A lad’s passion for his fashion watch in turbulent settings
Itwas the time of my life. I was less than twenty years old and in a job that paid for my leisure. It was a time of dance parties, music shows and weekend trips. I had at least two dozen close friends I could call upon for anything. Unfortunately, I was part of two gangs. Not street gangs, but they could rise to a confrontation if challenged. These were the years when one would do anything for a friend, even risking your safety. I lent my friends money, sometimes knowing they would not return it. Everyone borrowed each other’s clothes to go to parties.
There was not a lad I did not know from my home village, adjoining hometown and youth groups in the local church. I was on a crusade, discovering friends. I knew at least four hundred acquittances in my area. They were the pre-Facebook days when you did talk to people as you passed them.
Lucky me, I got a scooter, courtesy of my father. The only deal was that I had to pay for its maintenance. I had no driving license and rode my scooter everywhere without one. The scooter was white, but I painted it dark green to stand out. It was an unusual colour, my brand. Nobody wore a helmet back in the day when road safety was a distant vision, but I got one through a friend. Wearing a helmet when nobody wore one was my fashion statement to stand out. Not the safety aspect of it. Only police officers wore helmets at the time. Traffic police officers did not stop me, thinking that I was the son of a police chief. Why bother to get a license when you could get away with it? I was too naive to get one.
Having a scooter in the mid-70s was like owning a cabriolet now. Girls notice you; boys want to follow you. Everyone wants to become your friend. Each of my friends was only in one gang; being in a gang came with a lot of loyalty to the ring. I managed to be in two teams at the same time. I had learnt to diversify early on.
Denzil, on the right, the rider sitting on my green coloured scooter, is one of my friends. My T-shirt logo was “Property of Playboy Dept”.
Jim Kelly was a famous African American movie actor and the US Kung Fu champion. He was an icon and had a large fan following. He was fashionable and had Afro hair, a trend in the seventies. A lad in our hometown aped him; we called him Jim Kelly. The local Jim Kelly grew his curly hair and dressed like the actor. Whenever I met local Jim Kelly on the road, we greeted each other. I dropped him on the scooter to the town centre. Jim Kelly was an acquittance, one of the four hundred.
Jim Kelly was a US actor and a youth fashion icon in the 1970s.
In the seventies, watches became bold in design, big and colourful. Lads wore them with pride, showing off. I desperately wanted one. Modern watches were rare in Sri Lanka, a country with limited imports. There was a high demand for smuggled watches at inflated prices. Sacrificing a month's pay, I bought an on-trend watch with a purple face. It was a big deal and became one of my prized possessions. I became the envy (in a good way) among my friends. Many could not afford an exclusive watch and chose to admire mine. As a generous society, we shared possessions, losses, joys and sorrows. So, without hesitation, they often asked to try my watch on their wrists. I’d happily remove it and allow them to enjoy a moment of bliss and imagination. They’d wear it, admiring their wrists for a few minutes and return it.
I was riding along the main street leading to town. Local Jim Kelly was walking in his usual attire, swinging bell bottoms with afro hair and a beaming smile. I stopped to chat and say hello. Jim Kelly asked me whether I could take him to the local university to meet a friend. I gave him a lift on the pillion and dropped him near the entrance to the university. He then asked whether he could wear my watch to try it out. I willingly gave it to him, and he tried it on. Wearing my watch, he told me that he had a friend up the hill, behind the university and that he needed to see him for five minutes. Trusting soul, I was, I agreed. Jim Kelly left me sitting on the scooter and went looking for his friend.
I waited for five minutes; there was no sign of Jim Kelly. A few more minutes went by, and there was no Jim Kelly. Ten minutes went by, and I started to panic. Fifteen minutes later, I knew that I had been cheated. I waited for another few minutes. Again, there was no sight of Jim Kelly.
I drove around the university and surrounding areas looking for vanishing Jim Kelly. No sign of the cheat. It dawned on me that Jim Kelly had tricked me into stealing my watch, misusing my trust and camaraderie. I was furious about the abuse of trust.
Give me a crisis, and I take it head-on. I wanted my watch back, whatever the cost or pain. I did not want to be cheated. I felt attacked. My anger at being taken a fool was hard to control. I determined that I would spend the same money I spent to buy the watch to get it back. I was on a mission to recover my beloved watch at any cost.
I drove to the main junction and looked for my street-smart friends from my extended network. I met two good friends, Shirley and Merril and told them my plight. They were not afraid to take on any challenge for a good friend. We figured out a plan to find Jim Kelly. Merril got on my scooter; we drove straight away towards Jim Kelly’s home. Within a short time, Merril and I were at the house where he lived with his sister, thanks to helpful directions from friendly neighbours.
Jim Kelly was away. Merril, street-smart, led the probe with Jim Kelly’s sister asking questions. I rode to the local police station and complained about my theft. Police officers promptly recorded the complaint and advised me to bring him in if I caught him.
We went back to Jim Kelly’s home again the next day. He was not back. Jim Kelly was absconding, knowing that I was waiting for him. Merril got his mother’s home address from his sister. Merril and I rode to that town some distance away and found his mother. Jim Kelly was not there either. We came back empty-handed.
In the meantime, my other friend Shirley notified lads in the surrounding areas of the theft. Everyone was angry about the cheating in the guise of a friendship. They were on the lookout for Jim Kelly to right my loss. But there needed to be a clue where this elusive thief was.
