 2008, even after the 2025 increase. There have been 14 strikes since, causing immense disruption to healthcare in the NHS. The government says resident doctors have received the largest pay rises of any public sector employees over the last three years - totalling nearly 30% - and insists the government won't offer any further increases.

The beginning of industrial action goes way back into the 17th century. Then the workers faced appalling working conditions and dangerously long hours. They earned such low wages. There were many accidents in the workplace due to the lack of safety regulations. In Britain, the Trade Union Act of 1871 legalised trade unions, giving workers a legal way to protect and advance their rights. This led to an increase in industrial activity which in turn improved the lives of workers. Workers strikes had the propensity to damage the economy of the country and cause hardship to the public.

The National Health Service was established in 1948 by Aneurin Bevan providing comprehensive medical care free at the point of use, funded through general taxation. An association for doctors was formed in 1832, and it was called the Provincial Medical and Surgical Association. In 1856, this organisation changed its name to the British Medical Association. For many years, as a profession doctors never struck work. The first doctors strike took place in 1975. Firstly, it was the consultants who went on strike to retain the privilege of private practice. Later that same year, the Junior doctors went on strike, wanting payment for their on-call duties. These instances of strikes have been notable for their scale and impact. They represent the largest and the most disruptive action seen in the 75-year-history of the NHS.

The Hippocratic Oath is an oath of medical ethics historically taken by physicians. It pledges to uphold professional standards, to help the sick, do no harm, and maintain patient confidentiality.

The original oath is often revised for modern use. The core principles of the oath still continue to guide the medical profession. The Declaration of Geneva was created by the World Medical Association in 1948.

World Medical Association Declaration of Geneva - 1948

The Physician’s Pledge

AS A MEMBER OF THE MEDICAL PROFESSION:

I SOLEMNLY PLEDGE to dedicate my life to the service of humanity;

THE HEALTH AND WELL-BEING OF MY PATIENT will be my first consideration;

I WILL RESPECT the autonomy and dignity of my patient;

I WILL MAINTAIN the utmost respect for human life;

I WILL NOT PERMIT considerations of age, disease or disability, creed, ethnic origin, gender, nationality, political affiliation, race, sexual orientation, social standing or any other factor to intervene between my duty and my patient;

I WILL RESPECT the secrets that are confided in me, even after the patient has died;

I WILL PRACTISE my profession with conscience and dignity and in accordance with good medical practice;

I WILL FOSTER the honour and noble traditions of the medical profession;

I WILL GIVE to my teachers, colleagues, and students the respect and gratitude that is their due;

I WILL SHARE my medical knowledge for the benefit of the patient and the advancement of healthcare;

I WILL ATTEND TO my own health, well-being, and abilities in order to provide care of the highest standard;

I WILL NOT USE my medical knowledge to violate human rights and civil liberties, even under threat;

I MAKE THESE PROMISES solemnly, freely, and upon my honour.

Wherever I have worked I have seen the dedication of the doctors to patient well-being. They work long and unpredictable hours providing a selfless service. This often involves personal sacrifice. Money is a vital component of modern life. It provides security and stability, social inclusion and a better quality of life. We all want more of it and there are times we all feel that way. It is the responsibility of the government to pay the doctors adequately for the important work they do. The public too has a responsibility to force governments to provide adequate remuneration for the doctors for their work.

The medical profession is more than just a job. We all have an important duty of care to our patients. As doctors, we must not forget the core principles of our profession. The World Medical Association Declaration of Geneva (1948) is a useful reminder to all doctors of their responsibilities.

In the UK, pay review bodies are independent, non-departmental public bodies that advise governments on public sector pay. Their function is to gather evidence from various sources, such as government departments, unions, and employers, to provide independent, evidence-based recommendations on pay and working conditions. This advice helps the government set public sector pay levels that aim to attract, retain, and motivate staff. Governments are not legally bound by the recommendations. These review bodies sit annually to advise governments. Hence, the doctors' pay is reviewed every year and is adjusted when necessary. The British Medical Association has a significant input into the Review Body on Doctors' and Dentists' Remuneration.

Teaching and Higher Education Act 1998 allowed universities to charge tuition fees from students. Currently it is £9250 annually. When the cost of food and lodging is included, it adds an extra £10000. Hence the medical students when they complete their course could have a debt of £100,000. I hope the BMA and the Review Body take this into consideration when doing the pay review. I wish the BMA would do a deal with the government to waive the university tuition fees if medical students sign a contract to work for the government for 5 years after they qualify.

In the UK, doctors provide an excellent service, often beyond the call of duty. It must be said that those in the medical profession are under greater pressure than ever before. Their workload is increasing exponentially, and their work is more closely scrutinised. This adds to the stress in the workplace. We live in a litigious world and legal action against doctors is much more common now. Here, too, we assume that the review body is aware of these issues.

