The deep shame of South Asia

Mobi-Babble

Noo arrived back from her trip home last night, looking extremely attractive in her figure hugging little jeans with strategic holes in all the right places and a cute white top. I had forgotten how pretty she is, and you know what they say about ‘absence and the heart’….

She must have been talking nonstop to her family from the moment she arrived in Nong Khai to the moment she left, as her voice has taken on a husky tone to it which is oh…so…sexy!

(And no. she never drinks)

While the ‘cat was away’, I confess to having a minor relapse in my whore-mongering activities, and for the past three days I have been making a few visits to my old haunts, and even the odd new one.

On a couple of the days it was actually difficult to find places to go to as the girls were either playing Songkran right outside their places of employment, (which would have meant me getting a soaking if I wanted to stop by), or, the bars were closed completely and the staff were all off having the time of their drunken lives in Pattaya city.

Of course it is always an exciting boost to the ego when some scantily clad, 20- something year old lets me paw her most delectable body parts and for her to place her own delicate fingers onto my nether regions; even more so when, as is my want, I have two of them, one either side of a grinning Mobi.

As I made myself at home in these disperputable dens of inequity, I couldn’t help contemplating that there are not many places left on this planet of ours where a man of my age can sit with beautiful, sexy young ladies a fraction of my age and have my wicked ways with them, all for the price of a lady’s drink or two, plus a small tip.

But like any kids in a perpetual sweet shop, the novelty and appetite for constant sexual stimulation eventually begins to wane. It has been a very long time since I had the desire to take any of these ladies into a backroom and indulge in hard-core sex, or even a BJ, and for the most part, I just enjoy the sexual titillation. Having two girls only adds to the fun, as we can all laugh and joke with each other and  apart from earning a few Baht, they too get a kick out of it all. There’s not too many farangs around who can indulge in banter with them in their own language, (Thai as well as a smattering of Issan), and it always proves a winner for me.

As I used to write in my more turbulent  days, many of these short-time bar girls are highly sexed and it doesn’t take much to get them going. In one bar, I had a very pretty and very sexy, slightly chubby young lady from Surin on my right, and a more demure, slim and even younger lady from Roi Et on my left.

The chubby one was one of those girls who just oozed raunch’ and it took her only few seconds to get her hands on my most prized possessions and insert her tongue so far down my throat, I thought it would never see the light of day again. I actually contemplated the notion that I might choke and die there and then in a paroxysm of ecstasy.

By contrast, the cute 20 year old on my left had only recently quit her job at a factory in Samut Prakan, and was wearing what I can only describe as a ‘rice pickers’ frock. Although very pretty, she was clearly out of her depth with a farang of my level of depravity.

Yet, incredibly, within a few minutes, once she had taken the lead from her more experienced partner in crime on my right, she was giggling and begging me to put my hand back to areas where only moments before she had pushed me away in shock.  Once she had lost her inhibitions, it transpired that she was even hornier than the raunchy one and when we finished readjusting her frumpy frock, we discovered that she had the most incredibly beautiful body.

In yet another bar I had another two gorgeous cuties in their early twenties to entertain me. As my regular readers will know, although I am a connoisseur of the entire Asian female anatomy, I do have a particular soft spot for ladies’ butts; and one of the ladies who sat down beside me had one of the most gorgeous butts I believe I have ever come across in my entire, dissipated life.

She was 24 years old, had quite a pretty face and she had a body – which was minimally covered by an extremely short, body- hugging purple, mini-dress – that most western women would die for. She had small, but pert, firm breasts, tight smooth skin with a slim waist, and a pair of gorgeous, perfectly proportioned legs, with thighs that any hot blooded male would be totally unable to resist keeping his hands off.

But her ‘piece de resistance’ by far was her perfectly formed, incredibly gorgeous derrière. It was large, but not too large, shaped like a half football, and she delighted in lifting her dress just high enough to display her most prized possession in all its glory and invite yours truly to have a little fondle. It was truly the ‘Butt of the Century‘; so tight and so faultless that if I had owned a surgical knife, I would have cut it off and taken it home with me.

