A Window on the Gates of Heaven

By Nihal D Amerasekera  

“Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage.”

Anais Nin

In the 20^th Century Paris was the centre of the bohemian G- spots in the world.

As the world ushers in the new year it has said goodbye to the most famous brothel keeper of  the last century. High society will mourn its best “Madame” who has served Royalty, Presidents, Prime Ministers and Ambassadors.  The  great and the good enjoyed her services provided with such vivacity, vigor and verve. She did everything possible to keep the customer satisfied but it came at a price. The service was discreet. Her list of clients had always remained a closely guarded secret.  She knew her regular runners and riders like the palm of her hand. Madame’s worn out diaries said it all.

Sex is an intoxicating desire which has mesmerized humans since the beginning of time.  The so called “houses of ill-repute” or bordellos have been a feature of towns and cities since Biblical times. Nowadays such houses are well regulated and suitably controlled. Those that are not remain a social disgrace and a danger to the clients and providers. They are abhorrent to the many who want the girls to be adequately protected from exploitation.

The Madame Duchenne chose her house of good repute with great care. The mansion with beautifully manicured lawns stood in the  shadow of the Eiffel tower just off the Boulevard San Michel in the plush quarter of  Paris. The 20^th Century décor in the waiting room was elegant. Canned classical music was played to calm the nerves.  A gentle sweet perfume wafted across the rooms into the foyer. Despite this some clients were seen pacing the corridors, patting their groins, waiting their turn.

The Madame chose her girls carefully. They had to be taller than 5ft9 to be able to fend off unreasonable requests single handed. There was a rigorous process of recruitment for the girls who had to strip naked. She complained looks can be deceptive. Some girls who were slim and pretty with the clothes on were a catastrophe when naked. Some successful candidates were advised to get plastic surgery for improvements to the nose, chin or the teeth.  Of course the girls had to pay for the surgery!!  When God doesn’t get it right the surgeon can.  The girls were trained in self defence, fake orgasm and how to navigate between sex, romance and everything else in between. It is considered an honour to be one of her girls and certainly a slur it was not. They were chatty, cheerful and convivial.  It is considered the finest sex operation in the history of mankind.

There was little competition for this fastidious convent educated girl who catered for the top end of the market. She introduced a telephone booking service and online credit card payments.  Her website merely showed the mythical gateway to heaven and how to book the journey. Members of the ruling political establishment and religious dignitaries were given a special discount. The Madame , who is a storehouse of information, said some lacked the staying power and it all finished even before they entered the room.  Some from the dark continent hit the sweet spot often enough to wild cheers. Those sexually effervescent clients from the Middle East who wanted that little bit extra paid a higher premium. There were first timers who tipped the girls generously to clear their conscience. One girl needed a posterior fornix repair after an “all nighter”, a well known occupational hazard. Radiologists say such work causes free gas to appear under the diaphragm on an erect abdominal X ray. Injuries that occur on the job were covered by insurance.

There were bouncers to protect her and the girls. Money flowed in as did the “tips” for those added extras. The rooms were specially designed and sound proofed to cut out the “oohs and the ahs”  and also the puffing and grunting.

As the “house” looks for a new Madame business is booming. Whatever the state of the economy and the stock markets, human desires take precedence over everything else. Many will salute the Madames of this world for the huge service they provide. As for Madame Duchenne let’s hope she found the Gates of Heaven which she so readily showed her clients for over half a century.

I write this piece tongue in cheek!!  It is not a glorification of the oldest profession and the bordellos but an acknowledgement of its survival. As long as human frailties and desires exist trade will flourish. It is my wish such encounters are between consenting adults and equal partners.

I wish the readers of our Blog a very happy, healthy and peaceful New Year. I hope my humble literary foreplay is sufficient to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh in the comfort of your own home.  Some may care to spare a thought for Madame Duchenne’s legacy in Boulevard San Michel.

