ON a soft-dawn morning, I found myself ankle-deep in the briny embrace of the Indian Ocean, cameras in hand, along the defiantly picturesque Galle coastline in Sri Lanka. Here, the stilt fishermen that the country is famous for perform their daily aquatic ballet. These artisans of the sea balance on fragile wooden stilts that anchor them just above the froth of the waves — spectral silhouettes against the sprawling ocean canvas. This scene is quintessentially Sri Lankan — unrefined, unabashed, where the wind-tossed coconut palms flirt with the boundaries of land and water. I was staying at the Sri Lankan Diva, a villa whose architectural grace is a tribute to the legendary Geoffrey Bawa. Nestled in a verdant nook of Galle, this beautifully crafted retreat embodies the elegant, open-air spatial dynamics that Bawa championed — the perfect respite for contemplation and a spectacular vantage point from which to plan my early morning forays into photography. For those born of this soil, the sight is a moving testament to the ceaseless dance of survival and tradition. The coast, with its jagged rocks and whispering sands, serves both as witness and participant in a daily ritual that has withstood the merciless march of time. Each fisherman, a solitary sentinel perched upon his stilt, is armed only with a rod and an inherited patience, casting for the modest yet vital harvest of spotted herring and silver sardines — destined for the vibrant chaos of a Sri Lankan kitchen. In the culinary theatres of the south, these humble fish are transformed into the bold flavours that define the island’s palate. Imagine the sharp tang of ambul thiyal, where spotted herring swims in a tart bath of turmeric and freshly squeezed coconut milk, or the explosive crunch of fried, dried fish that crowns a simple meal of rice and dhal, elevating it to an art form. Hovering above with my drone, the coastline unravelled in breathtaking cinematic sweeps — each frame a story of contrasts and perseverance. From this vantage, the fishermen were but dots in an immense azure, their stanchions casting long, slender shadows that sliced through the morning shimmer. This is a landscape marred by past tragedies, notably the ruthless tsunami of 2004, which tried to erase centuries of tradition. Yet, like their forebears, today’s fishermen returned, their stilts replanted as symbols of resilience. These men are custodians of an ancient pact between man and sea. As the day broke fully, it painted their lined faces with the light of a thousand sunrises, their hands textured by decades of salt and struggle. In Sri Lanka, our heritage is not just inherited; it is actively preserved, fiercely loved, ceaselessly fought for. Packing up, the coastline lingered in my lens and my heart, each image captured a testament to the enduring spirit of my people. Sri Lanka’s shores are narratives of resilience, where every salt-kissed dish and weathered face tells of an island defiant in its beauty and vibrant in its culture. In these photographs, I hope to convey not just the aesthetics of a place, but the profound saga of survival and pride. This is the Sri Lanka I know, the Sri Lanka I honour, and the Sri Lanka I love-a land where the deep-seated traditions and flavours are as enduring as the vast ocean itself.