Strikes by doctors lead to the cancellation of appointments and postponement of elective surgery and other procedures. These cause significant delays and distress to patients. Depending on the cover provided by the striking doctors, the emergency and urgent care services will be restricted and there will always be inevitable unacceptable delays. Strikes disrupt the overall efficiency of the NHS, leading to longer waiting times and a higher risk of patient deterioration. Cancer diagnosis and treatment gets delayed. There is also a huge physical and emotional impact on the staff that work during the strike providing cover. The total impact on the NHS is huge.

While many organisations can strike, professions in the armed forces, police, and prison services are legally banned from striking. These are deemed as essential services and strikes by them would seriously disrupt and endanger life. Frontline medical services too are essential and will endanger life if withdrawn. I do not see why doctors are allowed to strike when the other essential services aren’t. 

As a medical professional who has worked in the health service both in Sri Lanka and the UK for 50 years, I feel strongly that doctors should not strike. There are adequate safeguards to keep their pay in line with the rest of the public sector. The British Medical Association should be negotiating with the government about pay and conditions, retaining their respect as a body that is committed to providing a good service to the public. The leader of the Conservative Party has said she would ban doctors from taking industrial action. It is indeed my personal view too that the medical profession provides an essential service and should not be allowed to strike.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OUR BATCHMATES AND FAMILIES

HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OUR BATCHMATES AND FAMILIES

Christmas will be here very soon.

Just a reminder that for Christians, the primary and "true" meaning of Christmas is the commemoration of the birth of Jesus Christ, whom they believe to be the Son of God and the Saviour of humanity. This event is central to the Christian faith, symbolising several key theological concepts The story highlights God's immense love for the world and Jesus' humility in entering the world in such a vulnerable state, making the divine approachable to all people, from lowly shepherds to wise men.

Beyond its religious foundation, Christmas has evolved into a cultural phenomenon celebrated by billions of people worldwide, including many non-Christians. It is a special time for families and friends to gather, share meals, and enjoy each other's company. It is also a time for generosity; the season encourages acts of charity, kindness, and gift-giving to spread joy and support those in need. It also encourages reflection on the past year, fostering a spirit of peace, goodwill toward others, and personal renewal.

Chirasri has once again sent us a beautiful painting to accompany her greeting.

To my batchmates and their families.

Wishing you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year 2026. (My latest painting)

From,  Chira

Mahendra drawings and Hobbies

Mahendra Drawings and Hobbies

It is important to keep as active as possible both physically and mentally in order to maintain, or at least decrease the rate of decline inevitably associated with ageing . 

Reading, discussing important topics, keeping abreast of news, socialising,  regular moderate physical activity such as walking, jogging ( if you like it), sports such as badminton, tennis or as in my case , The Noble Eighteen Hole Path), are just a few examples of what you can do apart from taking your medication regularly, having a sensible diet and keeping your weight within limits. 

All my drawings are based on photographs and this is an Indian musician playing a string instrument, taken ina visit to India a few years ago

This is Mam Tor in the Peak District in Derbyshire, my cousin and his wife at the top 

Taken in Anuradhapura, pretending to be Rodin’s Thunker!

In Galle Fort Sri Lanka underground 

Self portrait 

A Sri Lankan woman cooking at a rest stop on the way to Kandy

Using my iPad sitting in a sofa in my old house

The blog is a readily available and fun way of keeping in touch with your batch colleagues and is strongly recommended. 

I joined various social clubs which provide these for me in a rewarding and enjoyable manner. I recently joined the Sale Moor Art Club where we meet once a week for two hours. It has given me the opportunity to use a medium new to me, Charcoal. It is a great medium if you like light and shade and contrasts  Nihal was very keen for me to share some of my work with you. 

HUMAN ANCESTRY- paintings by ND Amerasekera

HUMAN ANCESTRY- PEOPLE FROM DIFFERENT PARTS OF THE WORLD

Dr Nihal D Amerasekera

I am pleased to post this fascinating collection of Nihal's paintings, with helpful explanatory captions. I am amazed at the quality of his paintings, although I shouldn't be, knowing how skilled he is!- Speedy

Human Ancestry

It is interesting to realise that all human life began in Africa. The oldest fossils of modern humans (Homo sapiens) have been found there, and the DNA of all living people can be traced back to the African continent. 

This all started 200 thousand years ago. Dispersal and migrations began 100 thousand years ago to all corners of the world, where we evolved further to survive in those new environments.

I have painted images of several people from different parts of the world, which show the diversity and how much has changed in our appearance despite our distant common ancestry.

We are all related wherever we live, whether we are black, brown, white or yellow,  is an interesting concept. Something to remember for those zealots who prefer to find differences in us, which causes such unpleasantness and hardships.

