Aluth Avurudu Reflections: A Call for Unity and Renewal – By Malsha – eLanka
As another Sinhala and Tamil New Year dawns, I find myself reflecting deeply rather than celebrating. Living far from our beloved Sri Lanka, one of the greatest sacrifices many of us have made is missing out on the vibrant cultural festivals that once shaped our lives. Among them, the Sinhala and Tamil New Year stands tall—not only as a joyful celebration but as a powerful symbol of unity among all Sri Lankans.
Memories of my childhood in Godagama, a village just two miles from Matara, come rushing back. It was a mosaic of small hamlets nestled among paddy fields, shimmering after a fruitful harvest—before the Nilwala flood protection scheme changed that landscape forever. I remember the simple joys: playing traditional games with friends, wearing new clothes in the auspicious colours, and sharing kiribath made from freshly harvested Ma Wee rice, paired with cadju curry, seeni sambol, and sweet treats like kevum, kokis, asmee, aluwa, along with kolikuttu, anamalu, and my favourite—mangoes.
This year, however, I am in a more contemplative state of mind. The recent passing of my beloved wife Primrose has left an emptiness that celebration cannot fill. My thoughts drift to a greater question: why, despite sharing so much—including this very New Year—have we not found a lasting unity?
I recall a conversation during the dark days of July 1983. My dear friend Dr Dennis Aloysius once asked, “Upul, don’t you have good Tamil friends?” I still remember the puzzled look on his face when I said, “No,” and the smile that followed when I added, “I have a few very good friends—and some of them happen to be Tamil.” Friendship, after all, is not about race, religion, or caste—it’s about connection and shared values.
My professional journey, too, reflects this truth. In 1967, as I walked toward Primrose’s house from the Kirulapone bus halt, Prof Ajwad Macan Marker kindly offered me a place in his Department of Medicine in Kandy. Later, I was offered a senior post under Prof T. Varagunam, who kept the position open for two years—though bureaucratic barriers prevented me from accepting it, ironically, due to a Sinhala Buddhist professor. Eventually, I joined Dr N. J. Wallooppillai in the Cardiac Investigation Unit, where I succeeded him as Cardiologist. Many of my juniors were Tamil—and during the height of unrest, they graciously offered to escort me to and from Jaffna, simply because I had expressed my regret at never having visited.
We coexisted, worked side by side, and built mutual respect in our professional lives. So why can’t this unity extend beyond hospital walls and boardrooms?
The answer lies, unfortunately, with politicians—both at home and abroad. In countries like the UK and Canada, vote-bank politics fuels divisions that hinder reconciliation. Self-serving politicians exploit our differences to further their ambitions. Despite the defeat of the LTTE, remnants of that ideology persist, now wielded politically rather than violently, enabled by foreign actors and opportunistic local leaders.
Yet, there is a flicker of hope. The recent emergence of the NPP government—however uncertain its footing—was brought to power by a cross-section of voters from all communities. This moment is significant. It’s a rare convergence of trust, hope, and collective will. Rather than endlessly probing the past, perhaps it is time we draw a line in the sand and focus on the future.
Let us make unity our Avurudu resolution.
Given the economic turmoil inflicted by global forces and exacerbated by years of mismanagement, we are left with little room for division. Now, more than ever, we need to come together—not just in ritual, but in purpose. Let us honour the spirit of Avurudu by renewing our commitment to each other and to our Motherland.
A more prosperous, united Sri Lanka is within our reach—if only we choose it together.
