There’s always a downside

I may or may not be the only one who’s had a life-changing experience because of my avowed profession. I have always been a teacher—almost always at the tertiary level. College teaching is a cake-walk for the professional, but getting there can also be tricky. School-teaching, on the other hand, seems more challenging, what with the preparation of notes of lessons, attendance issues, longer hours both on campus and away from it, fear—yes, fear—of having a bad day, of not being able to keep up, of peer pressure, of even the risk of losing one’s job. Part-time teachers and those on contract work are the most affected, for that sword of Damocles is ever-present, even with the pittance they usually receive as remuneration. It is my experience that School-teachers are the most exploited class of the so-called white-collar work-force, and that is because they have no representation at all—it’s simply a take-it-or-leave-it situation.

I, too, have had such an experience—vile, humiliating, sickening, revolting, almost unbearable, except for the fact that there was no way out. But I did find a way—I turned my anger, my pent-up frustration, into something creative, for it was at that time that I realized that I had a way with the WORD. I began to write, and because my words gelled together so seamlessly, I began to realize that there is always a way. I now have a number of books published, including The Nowhere Man (2022), which is available on Amazon for a throwaway price of Rs. 249/.

I also found a friend in those bleak times. She was sympathetic, mindful of my situation, encouraging and patient. She also was quite enthusiastic with regard to my writing, willingly reading my first drafts and expressing happiness when she thought something was particularly well-written.

I was able to keep my sanity, but only just; as soon as I felt I had managed to stabilize my finances, I took off, vowing never to be a slave again.

I poured out all my anguish in a poem; I’ll let you, dear reader, decide if I did a good job, not only in venting my anger, but also expressing the real hurt that was bottled up inside of me.

The House of the Middling Sun

Aka

The Ballad of Old Jossie

Its fame was known both far and wide,

The House of the Middling Sun;

Its fare being that which has been plied,

Since races with time were run.

The course was set, the stud did pay

The fee, for an hour or two.

The House was big, the rooms were gay,

They even offered a view.

Big Dad, he had a hundred names,

But he was known just by one;

Where e’er you went, there were end-games

Proclaiming Centurion.

He flew o’er land, he sailed o’er sea,

To get for his House a tart.

He ne’er did care about the fee

If she were pretty and smart.

The House was filled with tasty treats

Brought from the four-cornered earth.

Of white, of black, delicious eats,

The ‘Middling Sun’ had no dearth.

Big Dad, he had ambitious plans

In the land of the Humps Ahead;

He knew that the mind of ev’ry man’s

Fixed on a big double bed.

So he and partner, Messenger,

Scoured all of the neighb’ring lands

And roped in local brands of her

Who used all—mouth, legs, and hands.

The House, it had some glorious days,

The rooms were all filled with guests;

The owners thought of various ways

T’engage all of their love-nests.

It was much more than two could do,

They needed some hired help;

They interviewed the chosen few

And got for themselves a whelp.

The whelp, he managed ev’rything:

The rooms and the time and fee;

His drive for what the flesh could bring

Wronged Hamlet’s soliloquy.

The traffic could not be put down,

The House acquired a name,

So much that even Bobby Brown

Was finally put to shame.

But when the humpers had their fill,

The fare suddenly went stale;

It seemed a case of over-kill,

The House then started to fail.

Then came the man from Serendip

Whose name was something like Pearl?

He told Big Dad he’d make a trip

To fetch a cute Indian girl,

Or two, or three, if that the stake

Was such that he had a share;

He wanted two-thirds of the cake,

He thought that was fair and square.

He searched the Oriental land

For beauties to fit the bill;

He did not think it underhand

To lure them to the old mill.

He said he’d give one fifty bucks,

Another, a little less;

These two, they said: “Oh! What the fucks,

“We’ll go, we’re in some distress.”

The man called Pearl was sure the young

Were rarin’ to have a go;

He advertised and from far-flung

Places he built up his show.

When he returned to Humps Ahead

He found that he had a note

Which, when he read, discovered it said

She wanted to rock his boat.

The more the merrier, he thought,

He wrote to the She to come.

He didn’t feel like a pimp who’d bought

Three pairs of beautiful bum.

It was sweetness and light, at first;

The three little tarts were glad;

But in the course of the early burst

They knew that they had been had.

The first two felt that to pull out

Was better than going along;

They left in a huff. Pearl did shout

That they had destroyed his song.

The She, she had no choice but stay,

And stay she did for a while.

To all her customers she’d say:

“Hello”, with her custom-made smile.

She locked th’injustice in her breast,

Alone did she cry full sore;

Couldn’t prevent the heaving chest

Above her—she was a whore!

They came and came and came and came.

They parted her thighs full wide.

For young and old ‘twas just a game,

She gave ‘em a wondrous ride.

“For how long must I bear this cross?

“It’s very hard so to do.

“Forever? Because I am a pros...

“Bound by the turn of a screw?

“I’m pierced to the quick; it’s worse

“Than lances thrust in your side!

“Don’t you think it’s an awful curse

“When you’ve not a place to hide?

“I know my stuff; I even sing,

“It’s nat’ral, all women know.

“But can you tell me just one thing?

“Who was it first made us so?

“Where do I go when my sails furl?

“What happens when I have gone?

“Will Big Dad, Messenger, and Pearl

“Go get them one more pawn?

“Came I to this only because

“I’ve nothing between my legs?

“And when will they e’er change the laws

“To look after their own dregs?

“Enough! I’m done! I’ve made my speech,

“I’ve nothing more left to say.

“I hope my words ain’t like a beach:

“Mere sand on a sunny day.”

And so it goes, just as of old,

Since no-one can keep it down;

And men will always be so bold

To put jewels in a frown,

But at my back I sometimes hear

The bard of so long ago;

He said it out so loud and clear:

“Being born a woman’s, to know.”

Notes:

In Bahrain, speed-breakers on the roads are referred to as “Humps

Ahead”—significant and appropriate enough, because Bahrain was the

Bangkok of the Middle East long before the emergence of Dubai.

The name “Centurion” was chosen because the original means “a

hundred” in one language, but “light” in another.

The name “Messenger” was chosen because it is a rough translation of

a very common Arabic name.

She was the name of an English movie in which the actress Ursula

Andress tries, again and again, to get undressed.

If you don’t know “The Rolling Stones” and “Bobby Brown”, this poem

is not for you!