I sincerely hope people of this wonderful world will consider their common ancestry and work tirelessly for world peace.

Acknowledgements: I have included information from Google and Wikipedia for authenticity.

"Aborigines"

"Aborigines" is often considered an insensitive and outdated term, and it is better to use terms like "Aboriginal Australians" or "Indigenous Australians" to refer to the original inhabitants of Australia. Aboriginal Australians have inhabited the continent for over 65,000 years and consist of many distinct languages.  They make up some of the oldest continuous cultures in the world. At the time of European colonisation of Australia, the Aboriginal people spoke more than 250 different languages. Aboriginal people make up 3.7% of Australia's population.

Inuits (Eskimo)

The word Eskimo is now considered a derogatory word for the people of the Arctic. The word Eskimo is derived from the Inuit word for those making snow shoes. These Indigenous peoples of the Arctic, which includes the Inuit, Yupik, and Iñupiat. These groups originated in Siberia and are believed to have migrated across the Bering Strait to Alaska, before spreading across North America and Greenland. Today, the people prefer to be called by their specific group names, such as Inuit or Yupik.  Their total population is around 190,000. Their language depends on the place they live. Their origins dates back to 5000 years or longer. Their food consists of fish, hunted animals, and food gathered locally.

Russians

Modern Russians trace their ancestry to early Slavic tribes native to Eastern Europe. The name "Russia" comes from the Rus people, a group of Norsemen (Vikings) who arrived from Scandinavia around the 8th century. These Norsemen established a ruling class that was eventually assimilated by the larger East Slavic population, giving rise to the medieval kingdom of Kievan Rus', and later, the modern Russian state.

Incas

The Inca originated as a small pastoral tribe in the Cusco region of Peru around the 12th century. Incas are native Andean people centred in modern Peru. Their empire extended from Ecuador to central Chile. Their capital city was Cusco. Their total population at the time was around 15 million. The Inca were skilled engineers who built extensive road networks, irrigation systems, and structures like the famous city of Machu Picchu. They spoke many languages, depending on the locality. The potato was the staple food. They domesticated , llama and alpaca and also hunted animals. The Incas were not known to develop a written form of language; however, they visually recorded narratives through paintings. Incas believed in reincarnation and made human sacrifices.

Their empire was conquered by the Spanish in 1530. After the fall of the Inca Empire, many aspects of Inca culture were systematically destroyed, including their sophisticated farming system. Diseases like Typhus, Diphtheria, smallpox, and Influenza of the so-called developed world ravaged the Inca people.

The Māori

The Māori are New Zealand's Polynesian people who arrived in the 13th century and developed a unique culture over centuries. They are known for their distinctive arts, language, and traditions. They make up about 17.8% of New Zealand's population, (There are 900,000 Maori people in New Zealand ).

Polynesians are a group native to Polynesia which is a vast triangle of islands in the Pacific Ocean, and are known for their skilled voyaging and navigation. 

Over time, these settlers developed a distinct culture, which includes their own language, mythology, and traditions, as a result of living in isolation for centuries. There is now great efforts by the New Zealand government to preserve the Maori culture and language.

Sikhs

Sikhism was born in the Punjab area of South Asia, which now falls into the present-day states of India and Pakistan. The main religions of the area at the time were Hinduism and Islam. The Sikh faith began around 1500 AD, when Guru Nanak began teaching a faith that was quite distinct from Hinduism and Islam.

Sikhs are strongly against the caste system in India and believe in welfare for all, and all are equal. The Golden Temple in Amritsar remains the holiest place of worship.

Africans

The origins of African people are rooted in Africa itself, as the continent is the birthplace of Homo sapiens. Anatomically modern humans are believed to have appeared in East Africa around 200,000 years ago, and all modern humans have a common ancestry from a group that left Africa 50,000–100,000 years ago. Over time, populations dispersed and adapted to local environments, leading to the vast diversity seen across the continent and the world today.

Today, the term Africans refers to people from the continent of Africa. They remain a diverse group with multiple ethnicities, cultures and languages.

Chinese

The origin of the Chinese people is a result of both ancient migration out of Africa and subsequent local developments. Modern humans in China descend from ancestral populations that migrated out of Africa, with one primary route going through South and Southeast Asia around 60,000 to 50,000 years ago. Later, local Neolithic populations in the Yellow River Basin significantly contributed to the genetic makeup of modern Han Chinese, leading to some genetic differences between northern and southern Chinese populations. 

"Chinese" is a broad term referring to individuals or ethnic groups identified with China, often through ethnicity, nationality, or cultural connections. The term encompasses a diverse population with a rich history and culture. They are also the world's largest ethnic group, comprising approximately 18% of the global human population. The Han Chinese are the largest ethnic group in China, comprising approximately 92% of its Mainland population.

