Hooker on a Bus

Sunday evening 8pm, I got on a bus at Bamba and promptly planted myself on the only seat available. More people filed in after me and when it was considerably packed with people standing in the aisle, the bus groaned awake and rumbled up the road.

Less than five minutes later, typical of Sri Lankan public transport, the bus hauled in at another halt to allow more people to squeeze in. A few people scrambled in and weaved through sea of bodies. Just as the new commuters had become one with the mass inside the bus, packed like a can of SPAM, starting from the entrance the sea of people parted neatly to make a clear path for the last incomer. Half expecting to see Moses emerge, I was a bit disappointed when instead a petite woman strolled in with an air of nonchalance about her. At first glance my mind alerted “Oooooh a prostitute.”

I’ve never actually seen a sex worker before but from what I’ve been told and what I’ve read in books, she had all the signs of a prostitute. She was wearing a short, worn out, blue cotton dress printed with a huge floral pattern, the straps of her bra were hanging off her shoulders, and around her waist she had a tattered white belt that didn’t really serve any purpose considering she was wearing a dress.

She had also accessorised with lots of cheap jewellery- a thick bracelet of pink beads and dangling earrings of red and green beads. But what was strange was the bottom bits of plastic bottle caps that she had attached to her hair-band that held her mangled, frizzy brunette hair in a bundle. Although the most telling sign might have been the bright magenta lipstick that was smeared on her lips, either that or the fact that people were leaning way from her in such a way you’d think she were a leper.

What got me thinking twice about her being a prostitute was that she looked extremely old. Her dark skin was dry and wrinkled. Even her cheeks had heavy furrows of wrinkles that sagged down to her chin. I’d say she was in her 50’s, if I had to guess. But then again, maybe she’s much younger because being a sex worker must zap the life out of you.

She stationed herself beside the seat in front of me just as the bus grunted and began to move. The mother and daughter seated there were squirming in their seat and crouching away from her as if she had an invisible force field around her that repelled them.

I couldn’t help feeling bad that people were behaving the way they were. It’s just not right. So what if she is a sex worker? Who are we to judge her? She’s obviously got it tough as it is, she doesn’t need people reacting merely to her presence as if she were something foul that the cat had dragged in.

Just imagine being in her shoes. Imagine making a living of allowing men have their way with you and then whenever you step out into the street people scurry away from you or/and stare at you from a safe distance. Even the bus conductor used a rough tone with her. Treated like a pariah, being a prostitute must be the worst and most lonely way to earn a living.

As much as I wanted to observe her a bit more (I found the strange old woman to be quite fascinating), I didn’t want to add to the general discomfort she must have been feeling while all eyes were on her, I averted my sight onto the passing buildings across the road. Although I think she seemed rather accustomed to how the people around her were reacting. Like I said earlier, she had an air of nonchalance about her. She didn’t really care. She seemed forcedly oblivious to how people were reacting towards her. To me it looked as if she’d programmed herself to tune out everything around her. In fact she didn’t show any emotion whatsoever, it was like she was on autopilot.

But then about 10 minutes later, everyone had gotten over the initial shock of being in the bus with a sex worker and returned to spacing out, with the glazed zombie look in their eyes as they waited to reach home. All except for the pair crouched in the seat beside her. At this point the daughter, who was seated by the shutter had her arm around her mother, pulling her away from the little woman who was so tired, her head was bobbing as she was falling asleep while on her feet.

At the next bus halt the person beside me vacated his spot and shimmied his way off the bus. I shifted to the side and the little old woman slid into the space beside me and rested her head on the window. She smelt musty. I can’t quite describe the smell. But the best I can say is that it was a sort of stuffy, old, musty smell that hung around her.

I got a few curious looks, people seemed surprised that I didn’t mind her sitting next to me. But then I guess they were all just too tired and soon got bored of the whole thing. Except of course for the mother and daughter seated in front of me. They would repeatedly turn around like wind-up toys to gape at her and look at me with wide-eyed disbelief like I had done something scandalous.

I guess the whole experience for me was a wee bit of an eye-opener to the harsh reality of the world.

Besides that I’ve always been a bit disappointed that I’ve never had any eventful bus rides. So this easily makes it as the most interesting bus katha I have to share- the strange old hooker.

