• Of course, governments are the biggest conners. 2022 saw the collapse of the greatest con ever practised on us, a lie about a promised land that 6.9 million so willingly believed
• I’m familiar with people pushing motorbikes and even three-wheelers, running out of fuel. This has been a common sight since last year, but no one has ever asked for money
• People are desperate for money and do all kinds of cons. I have a feeling he may be collecting money to buy that expensive headlamp. I can only cursemyself for my own stupidity. But it was a defining moment 

Conning people is an old art, and didn’t start with the pandemic, or Gota’s economic miracle which put most of us from the frying pan into the fire.Even in pre-2021 better times, all kinds
of cons were practised on people. 
One smart young guy in a tie had appeared down our lane long ago when it wasn’t a highway but a simple gravel road. 
He had collected money from several households, claiming that he was from the Road Development Authority, which had plans to macadamize the lane. But householders would have to foot part of the bill, and he was there to collect the money.
Believe it or not, almost everybody who was somebody there happily contributed. The young man took Rs. 25,000 and vanished. Fortunately, I wasn’t there at the time. I had no great wish to see a macadam road, but I may have felt compelled to contribute too, as everyone else was doing so.

Of course, governments are the biggest conners. 2022 saw the collapse of the greatest con ever practised on us, a lie about a promised land that 6.9 million so willingly believed. Not me. I am proud to raise my hand and say I didn’t vote for anyone.
As for the macadam, the then government lied again when this lane was expanded into a two-lane highway. All householders were invited to the Urban Development Authority to meet the minister in charge, who said this was part of a massive project that would link the new road to a proposed highway. Everyone signed happily (not me, I was the only absentee).
That was another big con. What they did was to demolish the Food Department bakery dating back to pre-WWII years, confiscate the land to build two blocks of 400 super luxury flats for government bigwigs and their friends, and the road went nowhere beyond drug-infested
Magazine Road.
Enough of government lies. Now it’s time for the small fry to shine again. People with stalled bikes asking for money is one con I had experienced on the road long before our new status, one of the poorest nations in the world. Though I go out on my dog and cat feeding rounds every night, I haven’t met any conmen with stalled bikes for a long time, which amazed me given the tempo of the times.
Don’t hold your breath. Last night, it was drizzling when I went out on my feeding rounds as usual. It was almost eleven, and I saw a young man pushing a motorbike along Kynsey Road. He was waving at motorists to stop, but no one stopped.
I asked him what was wrong. He said he was going home to Kaduwela and ran out of fuel. The distance according to Google is 16.2 km via AB10 and Avissawella Rd/Orugodawatte -Ambatale Rd/B435. 

That’s half a litre of petrol or less, but at that point, I couldn’t remember the exact distance. He said he needed a litre of petrol. I told him I didn’t have so much money and was about to leave. But he began pleading. I told him he could leave the bike in my place and sleep in the garage (trusting type, that’s me) but he said he had to get home.
I’m familiar with people pushing motorbikes and even three-wheelers, running out of fuel. This has been a common sight since last year, but no one has ever asked for money. Pre-pandemic, I came across several such cases.  A few said they had no money. I would always give Rs. 100 or 200, no big deal back then. They would promise to return it, but I knew this would never happen and never worried about it. I think these were genuine cases. Once I came across a conman, but I saw the ruse.
But a litre of petrol now costs a lot. On the other hand, this guy was in trouble, so I gave him Rs. 500. As he had talked about returning it, I expected him to get my phone number. Instead, he thanked me and walked to the yard of what looked like a fashionable clothes store and began to pee, in true Sri Lankan fashion. It was then that I began to have my doubts about his story.
It was an upmarket Indian sports bike. I noticed the broken headlamp glass. I asked him what his job was. He said he had returned home from a job abroad.

There are two petrol stations to the left of the road. But he began pushing the bike towards Kynsey Road junction. I asked him why, and he said someone had told him both places were out of fuel. This was impossible. I told him to try the first station as it was about 200 meters away.
He said he’d rather go to the Town Hall petrol station. As I began to look dubious, he pressed on the self-starter to show the bike didn’t start. He said he had ordered a new headlight from the company, but it would take time.
He began pushing in the other direction. I began to wish that Rs. 500 note was back in my pocket. I went to feed a solitary dog near the Ceylon Today offices at Rosmead Place. When I got back, this guy was still on Kynsey Road, talking to a motorcyclist.
He didn’t see me approaching, and I heard the other biker tell him: “If you have a bottle, I can give you
some petrol.”
This guy now recognized me and asked with a big grin if I didn’t have a bottle.
I told the other biker I’d already given this guy Rs. 500 and he, too, shouldn’t get conned. He gave me a thumbs-up and rode away.
I told the conman the shortest way to the Town Hall petrol station was through Rosmead Place. He stood there with a big grin and as if he didn’t know. I told him to go to hell and rode away. I could have asked to look at his petrol tank. I have a feeling he may have disconnected his battery wires to show the bike wouldn’t start. But it was very late and raining harder now, and he could have pulled a knife on me.

People are desperate for money and do all kinds of cons. I have a feeling he may be collecting money to buy that expensive headlamp. I can only curse myself for my own stupidity. But it was a defining moment. In these desperate times, we have to look at priorities. My priority is to feed these strays for as long as I can. Things are getting harder, and I’m very short of money myself. With Rs. 500, I can buy a lot of meat for the dogs or a kilo of herrings for cats. I have decided never to stop again for bikers who ask for help. That is no longer a priority, and it’s hard to tell the genuine apart from the cons. If someone hungry asks me for a meal, I will not walk away, but I will keep my own priorities in focus from now on.