Veddahs

Veddahs are a minority indigenous group of people in Sri Lanka. They have their own indigenous language but many now speak Sinhala. Veddah were probably the earliest inhabitants of Sri Lanka and have lived on the island since before the arrival of other groups from the Indian mainland. Their arrival is dated tentatively to about 40,000–35,000 years ago. The Veddahs were traditionally forest dwellers, who foraged, hunted and lived in close-knit groups in caves in the dense jungles of Sri Lanka.

"Red Indians"

The term "red Indians" is an outdated and problematic term for Indigenous peoples of the Americas, whose ancestors migrated from Asia across a land bridge called Beringia during the last ice age. Genetic and archaeological evidence suggest these migrations began as early as 30,000 years ago and occurred in multiple waves, though the first migration is believed to be the majority. The term "Red Indian" likely emerged during the colonial era, possibly due to some groups' use of red pigment as a self-identifier or a reflection of their skin tone, which was also used by colonists to distinguish them from "white" Europeans and "black" Africans. 

FOREVER 62 GROUP December 2025

FOREVER 62 GROUP- Lunch on Dec 4th 2025.

I am sure you all know that Pram has been THE key figure in promoting regular meetings of our batchmates in Sri Lanka. These happen once a month. Also, whenever overseas friends visit Sri Lanka, she does her best to arrange a social gathering of batchmates and spouses. She has been doing this for years. 

Pram says, "It was held at the library. Cinnamon Lakeside.  We had a few 'visitors" Bunter, H & H Boralassa & Shanthi Nalliah."

When she visits London, she does the same, and ND, Bora and I are always happy to assist her. Three hearty cheers for Pram! 

I am posting the latest meeting photos, which Pram sent me. Keep your brain active by attempting to identify everybody! Update: Just added names in the penultimate photo)

L to R. Mahendra(Suri), Senarath, Hemantha(Senarath), Lama, Kusum, Bandula J, Bora
Lalantha, Srianee, Harshi (Bora), Swyrie, Pram, Chira, Shanty Nalliah, Suri

A mother's advice- Srianee Dias

 A MOTHER’S ADVICE

Srianee (Bunter) Fernando Dias

Note from Speedy. As we know, Srianee has gone back to Sri Lanka for good, and I thought this post by her in March  2021 would be of interest to all of us.

Several years before she died peacefully at age 91, my mother wrote several ‘farewell letters’ to her children.  She wrote individual letters to each of us which were personal and private, but she also wrote one letter addressed to all five of her children.  We were unaware of these letters, because she had given them for safe keeping to my cousin’s wife with instructions that they be given to us after her departure.  This letter was ‘good advice’ and we all agreed that it needed to be read at her Memorial Service, so that her wise words could be shared with her nieces, nephews and grandchildren, as well as other relatives and friends.

When I happened to mention this letter to Mahen during a phone conversation, he asked me if I would consider sharing it with our friends on the blog as well. I think that I should tell you a little bit about my mother before you read her letter. (Some of you got to know her during our years in Medical College.) 

My mother, Merlyn Fonseka, grew up in Moratuwa, the third of six siblings.  She excelled in her studies at Princess of Wales College, and represented PWC in tennis.  I have in my possession a prize book that she received for mathematics in Form VI in 1930!  It is a copy of “The Abbot” by Sir Walter Scott.  She told me once that she had wanted to study medicine but thought that studying for five years was too long!  Instead she entered the Teachers Training College, and after completing her training she returned to Princess of Wales College to teach. Prof. Priyani Soysa was one of her students.  Prof Priyani often addressed me as “my teacher’s daughter” whenever I appeared at one of her ward classes. My mother’s final teaching appointment before retirement was at St. Thomas’ College, Mt Lavinia, where she taught for many years in the Lower School.  I think she really enjoyed her years at STC Mt Lavinia.  Judging from the tributes we received from her students, I think they enjoyed her too.  

In June 1962 she suffered the sudden and devastating loss of my father.  In addition to the emotional strain, she also had to cope with the financial stress, because my father had been the main breadwinner in the family.  She decided to take on students for private tuition at our home, which she did after a long day of teaching at school.  When one well-meaning relative suggested to her that I should quit Medical College after the ‘2nd MB’ and “get a job” to supplement the family income, she politely told him to “mind his own business” or something to that effect!  Even though the years following my father’s death were difficult, she was determined to have her children complete their education. Later in life she enjoyed several trips to the U.S. The fact that two of her sons were Captains on Sri Lankan Airlines gave her the privilege of discounted tickets on some of her flights.  In spite of the distance she managed to have a close relationship with my two daughters as well as her other grandchildren.  On her last trip to the U.S. she celebrated her 84th birthday in Connecticut with us! 

