Why would I remember you, when I’m illegal and you’re legal?

It was somewhere around 2001, I was a 21 year old boy, who was trying to study for two degrees, one a Bachelor of Science in Management Information Systems at the NIBM (National Institute of Business Management), Sri Lanka in affiliation with National University of Ireland, and another Bachelor of Science at the UOC (University of Colombo), Sri Lanka.

I had already come out to my parents, my sister was now in Australia, studying for her Master’s in Business Information Technology, at RMIT University, Australia.

I had a target to loose weight. So I had created a habit of staying back after lectures at NIBM, re-write my notes, so that I study and remember what was taught that day, walk to Royal College Swimming Pool, swim forty to fifty laps, walk near the Route #177 bus stop in front of St. Bridget’s Convent, catch a bus and head home.

One such day, I was waiting for the bus, wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, carrying my back pack. There was only one more guy at the bus stop, he was kind of good looking, and was flirting with me. Since it was dark, and it was already late, I stood quite a distance away from him, but eyed him a couple of times. That’s when a Police Jeep stopped in front of him, and asked him to get into the Jeep saying in my native language:

නගිනවා, නගිනවා, ජීප් එකට

I already started to shake. I didn’t see this boy do anything wrong, but he was arrested. Then they stopped in front of me. The officer in the front passenger seat asked me what I was doing in my native language:

මොකද කළුවරේ කරන්නෙ?

in a tone that was unmistakably insulting and the officer who was driving and a couple of other officers in the back seat was giggling and throwing insults at me. After I explained myself, and said I had gone for a swim and waiting for my bus, the driver asked me “Oh, you can swim as well?” in my native language:

ආආආආ… ඔයාට පීනන්නත් පුලුවන් ද?

Once again in a unmistakable insulting tone and all officers were laughing. Then, I decided to pullout my ID cards, instead of NIBM ID card, I decided to provide my UOC ID card, knowing police didn’t really want to mess much with anyone from a Government University.

That saved me that day, as among the insults I heard one of the officers saying to let me go, in my native language:

ඔකාව යවන්න, ඔකාව යවන්න!

They left, but I was shaking, my legs weren’t moving. I wasn’t sure what I did wrong, but I almost got arrested, and I knew being gay was illegal in Sri Lanka. But then again, I wasn’t doing anything. Once I got in the bus, I called one of my friends, who was also a lawyer. He was scolding me for waiting at that specific bus stop saying it’s infamous for male and female prostitutes, and boys who wanted to be picked up just for sex. He also continued to say, I had a narrow escape, as the police usually put you in the Jeep, never take you to the police station, gang rape you one at a time while the Jeep is circling around the city, and take all the money you have. That was the last day I went to that bus stop. I decided to walk to Kollupitiya, where the route #177 bus starts.

Another time, I was travelling to Kollupitiya, in route #177 bus. A fellow passenger, a really cute guy in track pants, and singlet, who appeared to be after hockey practice, was openly flirting with me, and decided to sit next to me and talk to me. He had a full smile, and said I had a cute smile, etc. I heard all the right things I wished to hear, and he was holding my hand, brushing against me. He smelled like a boy after sports practice, which I liked. It would have been about a year since I met my ex-boyfriend last, with whom I still was madly in love with, but trying to move on. This guy, also got off at Kollupitiya, and suggested to have something to eat from Indo Ceylon, Kollupitiya. I was over the moon, no one in the recent past was this nice to me, and also offering a meal. It was like a date. He paid for the Dosai and Wadai, and asked whether I like to come to his room, in my native language:

මල්ලි, අපි යමු මගේ බෝඩිමට

I was nervous, and scared, but he was so nice, he is holding my hand, looking into my eyes. His lips looked nice, and it’s been a while since someone was treating me this way, last time was my boyfriend. So I agreed. He took me down a lane, very close to Indo Ceylon, towards the beach, and we were entering a multi-story building, and I saw police personnel. I was shaking once again, what have I got myself into. He noticed this and said not to be scared, and he has his private room, in my native language:

බය වෙන්න එපා මල්ලි, මගේ කාමරේට යමු.

It was the Police Hostal, Kollupitiya, Sri Lanka. I wanted to run, but I was scared. I didn’t know what to do next, other than follow him.