Of course, I told her that I worshipped her incredible accoutrement, and after enquiring where I was from, she merely observed that it was always the Englishmen who raved about her butt. All I can say to that is that us ‘limeys or ‘poms’ must have very good taste…

So over the first two days of  Noo’s absence I had a few more close encounters of a similar kind, but on day three I decided that enough was enough and contented myself with joining a few friends at a bar on the lake for a chat and a catch up on gossip.

As on pevious occasions, I won’t now promise that I will never again indulge in such unsavoury activities; after all why should I? – It’s all pretty harmless, relatively innocent fun as far as I’m concerned, but I do feel that it is becoming more and more unlikely that I will slip again in the future.

Thai girls are always paranoid that their farang husbands/boyfriends who regularly patronise such places will one day find a girl who is better than the model that have at home and decide to trade her in. This is especially so when relations between them are not that good and particularly when the girl has turned into the ‘wife from hell’.

In my case, this will never happen. I have had so many Thai women through the years – have been married no less than 5 times – that at long last I know the right one when I find her. 

But I have no desire to hurt Noo or cause her to fret about my unsavoury activities.

In Noo, I have someone so wonderful, that no matter how much I may be tempted by some gorgeous, provocative siren at a local bar, I know with absolute certainty, that no one will ever match up to Noo in terms of having a loving, unselfish and non-confrontational personality, a caring disposition, and frankly, a great work ethic. She is the most energetic, hardworking lady I have ever met, and she always treats me with total respect and loving care. She is also very pretty, very sexy and great in bed. And I love her.

I ask you, what more could a recovering, degenerate alcoholic ask for in his dotage?

***

The deep shame of South Asia

 

What is it about the sub-continent that turns so many Indian and Pakistani men into utter monsters?

I am not talking about terrorists, or religious intolerance which may have spiralled out of control; no, I am talking purely and simply about man’s total inhumanity to their own, legally wedded wives, for no reason other than they had a ‘tiff’ or the ‘wife cherished her beauty too much’ or some other equally unacceptable excuse – like she had the temerity to ask for a divorce, or her family couldn’t meet her husbands dowry demands,or in many cases, for no apparent reason at all.

I am talking about horrific acid attacks on women which leave them with dreadful disfigurements and in unbelievable suffering from excruciating pain and psychological trauma for the rest of their lives.

One such woman was Fakhra Younas who went under the surgeon’s knife 38 times, hoping to repair the gruesome damage inflicted by a vengeful Pakistani man who had doused her face in acid a decade earlier, virtually melting her mouth, nose and ears. The painful medical marathon took place in Rome, a distant city that offered Fakhra refuge, the generosity of strangers and a modicum of healing.

Fakhra’s marriage to a prominent Pakistani had collapsed after three years, amid allegations of domestic violence, and she fled to her mother’s home. She was sleeping there in May 2000 when two men burst into the apartment; one cast a bottle of liquid over her face and chest. She struggled and screamed, but it was too late: the acid fused her lips, melted her breasts and destroyed one eye. During a three-month stay in a hospital, she came close to death.

She had two little holes for her nostrils, and her mouth was so melted that only a straw could fit in.

Pakistanis showed little interest in the case. Newspapers, even liberal ones, gave the story scant coverage. The government dragged its heels over issuing a passport to Fakhra, concerned that the case would hurt Pakistan’s image.

Fakhra went on the run, and was declared a fugitive in early 2002. But when the trial started a year later, after her husband had been caught and arrested, the case quickly crumbled. Although four witnesses testified to seeing him Fakhra’s home the night of the attack, all later retracted their statements. Earlier, they had complained of intimidation by her husband, but the judge paid little notice, and in December 2003 he dismissed the case.

Fakhra left for Rome with her son.There, over a decade, she slowly rebuilt her life. The Italian government granted her political asylum; the city authorities offered her an apartment; and a Milan cosmetics company paid for her surgery.

A plastic surgeon who led the work, said it was difficult at first “because her lower lip was attached to her torso, she had no neck, and her eyes were permanently open.” Complicating matters, she ignored postoperative advice. “She was so headstrong, so independent,” he said.

