Honourable Peeker

[Review of Udayasiri Wickramaratne’s ‘Garu Kataanaayakathumani’ by Malinda Seneviratne]

The Sinhala equivalent of ‘Honourable Speaker’ is ‘Garu Kathaanaayakathumani,’ ‘thumani’ being an additional honorific. Udayasiri Wickramaratne’s popular play on parliamentary affairs or rather parliamentary banter is titled ‘Garu Kataanaayakathumani’. Note: ‘Kathaa’ would be stories/speeches and ‘Kataa’ a word coined from ‘kata’ or ‘mouth.’

Technically, the Sinhala term is more appropriate to the position. The Speaker, after all, rarely speaks. Kataanaayaka could be taken to mean ‘one who leads the speakers or speech-makers’ or ‘one who oversees all speeches/speakers.’ So, as I set out to review the latest version of the play, I had to figure out how Udayasiri’s play on the term could be captured in English. Technically, it had to be a word that drew from ‘mouth’ or ‘bad mouthing,’ but English is too poor or my vocabulary is limited to harvest the appropriate or twist the available. Kata (mouth) and Kathaa (speech) are similar whereas ‘mouth’ and ‘speech(es)’ are not. I can’t go with ‘speaker’ because that would rob the irreverent character of the title and, in general, the play. ‘Peeker’ seemed better because the character playing the Speaker didn’t have to do much apart from having a lazy, bored and indulgent peek at the proceedings unfolding before him.

The show at the Punchi Theatre on April 29, 2026 was my third viewing. I was at the maiden show, performed at the Lionel Wendt in 2019. This was in the midst or the aftermath of the parliamentary coup towards the end of that year where the then Speaker, Karu Jayasuriya, was in the thick of things at a moment when it was difficult to distinguish parliament from a circus. Key conversation-snippets had been scripted in. It was hilarious for other reasons as well, because the play touched on other issues that concerned the general public.

It is obviously easy to mine social media for comment and satire but weaving it all into a story is another matter. Udayasiri made it seamless and managed a nice mix of serious commentary and humour to keep the audience in fits of laughter and give people something to take home and think about as well.

 

‘Suddek oba amathai (A white man addresses you)’ was his debut play. That was in 2010. It was followed by Rangapaem Ivarai (Play-acting is done) in 2013, Pem Yuwalak Ona Kara Thibe (Wanted: a couple of lovers) in 2015, Thunsiya Heta Eka (Three Hundred and Sixty One) in 2017 and Harima Badu Thunak (Three Crazy Fellows) in 2023.  ‘Garu Kataanaayakathumani' (‘Kataanaayaka’ hereafter) took stage in the midst of the parliamentary coup of 2019. The right moment, obviously, given the political chaos.

I went for the maiden performance at the Lionel Wendt. It was a riot. The references to the political intrigue of that time was unmistakable. The dialogue was familiar and the satire certainly resonated with the general sentiments of the audience, going strictly by its response. All of that is easy, obviously. The challenge was to wring out serious political commentary from what politicians blurt out in and out of parliament.

Udayasiri was merciless. He treated all the politicians lampooned in the play and the parties they represented equally. No one was spared. The laughter it all generated indicated, to me, a general agreement with the critique that Udayasiri had written into the script. It was in fact a critique of politicians, parties, political culture and the entire political system which left us even more convinced that we, as citizens, are well and truly shortchanged or worse, absolutely irrelevant. At least in the period following the announcement of election results and the calling of the next election. Ours is a tiny window. We may feel a tad important but just for a few days every 5-6 years. At other times, we are victims of designs made in our name but for the benefit of cronies. At other times, we laugh, either privately or collectively in places like the Lionel Wendt, Lumbini or Punchi Theatre where the likes of Udayasiri make it alright for us to show those in power and aspiring to positions of power that we know what’s what.

 

‘Kataanaayaka’ has a format that is made for adjustment to changing times and political fortunes. It’s a dynamic script that is amenable to bold and extensive revision. Indeed, it allows players to ad lib too. Udayasiri claims that there are innumerable lines that he would be hearing for the first time. In such moments, he becomes part of the audience. He laughs with the rest of us.

The characters are named by way of address, but they so clearly resemble real politicians that no one can be faulted if the names we missed and moreover replaced with those of the particular individuals identified by the characters. It’s almost as if the onus is on the audience to figure out who is being played. It’s a no-brainer, really, for anyone who has even a cursory interest in local politics.