Shirley and Merril got a few potential leads. I rode everywhere with Merril, following them. But no luck finding the cheat, despite burning a lot of petrol on the road. I learnt that Jim Kelly’s sister was the mistress of a well-known local underworld character. But who cared?; I wanted my watch back. It was my sole mission.
Merril is in the middle with a ciggy.
A week went by. There was no sighting of Jim Kelly. I was losing hope of ever getting my watch back. I missed it. My left wrist looked empty. I felt naked and lonely without it.
A few days later, I was on a bus after work. Lo and behold! Inside the bus seated was Jim Kelly, my catch. The bus was full. Jim Kelly had no clue that I was on the bus behind him. I planned to apprehend him as I came closer to the police station. To control him single-handedly was going to take a lot of work. It was my challenge now.
I was looking for any familiar faces on the bus. There was none. It was an afternoon when the schools closed. At the bus stop near St Joseph’s College, a bunch of schoolboys in white uniforms got onto the bus. Keith Bocks, from my hometown, was among them that got on the bus. Keith and I were good friends, despite our age gap of a few short years.
It was customary to approach your friends on bus journeys and chat. Keith came near me, smiling. He already knew about the theft of my watch. I whispered to him the culprit was on the bus, and we conspired on a plan to apprehend him. He, young as he was, was brave and agreed instantly without a second thought. We both hatched our plan to seize Jim Kelly and produce him at the police station before he could exit the bus.
Keith Bocks in his heyday
Keith stood guard at the front exit of the bus, and I guarded the back door in case Jim Kelly tried to get out. As the bus headed in our home direction, it became empty. Coordinating our actions, Keith and I pounced on Jim Kelly and sat on either side of him, locking him in the middle with no chance of escape. Jim Kelly had all kinds of excuses for his disappearance with my watch. But I had no patience for a cheat. We forced Jim Kelly out of the bus when the bus stopped near the police station. With tight grips, Keith, “the schoolboy”, and I escorted him to the police station, where my complaint had been lodged a few days ago.
At the police station, police constables took Jim Kelly into custody. They threatened him with imprisonment unless he admitted theft and returned the watch. On interrogation, Jim Kelly confessed to the cops that he had sold my watch to a pawn shop in Colombo. The cops escorted Jim Kelly into a police jeep to travel to the pawnshop to retrieve the watch. Keith and I got into the jeep, and it raced towards the pawnshop in Colombo. The cops raided the pawnshop and scared the owner with arrest for concealing stolen goods if he did not return my watch. In great fear and shivering, the shop owner returned my beloved watch to the police officers.
When the jeep returned to the police station, the police officers got off first. When Jim Kelly got off the jeep, one of the police officers gave a thundering kick to Jim Kelly with his boot. He chased him, and Jim Kelly ran for his life. The policemen then advised me that it was futile to go to the courts and prove the theft now that I got my watch back. Returning my watch to me, he said that was it. I did not care what happened to Jim Kelly; I had my beloved watch back. That’s all I wanted. Justice was for another day.
It was a moment of pure joy when I held it in my hand again. I did not end up spending a month’s pay getting it back, but I did put in my effort with a lot of it from my friends, including bravery. I was so happy to wear it again, my beloved watch. I was in seventh heaven.
My diversity of friends, one who was still a young boy and the other a street-smart operator, came together in my time of need. Both did not think twice about helping a distressed friend.
Merril spent a lot of time on the road, riding to all corners with me and used his wit to help me. Though he failed, he put in the effort and sacrificed much of his time. I bought him a bottle of booze and a packet of cigarettes in gratitude on my next pay.
Me on the left with a bottle in hand, Merril on the left, lighting a cigarette for Leonard. The guy next to Leonard, Anil was stabbed to death by a rogue after I left Sri Lanka.
It was my first and only citizen arrest. It was of Keith’s, too, as a schoolboy, a rare feat. He should have been awarded a Governor General’s medal for bravery. He was too young for booze or cigarettes. After he turned eighteen, I did make up for the delay.
You may be inquisitive to know where the characters of this story are today in 2022.
Keith Bocks followed me to Dubai a few years later. After a long spell in Dubai, he and his wife migrated to Australia and now live happily in Perth. A few years after this episode, I ended up marrying his cousin. Keith was the messenger during our courting days. Keith continues to be close to me and is a kind uncle to my kids, who dearly love him.
Merril died in a motorcycle accident in his twenties. It happened in my hometown in a period when widespread use of helmets was not common. I was in Dubai when he perished. A genuine, street-smart friend from an improvised family.
Shirley lived his life to the full and on the road, picking up flights when confronted. He left Sri Lanka in the seventies, crossing into India and found his way into Europe. He worked as a sailor. He surprised me with an unannounced visit to Dubai when I was working there. He returned to Sri Lanka in his thirties but died from a road accident in Sri Lanka. His son, whom I have since met, is a mirror image of Shirley.
I have no idea where Jim Kelly is today. His famous ‘brother-in-law’, Gonawela Sunil, became Sri Lanka’s most feared gangster and criminal. A few years later, he had strong political connections. Eventually, his violent actions caught up with him, and he faced a violent death. Nobody mourned for him except for some of his political masters in the ruling clique in Sri Lanka. I had no notion that I was dealing, and the subsequent confrontation was with a close associate and a relative of a serious and dangerous criminal.
The centrepiece of this story, my beloved purple watch, is carefully preserved for posterity by one of my daughters. For her, the watch symbolises the legacy of the fearless pursuit of justice she has inherited.
The watch, 46 years after it was found again now stored in Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia
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