FROM RAGS TO RICHES_Storms, Sports & Spicy Sandwiches 1978 – December Downpour

Our first year at Hardy? An absolute blast.
We weren’t just surviving hostel life anymore — we were thriving. Mornings were for lectures, evenings for cricket and badminton duels, and nights for late-night guitar sessions that often ended in laugh-fits and occasional scolding from the warden.

We ruled the sports grounds — cricket, table tennis, badminton — you name it. Some of us even thought we were Hardy’s answer to Tony Greig. And when we finally earned the sacred title of seniors in 1978, we wore it with a quiet sense of mischief and a respectful nod to tradition (well, most of the time… despite the government’s growing restrictions on ragging). Let’s just say — traditions found a way.

Everything was going smoothly… until December 4th.

We were getting ready for the Traditional Almsgiving to honor the death anniversary of our founding legend, Prof. Hardy. Plans were underway, food prep was in motion, the kitchen was full of coconuts ready for grating — and then, boom.

Not a literal explosion — but pretty close.
A cyclone hit Ampara.

Winds roared through the town like angry spirits, reaching over 105 km/h. Trees bent like dancers in agony, tin roofs flew like frisbees, and rain hammered the earth without mercy.

The new buildings? Gone. Roofs were peeled off like sardine cans.
The old buildings — bless their colonial bones — stood firm like grumpy grandpas who’d seen worse.

The campus flooded fast. Within hours, it looked less like a technical institute and more like a marshy version of Venice. Power went out, and with it, our plans — no electricity meant no coconut grating, and no coconut meant no proper meals. We were stranded… and hungry.

So what did we do?

We feasted on 1/3 of a loaf of bread (yes, exactly that precise) with raw onions and green chillies. If that’s not a Sri Lankan survival meal, I don’t know what is. It was spicy, tear-inducing, and somehow… hilarious.

And because Hardy boys never let a good disaster go to waste, a few geniuses built banana trunk rafts and turned the flood into an amusement park. Shirtless and carefree, they paddled around like pirates — probably the only people in Ampara having fun that day.

Eventually, the Institute organized CTB buses to safely transport us back home, navigating whatever dry roads remained. We climbed aboard soaked, hungry, and slightly traumatized — but with stories that would last a lifetime.

That cyclone may have bent roofs and broke trees…
But Hardy spirit?
Unshakeable.

Ashoka Jayarathne

Agri(77/80)