Once we went near his room, I saw a lot of other boys, they were all going




and I wanted to run back home. But he promised me it’s ok. We went to his room and he shut the door behind him. He treated me nice, but didn’t let me kiss him, and it was more about pleasing him, and nothing for me. I wasn’t enjoying this, but knowing the mess I was in, I opted to proceed with what ever. He finished his business in no time, and he got into a skimpy towel and open the door, outside the door was a dozen or so guys, pushing one another trying to come into the room. And one walked in, while the Ayya (elder brother) who brought me there walked out. The door got closed, there was no permission, I was turned around and he did what he wanted. It hurt like hell. Off he finished, out he went another walked in. His male organ was so large, and I have never seen anything that large. My boyfriend was not dissimilar to me in size, and I hadn’t seen many since his. So this appeared to be huge. I’m sure I would have said it’s too big, but he didn’t care, it was showed in. I was crying, it didn’t stop him. I can’t remember how many more guys walked in and did it, I was crying, asking for that other “Ayya” (elder brother) who brought me here. No one seemed to care, they were fighting outside the room about who goes in next. Then came someone nice, who probably was a lot more gay that the others. He was kissing me, etc, but the last thing on my mind was sex, although that’s all I was getting. He wanted me to stop crying and “engage” with what we were doing, so he heard my request, he brought in the “Ayya” who brought me there. But he was sitting watching the show, while this dude was doing what ever he wanted. In the corner of my eye, I saw the previously nice “Ayya”, now going through my bag, and wallet, taking out my money. Once it was over, I begged him to let me go. He gave my empty wallet back. After me crying and begging, he gave just enough money for the bus. I guess, I ended up paying for the Dosai and Wadey!!! I cried all the way home. I couldn’t really tell anyone except to my best friend and my lawyer friend. Once again, it was my fault for being stupid. It was illegal to be gay, so nothing could be done, or so I thought.

Another time, about two years from then, I was well accustomed to Sri Lankan men. Nobody was gay, but most men, at least eighty percent, got their dick hard for a boy. Some only took, some were okay to touch, some were ok to return the favour but no kissing, some kissed, and so forth. But most men was ok to fuck a boy.

I had my first car by now, I had a date with a guy from University of Peradeniya. We drove in my car near Parliament Grounds, down Japanese Friendship road. It was raining, and dark. There were many cars parked. It was common knowledge that they were couples. We were kissing and fondling each other. That’s when a light shone on my face. It was two policemen in bicycles. They claimed they were from Koswatta Police Station. We got off the car pulling our pants up. One Cop took me to one side, while the other took my friend. My Cop was cute, and by now I had a thing for police uniform. But as usual, I was shaking in fear. My Cop was openly stroking his dick, from outside his pants, and asked me what can we do about it in my native language:

දැන් ඉතිං අපි මොකද මේකට කරන්නේ?

I pretended I didn’t understand him, and to cut a long story short, I had to give him all the money I had in my wallet, and my friend had to give all his. We were released, and my friend now had no money to go back home, so I pulled more money out of a Sampath Bank ATM, and gave him however much he wanted. We didn’t get back to our business, I dropped him in a bus, and we never saw each other again.

There are more incidents with police, and Sri Lankan “straight men”. But I feel too sick to write about them as this would involve bringing out Buddhist Monks, Catholic Priests, Family Friends, and so much more. I may decide to write it one day, but for now, I’ve had enough self-pity. Although justifiable, I don’t choose to wallow in it. I guess, I should pat myself on the back, as although I may not be financially stable, and have a house or two that is owned by the bank, I have sufficiently stood up for myself emotionally. I may not have someone who loves me, but I know how to love, when I’m at the giving end. I feel so blessed to have a mother to Molly Coddle me, even at the age of thirty seven, as she probably is proud of who I am emotionally.

Yesterday, one of my friends had to tell me how unfair it was that I have managed to forget the country I was born in, Sri Lanka, when I claimed I’m Australian, and raised the Australian flag for Australia Day!

Trust me my friend, it was a piece of cake to forget this fucked up, hypocritical nation, Sri Lanka, and it’s good for nothing people!!!

Why would I remember you, when I’m illegal and you’re legal?

– Nim –


  1. Ended up here while googling what the university ID card looks like. First of all, I’m so sorry you had to go through so much. It was horrifying to read. This is a prime example for why I get mad about people who don’t support LGBTQ rights. I understand that it might not align with some people’s personal or religious ideals but at the end of the day, with stories like yours being the norm here, offering legal protection to the LGBTQ community is more a human rights issue than anything else.
    And you hit the nail on the head when you said Sri Lankan men aren’t gay (or insist they aren’t and that being gay is disgusting) but want to sleep with boys. The most homophobic, transphobic men here are also the most likely to want to rape or assault gay men, boys and transmen.
    This is definitely among the most graphic stories about LGBTQ experiences in Sri Lanka and I’m sad to say it seems to be a shared experience among so many in the community. Kudos to your parents and family members for being open-minded and supportive


    1. Thank you Meghan… It’s been a while since I wrote this article…. At the time, all I had was anger and a sudden irruption of memories that were safely locked and hidden after migrating to Australia. My first holiday back to the country after 7 years seems to have triggered some hidden stories which I felt like sharing.

      The sad part is, the negative wiring we each own now because of these experiences and how much effort is required to untangle one’s self from them.

      Thank you for your support and stopping by.


    1. Of course I’m ok. I cried a bit today after writing this, which is probably good, as I didn’t know I had it in me to cry for it. But it has made me stronger, all these made me a strong person, and who I am. Writing soothed me, but more importantly, I’m trying to do my part, so younger generations, don’t have to suffer like me.

      Thanks for your concern. 💛💜💙💚❤

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.