Her letter is short, simple and wise, a reflection of who she was.  It is my pleasure to share it with my friends.  Here it is:
 

To All my Darling Children

First of all, many thanks for all you’ve been to me and all you’ve done for me.   I can with a clear conscience say I did my best for you.  If not for your love and support I would have followed your darling Thaththa soon.  Your love and support, together with God’s guidance and His blessings, helped me to live this long.  Whenever I had a problem - and I had many - I took it to the Lord in prayer.  He always answered me.

Now that I am no longer with you the most important thing I ask of you is that you will always remain a united family.  You have your differences.  No two people are alike.  Always look for the good in others and live peacefully.  Help one another when help is necessary.  Go on Holiday trips together, whenever possible.  Bring up your children in the way God wants you to.  More than anything else teach them to respect elders and show love and concern for the less fortunate.

Your darling Thaththa and I will send you blessings.

Farewell and God bless.

Fondest love and kisses,

Your darling Amma.”

My passion for Dancing- Harsha Boralessa

My Passion for Dancing

Harischandra Boralessa

Origins

In our ancestral home in Akuressa, whenever we had dinner parties, there would always be music to entertain our friends and relatives.  My father played the violin; a retired gentleman living with us called “Lansi Mahathmaya” played the piano. The opening pieces were usually La Paloma or Over the Waves (“The Loveliest Night of the Year”) followed by Roll out the Barrel, You are my Sunshine etc. When the baila music started, my father used to ask me, an eight-year-old boy, to dance. My dance was a simple one, solely consisting of jumping up and down on the spot and clapping my hands to the beat. That was my introduction to dancing.

As schoolboys, we did a lot of baila dancing in the college boarding, particularly during the Royal Thomian Cricket Match period, but no ballroom dancing.

During my medical school days, I was very keen on ballroom dancing, and one of my favourite hobbies was listening to Music for Dancing played on a Saturday Night, Radio Ceylon Broadcast. I would imagine that I was on the dance floor. I was able to keep to the time to the Music but did not know many steps. The two dances I was able to do were the Social Foxtrot and the Quick Step – no Cha Cha, Rhumba or Tango. During my undergraduate days, the combination of being shy, having an intense study schedule and having difficulties in finding a dancing partner, restricted the opportunity for social dancing. Looking back, this was a period during which I would have really enjoyed dancing. Maybe I missed a trick or two.

Things changed dramatically after qualifying as a doctor. I metamorphosed: a more confident, better-dressed and smiling personality. Finding a dance partner was not as difficult as before. I remember the late Lucky Weerasoriya at one of our early batch reunions commenting that I had improved and looked quite the man about town. I had the good fortune of finding a partner who was also passionate about dancing. In the late sixties and early seventies, Harshi and I used to go dancing frequently to the Coconut Grove and the Arcasa Kadde.

In England we have been going for tea dances and evening dances regularly – two to three times a week. In so doing, we have been able to expand our repertoire to include all Latin American Dances and the waltz. It is Strictly Come Dancing. Everyone sticks to their wives or partners. Some venues used to do a “bus stop” during the short break:  some ladies, particularly the single ladies, stood in a queue. The men would take it in turns to invite the lady at the top of the queue for a dance. After going round the dance hall once, the man would leave her at the end of the queue and then ask the lady at the top of the queue for a dance. This practice stopped with the onset of the Covid epidemic. Some of the nicest people I have met in the UK have been through dancing. We also go on dancing holidays to Spain and Cyprus. Regular dancing has enabled us to keep our joints supple and to maintain a good posture.  Randomised controlled studies have confirmed that ballroom dancing delays the onset of dementia. So, keep dancing.

The above YouTube video shows Harshi and Harsha performing the Opening Dance at the annual dance hosted by The Past Pupils Association of Visakha UK on the 18th of October 2025 at Crowne Plaza, Beaconsfield, to music provided by Frontline. Click on the white arrow with the red background and the video will play OR, you can watch it on YouTube by clicking on the link given- your choice!

Cherished memories of my homes in Sri Lanka. ND Amerasekera

Cherished memories of my homes in Sri Lanka

Dr Nihal D Amerasekera

"A house is made with walls and beams;
a home is built with love and dreams."    - Anonymous

Sometimes, as the night falls and peace descends on my world, there is a wish to turn back the clock. Those early years spent with my parents were a rich gift. Their presence in my thoughts brings me great joy and warmth. Although they have now left this world, their memory remains very much alive.

Leaving the country of my birth has left me with many scars and regrets. Losing much of the rich Sri Lankan culture, music and language is often hard to bear. I am now a stranger to the new generation that has grown up in my absence. Even to my family and friends, so much has happened in our lives since I left Sri Lanka that it is now impossible to match the closeness we once enjoyed. Above all, not being with my parents at their hour of need still brings me great sadness that is hard to console. I have paid a heavy price for my professional ambitions and achievements.

