ரோஸ்

நவ கொழும்ப கதாவ


"My friend, how do you like Sri Lankan girls?" he asks, showing off teeth as healthy as an old graveyard.

Girls are low on my to-do list, below avoiding a traffic accident and getting shot by one of those heavily armed soldiers nervously patrolling the streets following attacks by the Tamil Tigers.

It's past midnight and I've just dropped off my friend, Ana, who has explained to the driver, in Sinhalese, where I want to go, farewelling me with the words: "Don't pay more than 500 rupees."

But I tell him politely that, yes, his womenfolk are the prettiest I've ever met, just as you tell a parent that their baby is the cutest.

[snipped]

"My friend, you like?" he asks.

To his surprise, I turn down his offer, feign indignation and stomp out of the rickshaw.

"My friend, my friend, where do you go?" the driver calls, anxious not to lose his fare.

He has a point. I'm in a dark, deserted, strange city under military curfew and really don't want to attempt to explain to a young soldier why I've turned down a prostitute just hours before my flight home.

So I climb back in. The driver refrains from further discussion.

[snipped]

Full Text
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