Reunion of First Ruhuna Batch

E-mail from Sanath Lamabadusuriya. Dear Friends, Yesterday the medical graduates of the first Ruhuna batch who graduated in 1983, had a re-union and some of their teachers were invited, I delivered the attached presentation at the event. Kind regards, Sanath Tip from Speedy who also helped me to get Sanath's power point posted on the blog. For a running presentation, click on the "arrow triangle" or go one by one by clicking on the arrow to its right. You can even choose the slide by clicking on the little apex down arrow next to "Slide 1". If you want to run the presentation without overlap, you can just have the presentation only on the screen by clicking on the "show full screen" icon after the slide 1 = he one with four arrows diverging from the centre. This will give you a presentation on the screen and to get back to the Blog, just click on that area again.

SNOW - MY RELATIONSHIP WITH THE WHITE STUFF

By Srianee (Bunter) Dias

Don't worry, I don't have a drug problem!  I'm talking about about the wet white COLD stuff that descends on us in the northern part of the United States intermittently from November through March. I don't remember when I saw snow for the first time, but it was probably sometime in 1970 or 1971 shortly after I moved to New York City. It didn't have much of a impact on me, because at that time I was staying at home with my daughters and we were able to watch the very pretty snow flakes from inside our warm apartment, and enjoy the few inches that had accumulated on the ground after the snow storm was over.

After I moved to Connecticut, it was a different story. I was driving my children several miles to a Montessori School every morning, even though I lived within walking distance of the Hospital where I was doing my residency training in Pathology. When snow storms were predicted, there was palpable anxiety in our house. How many inches will accumulate? Will they close the schools? The school closings are usually announced on the local radio stations, and very often one wouldn't know for certain until the early morning announcements. We would watch the late night TV weathermen who loved to "hype" it up when a Nor'easter was coming from the south along the shore, picking up more and more moisture from the ocean. They would strut their stuff, predicting 10 or 20 inches.  It was almost a game to hit the target number. Sometimes the storms veered out to sea and left only a few inches on the ground.

I didn't care exactly how many inches accumulated on the ground, I just needed to know whether or not to line up a baby sitter for the next day.  Hospitals didn't close down, so we had to show up regardless of the weather.  Once, my colleague and I resorted to taking our three girls (all between the ages of 4 and 6) to work, and allowed them to amuse themselves in the conference room with art projects.  They survived!

Then I began to realize that other people were really enjoying themselves during the snow season, and started making day trips and weekend trips with my daughters, and sometimes friends, determined to learn skiing.  The kids got the hang of it in a very short time, but my first group  lesson resulted in my crashing into my instructor and taking him down with me.  Fortunately, neither one of us was hurt.  This first experience did not discourage me, and I made several other attempts to learn downhill skiing.  I succeeded in enjoying the experience a few times with a patient instructor, whenever the ski slope was not so crowded (mid-week) and the teenage hot-shots were all busy at school.  Finally, the rational side of me realized that there were better things to do than strapping on a pair of skis and uncomfortable boots and sliding down a mountain with the chilly wind blowing in my face and neck.  I found the perfect solution and stayed inside the ski lodge with a good book and a hot chocolate, by the fireplace, while my daughters had fun on the slopes.

I have also endured some major blizzards in the past.  The definition of a blizzard is when the snow comes down at a rapid rate with high winds and near zero visibility.  Luckily, most of these storms are predicted ahead of time, so most people dash in to the grocery stores to stock up in anticipation of several days of hibernation.  The stocks of bread and milk get depleted rapidly.  Most wise people stay at home during these fierce storms.  Driving on the roads during a blizzard means risking at least a "fender bender" or worse.   For those of us who work in hospital there is no choice; we have to get the work done.  Routine surgery is often cancelled, and those who can make it into work plan on staying the night.  Patients who are able to go home get discharged in order to accommodate hospital staff who have to stay overnight.  I have often camped out on the floor of my office on an air mattress rather than risk my life going home.  Then, there were other days when I braved the weather and the slick roads, and made it home, usually if I had the day off the next day!