Whacking the Media

The WhacksteR: Don’t just stand there! I’m being oppressed by the government, damn it! DO SOMETHING!

Just scribbled this before my editor could get glimpse at what I was up to. The cartoon is my response to some cross firing comments on one of The WhacksteR’s many blogs.

The post – Sri Lanka Media Epic Fail

(Before I proceed I must warn you of the desultory nature of this post. It’d be easier to follow if you read The WhacksteR’s post first)

I’m not going to point out the flaws of his reasoning in this post ’cause I believe Pissu Perera and I have effectively done so in our comments. And I’ve no intention of reproducing that argument here.

However, I will respond to his last comment in which he states-

“I am not talking about journalists individually you see, i am talking about the media as an entity, just like the government is an entity. And equal chance for these entities to do their jobs in a democracy is not at all apparent. The media needs to reassert itself. It has a responsibility to do so“.

Fact is, both the government and the media (including several other institutions) cannot be judged as an entity. There a lot of nitty-gritty that makes it impossible to do that. If we were to take the media, there are the government media establishments and the private establishments. These are two very different types of media. The very purpose of their being contradicts each other. So how can you group them together and judge them as an entity?

Also, according to The WhacksteR, “sometimes half a media is worse than none. And a cowed and controlled one is the worse we can ask for“.

I agree that a ‘controlled media’ is a terrible thing and I’d choose ‘no media’ over it any day. I can’t say the same for ‘half a media is worse than none’.

In the imperfect world that we live in somethings can’t be changed. Sacrifices have to be made. The Whackster’s view of ‘media’ is idealistic. Not just in Sri Lanka but across the world.

Government media is nothing more than propaganda so we’ll brush them aside for now. Private media organisations are chiefly controlled by advertisers. While this may not seem as potent on the face of it, depending on the advertiser it certainly can compromise reporting (eg. reporting on Shell gas, laufs or IOC).

So private media organisations world over have to work within the constraints of advertising. Revenue is made solely from advertising. Reporting unfavourably about advertisers will result in advertisers pulling out, rendering the organisation bankrupt and it will consequently have to close down.

Yes, this is terribly twisted and that’s why we encourage blogging and other means of reporting that do not require large sums of money to keep that hamster running.

However the world, let alone Sri Lanka, is not that technologically advanced for blogs to reach as many people as newspapers, and tv and radio broadcasts. So at this point of time we don’t have an option but to work within these constraints.

Of course, The Whackster seems to believe that if the media is going to work within these constraints we might as well do away with it. To which I ask, how will that help?

At least now you are aware of most of what’s happening around you and you can make educated decisions. If we were to do away with the media you wouldn’t have even known about what Dayan Jayathileke said.

Lastly as for him saying “‘What the media (in Sri Lanka) is up against’ is not the issue here.”

What the media in Sri Lanka is up against is very relevant. Take away their pens and the journalists are people, with families and lives of their own that they are putting at risk for you. This is what the cartoon is about. You’ve got the government suppressing the media on one end and on the other people lambasting them for being cautious about putting their lives at risk.

In response to the fundamental subject of his post, there’s a lot to consider before pointing at the media as a whole or even the private media exclusively and yelling “Lame-duck! Lame-duck!”.

Love or Lust?

Disclaimer: The reference of ‘love’ in this post is in the context of an inamorato/ inamorata. Not love for your parents, kids, siblings, friends, etc.

At the risk of having an angry mob hunt me down and them subjecting me to a tiresome harangue about how wrong I am, I’d say it’s all lust. Since the time matrimonial rituals were of cavemen bludgeoning the object of their affection over the head and dragging her back to their cave/home, love has been confused with lust.

Then again, I believe the emotion we have termed “love” (refer disclaimer) has been conjured up by some sadistic individual. I don’t think it’s natural or innate. After quite a bit of deliberation I’ve concluded that it’s a synthetic emotion that with the brainwashing of the media, we are beguiled into believing it’s genuine.

Often I find myself consoling love burned friends. And more often than not these hopeless, broken friends happen to be guys! I’ve thus come to the conclusion that men are more faint of heart when it comes to the myth of love. It’s amazing really! I’ve heard it all, from “she’s the one!” to  “I’ll never love anyone more than I love her, for all of eternity!”…

At which point I want to just grab them by the shoulders and shake some sense into them!