Still, things improved: by the 38th operation, in early 2011, Fakhra could move her mouth and one eye. Her once strikingly beautiful face, although still charred, had regained some of its shape. She had learned Italian, befriended local traders and co-written a memoir, “Il Volto Cancellato,” or “The Erased Face,” which brought in some income.

But the gruelling operations extracted a heavy physical and psychological toll and she always wanted to go home.” But a return to Pakistan was out of the question for Fakhra, partly for security reasons: friends worried that her life would be in danger.

But while Italian doctors worked on her facial scars, some wounds refused to close and on March 17, after a decade of pining for Pakistan, a country she loved even though its justice system had failed her terribly, Fakhra climbed to the sixth-floor balcony of her apartment building in the southern suburbs of Rome and jumped. She was reported to be 33 years old.

The man long accused of the attack on Fakhra  her ex-husband, Bilal Khar, who was acquitted at trial nine years ago, comes from a wealthy, powerful background. His family owns vast swaths of rich farmland in Punjab Province; his father is a former provincial governor and his first cousin is Pakistan’s foreign minister. In recent weeks, Mr. Khar appeared on television several times to defend his reputation. “My hands are clean,” he said during one broadcast.

The late Fakhra Younas

Acid is the preferred weapon of vindictive men against women accused of disloyalty or disobedience. Common in several South Asian countries, acid attacks in Pakistan grew sharply in number in 2011, to 150 from 65 in 2010, although some advocacy workers said the increase stemmed largely from better reporting.

Another victim, Shama, has been the subject of a recent Oscar-winning Pakistani documentary, ‘Saving Face’, which has put the crime under the spotlight.

Shama, a young mother of four, has just joined the ranks of Pakistani women doused in acid. She is scarred for life, with burns on 15% of her body. Her crime was her beauty.

“My husband and I often had arguments in the house,” she said, in her hospital bed. “On that day before going to sleep he said ‘you take too much pride in your beauty’. Then in the middle of the night he threw acid on me, and ran away.”

When her husband fled, he took her mobile phone with him, so she could not call for help.

Shama now lies in a ward of the burns unit in a hospital in Pakistan’s Punjab province. The hospital is a monument to neglect. The plaster is peeling off the walls and there is a leaking pipe hanging from the ceiling. When patients need transfusions, their relatives are despatched to buy pints of blood.

But the doctors here are expert at treating women disfigured by acid – they see one or two new victims every week. At morning rounds they gather at Shama’s bed, asking if she is eating, and is keeping her burns covered with cream. They try to relieve her pain, but cannot ease her despair.

“I feel pain at what I was, and what I have become,” she says, with tears coursing down her scorched cheeks. “All the colours have gone from my life. I feel like I’m a living corpse, even worse than a living corpse. I think I have no right to live.

“I can’t say anything about the future, maybe I won’t be alive. I will try – for my kids – to get back to how I was. I have to work to build a future for them. If I can’t I’ll do what one or two other girls have done.

“They killed themselves.”

 

Shama and her son, before…
Shama & son, after…
Shama alone, in pain and despair

***

In India, women belonging to any class, caste or creed and religion can be victims of this cruel form of violence and disfigurement; a premeditated crime intended to kill or maim her permanently and act as a lesson to put her in her place. Acid attacks on women who dare to refuse a man’s proposal of marriage or ask for a divorce are a common form of revenge. Acid is cheap and easily available and is the quickest way to destroy a woman’s life. Acid throwing is also used to enforce the caste system in modern India, where upper caste individuals often attack lower castes for supposedly violating the order.

The number of acid attacks has been rising in India and there have been 68 reported acid attacks in the state of Karnataka alone since 1999. Most of the female victims suffer more because of police apathy in dealing with cases of harassment as that of a safety issue as they refused to register a recent  case despite the victim being attacked thrice before meriting police aid after an acid attack.

It is estimated that over 50% of the women who suffer acid attacks on the sub-continent are under18 years of age, many as young as 12 years old.

I don’t know about you, but every time I look at the pictures of Shama and her son, it brings tears to my eyes.

Just what kind of world are we living in?

Anyone know?

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BUTT…BUTT…BUTT… I wish I didn’t give a hoot – but I do….