As a government servant, my father led a nomadic life. He was frequently moved from one place to another every four years and these disruptions were euphemistically called transfers. My earliest memories are of Bogawantalawa—a small valley town in the Central Province, surrounded by misty mountains and endless tea estates. We lived there between 1942 and 1946, during the turbulent years of World War II. Though the war raged across Europe and the Far East, our little town seemed sheltered from its cruelty and chaos. As a child, I was fascinated by the occasional convoys of jeeps and trucks rumbling through, filled with soldiers waving their rifles. We lived in a charming two-storey house with rose bushes at the front and a small garden at the rear. Behind the house rose a hill crowned by St. Mary’s School, which had a large playground. In Bogawantalawa, rain was a constant companion. I still remember the cloudy skies and the rolling mist that drifted over the hills. There was often a chill in the air. People were always wrapped in mufflers and sweaters with umbrellas in hand. I acquired my most vivid childhood memory as a four-year-old, looking through my bedroom window seeing the monsoon rain transform a road into a river. European planters often roared past on their noisy motorbikes, a familiar sight in town. I never returned to Bogowantalawa again. Even now I sometimes  revisit the place in my dreams.

I was born in Kandy, that enchanting citadel nestled in the hills. Although I never had the good fortune to live there, the closest I came was when my parents moved to Kadugannawa. In 1946 it was a sleepy little town, charming and at times beguiling. It prided itself on its unique middle-class appeal and the sheer good-natured generosity of its people. We lived in an old house called Roydon on Alagalla Road. Wide glass windows surrounded the house, allowing sunlight to stream in throughout the day. The locals fondly called it the “Glass House.” The place carried an air of colonial nostalgia, its architecture reminiscent of an upcountry estate superintendent’s bungalow. Far from the bustle of town, life there was peaceful. Our home stood atop a hill, offering breathtaking views of the blue Alagalla mountain range. I still remember how quiet and dark the nights were at Roydon—the chill in the air, the eerie chorus of frogs, and the rhythmic hum of crickets. The garden would sparkle with fireflies lighting up those dark corners. Nature was like a living masterpiece. On nights of the full moon, the silvery glow transformed the landscape into a dreamlike wonderland. When my parents went out to visit friends, I often stayed behind with our maid, who was a gifted storyteller. I still cherish those evenings, listening wide-eyed as she spun her old tales, rich with vivid details and imagination.

In 1948, my father was transferred to Nugegoda. Even now, countless vivid memories of its past fill my mind. Back then, it was a sleepy little town on the outskirts of the big city, far removed from the grime and bustle of Colombo. My grandparents lived in a large house opposite the Anglican church. It was a sprawling home with a tall roof and a spacious garden. Built of solid kabook stone, the house stood firm and dignified. A wide verandah faced north and west, welcoming both light and breeze. Painted magnolia yellow, the house glowed warmly in the sun. The front garden was alive with colour—rows of Cannas and Coleus bordered a circular patch of grass around a generous Jambu tree that bore fruit in abundance. The house was solid, simple, and unpretentious, much like its owners. My extended family of uncles, aunts and cousins all lived here where I enjoyed a sheltered and privileged existence. It still amazes me how we could all fit into that house. I loved this communal life as there was never a dull moment. The wooden inscription above the front door read "Doris Cottage 1930". We lived there happily together until 1952. In later years, whenever I returned, every room in Doris Cottage seemed to tell a story. Every picture, every piece of furniture carried the weight of memory. My grandparents had aged gracefully and their faces were marked by the joys and hardships of life. Though their movements had slowed, their love, humour, and warmth never faded. When they passed away, the house too seemed to die with them. Around 2012, Doris Cottage was demolished, and a large car park took its place. Today, the cottage of my childhood exists only in a quiet corner of my memory. It pains me to think of its lost beauty and of the people who once made it so special.

From 1952 to 1956, we lived in Gampaha. My parents had found a charming old house at No. 230, Colombo Road, just across from the General Hospital. Gampaha was the ancestral heartland of the Dias Bandaranaike family and Horagolla was only a stone’s throw away. In those days, Gampaha was home to prosperous middle-class landowners and their estates stretched endlessly across the countryside. Even into the 1960s, many still fancied themselves part of the British Empire, modelling their habits and manners after the English gentry. On Saturdays, the market in the centre of town came alive with a multitude of stalls, witch doctors and fortune tellers. It is a dramatic spectacle, if you can put up with monkeys and snakes.  That was the social fabric of Gampaha in the mid-twentieth century. The town’s only real distinction lay in its Botanical Gardens, where Ceylon’s first rubber tree was planted. Its gently undulating lawns, vivid hedges, and open vistas had long captivated visitors. I never went back to Gampaha or to that house again. Years later, a doctor purchased the property, tore down the old home, and built a two-storey surgery for his medical practice.