Ishara Wickramasinghe’s character, Wijayasena resembles former President, Ranil Wickremesinghe. There’s one character, Mahasena, who in appearance, voice and demeanour is a great Mahinda Rajapaksa and is played by Susanga Kahandawalaarachchi. There’s Jayasenathuma, who we are compelled to conclude is Maithripala Sirisena, and is played by Thilan Warnajith Wijesinghe. Sashika Diyamanatha Samare is an excellent stand-in for President Anura Kumara Dissanayake whose play-name is Janasena, while Sudarshana Bandara is recognisable as Wimal Weerawansa (Suriyasena). 

Prabodha Buddhipriya plays an excellent albeit quiet(er) Punchisena (Sajith Premadasa?). There’s also Sinhakumari played by Mihiri Priyangani (Geetha Kumarasinghe?) and Malkumari by Nayanathara De Silva (Hirunika Premachandra?).

The more boisterous of our parliamentarians have been rolled into a single character, played by Sanjeewa Dissanayake. This particular show, the 231st overall and closing on the 100th at the Punchi Theatre, had characters absent in earlier iterations. For example, the character played by Lasanduni Jayawardena, although she spoke sporadically, was ‘Pragnakumari,’ clearly crafted to represent the Prime Minister, Harini Amarasuriya, while Charuka Suraweera played an excellent ‘Aruchchuna.' Yes, it had to be him. Both, obviously, were not in Parliament in 2018.

Some of the jokes were old, some twisted old humour and then there was freshness too. On this occasion, compared to the two previous viewings, I was struck by the fact that people were laughing from beginning to end. I like to believe that some element of that response was the audience, myself included, laughing at itself, for suffering idiots, clowns, crooks, demagogues and agents of other countries and a particular class of people that is always spared the agonies suffered by the general public. Everyone laughed at all the jokes, regardless of who they may have voted for. It told me that we are, for all our faults, a society that is able to self-criticise.

We vote for someone or a party despite the obvious flaws. We pick the lesser evil of the moment. Very few swear by those they vote for. There’s always a bloc vote, but that’s dwindling. We may be called a fickle polity, but no, we are a polity that just refuses to be shackled to any particular person or party. We are loyal, but only to a point. Udayasiri reminded me of all that. After all, there were no boos or drop-dead silences when any character on stage made a fool of him/herself. The critique apparent in the banter and the cringe-worthy uttering of one politician or another, was legitimate and accepted as such.

Udayasiri’s plays, we have come to understand, are funny, sharp, insightful and musical. Literally. Lalith Wickramarathne, who is a music director, sound manager, percussionist and a Director at City FM, SLBC, added a lot of colour with the music arrangement. 

 

The songs or rather snippets of songs were certainly appropriate to the particular dramatic moment; there was one original (‘Chooti-chooti hil’ or ‘Tiny, tiny holes’) which has done the rounds since 2018 and therefore is not exactly unfamiliar. The other songs or segments were from popular artists. They were familiar, immediately understood to be appropriate and therefore appreciated.

The acting. The main characters were effectively portrayed. We didn’t see clones of known politicians, but the particular actors did justice to the characters drawn from the political firmament. There were quite a few minor characters. They didn’t get to speak much, but then the ‘way of parliamentary proceedings’ allowed Udayasiri to use their entrances and exits to bring in quite a number of ‘parliamentarians,’ on to the floor. They were good enough, but paucity of lines and minimal presence on stage coupled with strong performances from the main actors made such characters quite forgettable. Their stage-moment, nevertheless, was significant and relevant to the context.  Udayasiri’s script-in-flux made sure of it.

The Speaker or, the Honorable Keeper, played by Ruwan Malith Pieris, as is typical of the post, was mostly quiet. Of course, Pieris has had to ‘impersonate’ several ‘keepers’ since the play for first performed. There was not much to ‘keep’ for the script reigned in the unruly quickly enough.

Overall, the players were not debating a particular vote or piece of draft legislation. In this sense the play was not exactly ‘parliamentary.’  Parliament was merely a set wherein ‘parliamentarians’ did parliamentary things with words, gestures, expressions and movements that amounted to self-undressing that was equally hilarious and tragic as the undressing of one another.

I came out laughing to myself. What a parliament, what a country, what a citizenry, I told myself. We are a hilarious nation and since we can laugh at each other and ourselves, we will always have dignity and hope. Udayasiri says a lot of things. This too, I feel.