One memorable blizzard was a surprise in early April.  My commute was usually about 20 minutes from hospital to home, but that day it took much longer. My department started emptying out early after we completed the urgent and most important work.  It was already Spring so some of us hadn't even worn our warm coats to work that morning.  Fortunately, my winter gear consisting of a blanket and shovel were still in my Honda Civic.  I headed home in a complete "white out" where I could not see the road at all.  The roadway and sidewalks were all  blended into one continuous snowdrift.  Fortunately, the route was very familiar and some of the barely recognizable buildings and the tail lights of the cars ahead of me guided me towards home.  Any hills or upgrades that one did not notice in clear weather were now like climbing an Alpine trail.  Other cars were getting stuck in the rapidly falling snow, now about 6 inches high on the ground.  My trusty 5 speed manual transmission kept me moving forward, although my car was barely clearing the snow.  Finally, got to an area where I couldn't see the edge of the road, went too close to the edge, and hit a snow bank where my Honda just got stuck.  I couldn't move forward or reverse.  I then got out with my shovel and began shoveling the snow away from under my car and around the wheels.  A few minutes later a Saab drove up and ended in the same predicament.  A guy in a suit got out (he had left his overcoat at home that morning) and asked if he could borrow my shovel, promising to help me after he dug his car out.  It didn't take him much time to clear the snow under his car and then he started working on my car.  After a few half hearted attempts, he mumbled something about waiting for help, handed the shovel back to me and drove off!  I was speechless, and couldn't retrieve swear words fast enough from my vocabulary to yell after him.  A few minutes later, a few good Samaritans, a bunch of teenagers in another Saab, armed with long handled shovels drove up and dug me out in a matter of minutes.  I was on the slippery road again.  Just near the turn off to my street where there was a hill, I got stuck again.  But, this time there were several guys on the side of the road who were lending a hand by pushing the cars up that hill.  I was truly grateful for all those kind people who got me home safely that evening.  And I also learned a lesson that day.  Never trust a guy in a suit!

At  Christmas time, the radio stations play songs such as "White Christmas" and "Winter Wonderland" which romanticize snow. Frankly, I don't see anything romantic or enchanting about snow.  After all these adventures, I now resort to avoidance by flying away to Sri Lanka for most of the winter.

Creative Spot by Zita (Perera) Subasinghe

Creative Spot by Mahendra (Speedy) Gonsakorale

Mevan Pitisere (Originally sung by Sunil Shanta)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vpm9QGzQ1Q8

English Translation provided by Vasantha  De Silva and his wife Kanthi.

Living in this poor little hut in a remote village 

You are my sweet loving wild flower

Away from you little princess, where is my pleasure

Wild flower, you are my loving dove

You are the light in my world of love

And I will forever be in your loving arms

Slender waist wrapped in a pink Saree

With a matching lace-top

Scented oil rubbed on your hair

With rings of jasmine buds around 

Will make you the most beautiful

Two delicate bracelets around your pretty wrists

And anklets around flower like feet

A red scented spot (Bindi) worn on mid forehead

Will make you pretty as Goddess Saraswathi

From Here to Eternity

By Nihal D. Amerasekera

When I qualified as a doctor in 1967 all I wanted was an easy life.  I wanted to be free of the stresses of examinations , to be far from the madding crowd and closer to nature.  My obvious choice was to be a DMO. After 2 years as an MO/OPD in Kurunegala I applied to become a Medical Officer of the Peripheral Unit in Bingiriya which had fallen vacant.  Bingiriya was a small, serene and peaceful town at the edge of the dry zone.  Chilaw with its bounty of fish. crabs and lobsters was just 10 miles away. The peripheral unit had its own doctors quarters. It was a small quaint hospital with a garden full of mango and jak trees. I waited with bated breath for my official confirmation but when it arrived, I had the shock of my life. I’ve been  transferred to the Central Blood Bank in Colombo with immediate effect.

These movements of doctors often in a four yearly cycle were euphemistically called transfers. In my recollection half a century ago, there were many  thousands of these transfers arranged by the Head Office. The Director was unable to do it all by himself and the work was delegated to a clerk who was quite knowledgeable and had done it for many years before. Some of it was done like shuffling a pack of cards and where you were posted depended on your luck. Occasionally what mattered was whom you knew. It makes me humble to think my entire professional future finally depended on a random selection at the Head Office.