Despite the rigours of our nomadic life, our family had the privilege of seeing much of the country. From 1956 to 1958, we lived in Katunayake, where my father had the enviable task of “electrifying” the town. They say that moving house is as stressful as a divorce, yet our family, accustomed to having “no fixed abode”, managed to weather the emotions and upheavals remarkably well. In 1956, Katunayake was a small fishing hamlet, little more than a dot on the map just below Negombo. It felt a world away from the cares of modern life. The tropical heat and sea breeze seemed to lull its people into a state of pleasant torpor; no one was ever in a hurry. The town was a strong Methodist enclave, deeply shaped by its religious traditions. Two churches—Methodist and Anglican—served the small community, and Sundays saw nearly everyone gather for worship and spiritual sustenance. Katunayake was already known for its Royal Air Force Base and its small airport, called the “Aerodrome.” Built by the British in 1942, it had served as a vital supply point for their Far Eastern operations. By 1956, the base had been handed over to the Royal Ceylon Air Force. Our house stood beside the Colombo–Negombo road, its elegant front lawn leading up a few steps to the entrance. Behind it stretched a vast coconut plantation, reaching all the way to the lagoon. At the edge of the property lay the blue waters, bordered by mangroves with their pungent smell and bubbling black mud. From our lounge, the view of palm trees mirrored in the lagoon’s still water was simply breathtaking. Across the water lay the palm-fringed beach of Pitipana. The 3,000-hectare Negombo Lagoon was a treasure trove of fish, crabs, and prawns—sustaining hundreds of fishermen and feeding countless families. When I returned to Katunayake in 1995 and stayed at a nearby hotel, I tried to find my old haunts. But the landscape had changed beyond recognition, transformed by “progress and regress”. Our house, and those of our neighbours, had vanished—replaced by posh apartments, curio shops, and hotels.

In 1958, my father moved once again—this time to Kolonnawa, where we stayed until 1962. We settled at No. 3, Gunatilleke Road, an old house that had been renovated to give it a fresh look. The road itself was a gravel track that ended right at our doorstep. Along the edge of our property stood the tall perimeter fence of the Kolonnawa Oil Installation. For the next three years, we lived beside this potential time bomb—one spark away from disaster. In those days, we believed our elected government always knew best and acted in the people’s interest. Today, we view the world with far more scepticism. Gunatilleke Road began near the Kolonnawa cemetery, and we witnessed cremations and burials almost daily. Lamps flickered by the gravesides late into the night. At first, I was terrified to walk home after dark; even the faintest rustle would send me running. More than once, I sprinted the entire length of the road, much to the amusement of onlookers. I have never returned to Kolonnawa since, but I’m told that our old house has long been demolished, replaced by a block of modern apartments.

In 1962, my father was employed by the local government in Weligama. My parents lived on the outskirts of the town, some distance from the sea, along the Akuressa Road. On either side stretched paddy fields, banana groves, and palm trees, with a distant backdrop of purple mountains. Our newly built home stood on a hillside, surrounded by tall jak, breadfruit, and mango trees. It was an idyllic place, with a gravel path leading up to the house. In the evenings, we often visited the old Rest House by the sea—a beautiful spot at the edge of Weligama Bay. Its tall cylindrical columns and long verandas gave it a distinctly colonial charm. Many times, I sat on the rocks, watching the waves roll in. At sunset, the view was breathtaking as the fishing boats sailed out to sea, their shimmering lights appearing like stars scattered across the bay. In that tranquil paradise, heaven and earth seemed very close. When I returned to Weligama in 1995, the roads were no wider than before, but the number of vehicles had multiplied many times over, bringing with them noise and pollution. The Weligama I had known was unrecognisable. Familiar landmarks had vanished, and I found our former home only with great difficulty. The tall trees that once surrounded it were gone—perhaps turned into furniture in some plush Colombo hotel. The lovely gravel path had become a muddy track, scarred by lorries and bulldozers. Worse was yet to come. An old man sat on the steps of the house. He looked puzzled but greeted us kindly. The property had been bought by developers and left to decay. The front door creaked as I opened it, and my heart sank at the sight within: long cobwebs stretched from wall to wall, the wooden windows had rotted away, and cockroaches and mice had made the place their home. In some places, the roof had caved in, and the plaster had fallen from the rain-soaked walls. A sense of doom and desolation filled the air. As I walked from room to room, I felt a deep unease—haunted by memories of the laughter, life, and joy we had once known there. I said little as I left, heartbroken to see my home in ruins and my memories in tatters.