My cynical opinion could have been developed while consoling these cupid damned souls. Being the person consoling them, I’ve found myself looking at this sort of love objectively.

Also, it’s only fair that it be known I’m more emotionally detached than the average person. There have been a countless number of times when people, including my friends and even my mom, have told me that I’m not the sort of person who’s ruled by my heart.

When faced with a problem, I tend to step back, analyze it and come up with the best possible solution. How I feel about it or how others may feel about it is irrelevant, ’cause everyone/ everything will be as right as rain when the solution is put into effect (and it always is).

Here’s a bit of what my heart-broken guy friends are going through-

* Friend One tends to fall hard. When he falls in love with someone, his “love” becomes engraved in stone. He’ll love all his crushes and ex’s till his dying day. He’s also the guy who believes that there is only one girl for him. And even though she’s just cruel to him AND it’s been years since they were together, he is still madly in love with her. (Where’s the logic in that?)

* Friend Two falls in (and not necessarily out of) love with a new girl every two minutes. His feelings are always intense, the “I can’t survive without her” sort. Would you believe there’s ALWAYS some complication in hooking up with the girl.

* Friend Three is your regular badass- sex, drugs and rock and roll. He loves his weed and booze, and he smokes like a chimney. He says he was a saint before, it was love that had driven him towards the afore mentioned. According to him “one innocent” girl who broke his heart is to be blamed for his addictions.

Those are the three main types, other friends (including the girls) are mixes of the three.

I love my friends to bits so you can imagine how infuriating it is to see them hurt and depressed. Especially when it’s pain inflicted on themselves for something ridiculous as being in love. It isn’t surprising why I’m cynical about love, is it?

If you think things through and not give into your heart so easily, you wouldn’t find yourself in these situations. It’s all pretty simple really.

And come on, there are more important things in life than having a main squeeze! Love is nothing more than a mythical construct designed by a sadistic caveman, and has been exploited by the media since menhirs were used for advertising. Wake up and smell the deceit!

Scary Prospect

Born during the war, all I’ve ever known is of Sri Lanka being at arms. While the end of the war is epical, it still seems a bit surreal. For me, it’s still to sink in.

I’m getting there though. The way the country is celebrating who wouldn’t be convinced. We’ve got a thunderous explosion of crackers every five minutes that make the walls shudder and plaster from the ceiling pepper on your head.

Stepping outside your nostrils are assaulted by the smell of magnesium hovering thick in the air, you can’t miss the pavements littered with bits of paper, and of course the flags and the posters of the President in a brotherly embrace of Gothabaya, at every turn.

While this is a blithesome time for Sri Lanka, you can’t help but think about how things will unfold from here. Ruminating on the present situation, the grim prospect (that reared its head ever since the odds were in favour of the army) became that irksome bit of fiber stuck between your teeth. Unfortunately, there’s no mental equal to floss that can dislodge a thought.

The scary prospect is of a leader who is revered to the point where he’d be able to get away with anything…

Yes, winning the war is monumental in the panorama of Sri Lankan history, but what’s crucial now is the proper rebuilding of the country. How that comes about is pivotal in the shaping of the future of the island.

We’re in a country, in which at the recent elections people voted for the present regime predominantly because of the war. They called it the “war vote”. What seems to have flown right past them is the fact that it was a “provincial” election. There was no way their vote could have had an impact on the ensuing war, especially while the battle was about won.

What about a balance in power? The idea of the island in the firm fist of a single party is bit frightful. You can bet they’d be able to get away with corruption of the most atrocious degree, and the people would be so blinded by them routing the terrorist that they will probably condone their corrupt ways for years to come.

It’s a sealed, done deal. All we can hope for is that the present regime doesn’t get carried away with the unlimited power they’ve acquired and actually put the country before their needs.

Purgatory of the Hypocrites

After much deliberation I decided to revamp my old Blogspot blog. Deleting my old post, it is now a blog exclusively for my poetry.

Not that I write much poetry… it seems a bit of a waste now

Well anyway, here’s one of my poems Purgatory of the Hypocrites.