The Central Blood Bank (CBB) was at the GHC site.  It was on the left when you enter the hospital from Kynsey Road. It had a modern façade but within it was an old house. Many warned me this was a dead end job.  I was quite prepared to while away my time and enjoy life in the capital. The CBB was an autocratic setup with Dr Percy Gunawardene as the boss. The doctors and other staff were happy and the Blood Bank was run with precision and efficiency. The doctors went on trips to collect Blood from all corners of Sri Lanka except Jaffna and Trincomalee. I saw the country on government expense.

Being in Colombo had its pleasures. Many of my medical and school friends were still around in town ready  for a good social life. We frequented the bars and eating houses.  Health Department Sports Club was a popular watering hole. After a couple of years I got tired of this hazy, lazy, crazy life. For the first time they planned to hold the MRCP Part I examination in Colombo in 1973. The faculty library was next door to the CBB. I worked hard to pass the examination. This changed my life forever.

It was now the early 1970’s. The country has been through a bloody insurrection in 1971. Our coffers were empty with constant government reminders to tighten our belts. There were import restrictions and occasional food shortages.  It was then the dark clouds of ethnic strife appeared on the horizon.  It was rather ominous but these never bothered me as much as my desire to complete my professional qualifications. I remember the well oiled and endless circular discussions I’ve had with my doctor friends whether to leave or stay.

I left Sri Lanka to complete my MRCP which I did 18 months after arriving in London.  The bright lights and the personal freedom was a great distraction but commonsense prevailed. The rest including my desire to follow a career in radiology is now history. As always, I will continue to call this turn of events that lead me to leave the country, as the awesome force of destiny.

Encounter with a Palm Reader

By Sanath Lamabadusuriya

 

In late 1971, few months before I left home for studies abroad, I decided to visit a palmist named Kingsley Goonethilaka who had an office in Ratmalana. I parked my car (Triumph Herald ) some distance away and walked into his office with long hair, a beard, unbuttoned shirt and in slippers (That was the year of the first JVP insurrection). I paid Rs.10.00 for the consultation. He applied Indian ink on my palm and got a palm print on to a paper .He  asked me what my job was and I replied that I was a bank clerk. Then he  told me that I have to be some one more than a bank clerk and if I wanted an accurate reading, I have to be honest. When I told him that I was a doctor, he told me that I have to be doing something more than treating patients, like teaching or research (I was a lecturer in paediatrics at that time). He told me some things about my past which were true, but off the mark by about an year. Then he told me that I would be travelling abroad very soon and that I would return home few years later as a single person. He told me that I would get married to a girl known to my family. I had no idea who Buddhika was at that time.

I returned home on the 1st of January 1975. In February 1976, I married Buddhika. It was an arranged marriage;(both  our fathers were related to each other and were from the same village  (Pahalagoda in Tangalle). He also told me that I would become a professor before my 40th birthday. At that time, it was most unlikely because both Priyani Soysa and Herbert Aponso were due to retire in the early 1990's after reaching their 65th birthday (I would have been in my late forties by then). 

During the latter stages of Sirima B's government, speeches were made in parliament by opposition MPs like Gamini Dissanayake that they would do away with standardisation at the "A"level examination if they come to power. With the landslide victory in 1977, they had to honour  their pledges. When standardisation was abolished, it was discovered that a disproportionate number of Tamil students would have to be admitted. That would have been political dynamite. Therefore, they decided to admit a similar number of Sinhalese students. To accommodate the increased intake, two new faculties were created in Ruhuna and in Jaffna.

The professors post in Ruhuna was advertised in late 1978 and I applied for it. I was appointed in April 1980 and I assumed duties on the 1st of September 1980 when I was provided with two interns. (I was 37 years old at that time).

So my friends, two predictions made by a palm reader for a meagre fee of Rs.10.00 was proved to be accurate several years later!