My father moved to Wattala in 1965, and we lived there until 1970. For a time, we stayed on Station Road before moving to a house next to the Urban Council in Wattala. It was a small but comfortable home. I was a medical student then and used to travel by train from Hunupitiya to Maradana with Razaque Ahamath and Bernard Randeniya. The trains were always crowded, and we rarely managed to find a seat. During my many visits to Sri Lanka in the new millennium, I’ve often searched for our old house in Wattala. However, the new highway has erased many familiar landmarks, and I’ve never been able to locate it. The locals tell me that our former home was demolished many years ago.

The final year examination hit us like a typhoon. As the dust settled I was making plans to move to the Kurunegala General Hospital for my internship. This was my time to fly the nest. By now I had lived comfortably at home for 25 years. It wasn’t any hardship to live by the rules set out by my parents. Thus far I have lead a sheltered existence protected from the storms of life. I distinctly recall the day I left home to take up my new job. I feel deeply regretful for the lack of feeling and sensitivity I had shown for the occasion. It never occurred to me to reflect on the 25 years of care, love and generosity. Casually I said " I am going". There was a brief moment of stillness and silence. I remember their glistening eyes when I waved my hand and stepped out of the house. They kept looking at me until I disappeared into the street.

My father retired in 1970 and lived for another twenty-five years before being called to his final rest. My mother carried on bravely, finding joy in the company of her grandchildren. Of course, there were moments of loneliness, boredom, and despair. At times, lying awake at night, memories of the past must have come back to her. We all hope that old age will not take away our dignity or independence. She remained cheerful, content, and remarkably resilient. Sadly, she passed away in 2009 at the age of eighty-seven. It was only after I had children of my own that I truly understood the sacrifices and dedication my parents had shown. I will always cherish their love and affection. May they rest in peace. 

LEAVING HOME TO RETURN HOME: Srianee Dias

LEAVING HOME TO RETURN HOME

Srianee Dias

What is the definition of Home? During the past few months, this question has been swirling in my mind, searching for answers.  

No doubt the place where one is raised, however humble, is always home. But often, with time, this home becomes a memory, and it is not possible to return. Is it always a place? A geographical location?

Home is also defined by the people who nurtured and protected us, as well as the childhood companions who populated our childhood. Some of us were lucky to have a few of these childhood friends accompany us all the way to adulthood.  I have been lucky that way.

       Several of us left these familiar places and our families to work in other distant lands.   We established roots, made new friends, and raised our families in these places, which in time became home to us. As our children grew we became involved in the overlapping circles of their lives and our lives. In my mind the home I raised my daughters gradually ceased to be “home” after they moved away and established homes of their own.

     After they moved out, I found myself rattling around in a rather large house, which required care and maintenance.  I found these chores took time away from the things I really enjoyed doing. This got me thinking and finally acting on “downsizing,” as many other wise people do, after retirement.  I began to taste the freedom of a simpler life and was able to escape the unpleasant, sometimes hazardous New England winters. 

    Spending the winter months in Sri Lanka got me thinking about what it would be like to move back, although it was still a remote possibility.  This idea kept cropping up in family conversations for many years until my younger daughter finally said, “Mom, you’ve been talking about moving back to Sri Lanka for a long time, what’s holding you back?” My thought was, “It’s a lot of work and planning, that’s what is holding me back!”  Her question, however,  prompted me to do some soul searching, working out the logistics, and finally, the hard work began.

     The hard reality was that my daughters lived far away from me, and in the event of an emergency, it would take more than 24 hours for either of them to reach me.  Thankfully, my siblings are still living in Colombo and the suburbs. In addition, I have a whole tribe of cousins, nieces and nephews, as well as many friends, some going back to my days in kindergarten!  I felt lucky to have such a supportive network.  Even though the places of my childhood had changed, not always for the better, many of the people who made it “Home” are still around, older and wiser.

     My friends in the US will be sorely missed, but thanks to WhatsApp, they are just a phone call away.  Visits are being planned, and it is possible that I will boost the tourist industry in Sri Lanka by a few decimal points!

  Aside from my friends, there are many things that I will miss about living here.  I will definitely miss being able to drive myself whenever I please to wherever I please.  The day I returned my leased car was a very sad day for me. Perhaps, at 81, it was time to turn in my car keys anyway. I know several older friends who only stopped driving after they had minor accidents - thankfully just “fender benders.”  So far, Kangaroo Cabs has worked out well for me.

  I will miss the small theatre that shows independent movies, where the lobby had artwork by local artists, where one could easily pop in alone to see a movie without feeling awkward.

    On the positive side, it is a great source of comfort to know that I have family members living just one floor below me in the same apartment building. If I hadn’t moved, I would be growing older, alone in Connecticut, and that thought is rather depressing!

     Yesterday, while enjoying the Indian Women’s Cricket Team's victory over the South Africans, I realised another benefit: I now have access to a lot of cricket on TV.  Something I did not have in Connecticut!