Being the eldest of two other siblings, I had some serious family responsibilities. When I turned ten, my father was posted to a remote town. I became the man of the house by stealth, albeit at that tender age. Our family was large, with two grandmothers living in our home. Running a large household was a big business in a village in Sri Lanka in the sixties. I helped my mother with many things in the household.
On weekends, I accompanied my mother to shopping, helping her carry the shopping bags. We went to the markets and clothing stores together. I was her travel companion in a country dominated by men. Probably, her guard.
I loved going to the Pettah market in Colombo with her. We took the trip, a ten-kilometre ride from our village, by bus. The groceries, fresh fruit, and vegetables from the main market in Sri Lanka were bound to be cheap than in the local town centre.
The Pettah market was busy with buyers, traders, go-betweens and workers. Dark-skinned bare-bodied men wearing knee-length sarongs shuttled up and down the streets with cargo on their shoulders. Some men pulled their long trolleys, overburdened with gunny bags of merchandise. Lorries plied the roads, bringing fresh produce from country towns in Sri Lanka. Slow bullock carts slowed the traffic movements on tight and narrow roads. Everyone jostled in the tiny spaces in massive mass movements.
The market had everything, groceries, fish, dry fish, vegetables, and fruits. Everyone haggled. Many men and women from all walks of life, city and village folks, roamed the narrow streets and tight passageways, picking vegetables and groceries. The strong mixed smells of fruit and vegetable with labourers’ sweat were heightened by the tropical heat in Sri Lanka.
For a small boy, watching the market was a lesson in commerce, both wholesale and retail.
Amongst these commotions, I helped my mother to carry the shopping, walking close to her on the narrow paths in the busy market.
My mother held my hand in case I lost my way as she jostled with the crowds, navigating the tight passageways among a myriad of humanity in this constricted market, where personal space was a novel idea.
An unforgettable thing happened one day. I was looking at toy cars at a vendor, as my mother was buying vegetables. I got carried away and drifted admiring the toy cars, a boy’s wonder.
After a few minutes, I looked around, searching for my mother, but I could not find her. I panicked. It was the fear of my life. I walked up and down to find her, but she was nowhere to be found. I thought of what I could do to go home alone, but I had no money.
My mother had instructed me to return to the last place in case I was lost. So, I stayed in the same area near the toy vendor, hoping my mother would turn up. I looked up and down everywhere, hoping to glimpse her or her saree.
To my absolute luck, my mother turned up after a few minutes. I felt it was a lifetime of waiting. She gave me a blast for not staying with her. She was red with anger. She nearly hit me that day, and I was lucky to escape her punishment. Nevertheless, I was happy that we found each other again. She must have seriously worried about losing her eldest boy.
As I was still reeling from my shock, my mother took me to a drinks stall. She bought me a cool falooda drink. It was the tastiest drink I had ever drunk after those few minutes of angst only a short while ago. Maybe, that was how my mother expressed her joy in finding her boy.
I learnt my life lesson and never drifted from my mother when we shopped from that day.
As I got older, I shopped alone for the family in my local town centre. My mother gave me ten rupees and a list of things I had to buy. My mother was always organised, with a list of things. She knew the likely prices of each item.
I visited the shops, fish stalls, vegetable stores, and groceries with her list. I learnt the art of negotiating prices with the vendors. Then, I rode my bicycle with a huge bag of groceries on its handle for the family.
I continued to help my mother into my teenage years, often shopping with her at the weekend markets in Colombo. I was bigger now, and I could carry a bigger load. I had earned her confidence so much that she could send me alone to Abdul Rehmans, a famous appliance store in Pettah, to buy our family’s first electric iron by the age of fifteen.
I loved being her helper and her proud shopping companion.
Cyril Stanley A story of gratitude — Denzil recalls a friend who looked out for him in his budding years in Sri Lanka Denzil Jayasinghe 11 min read · Aug 27, 2022 1 Give us a bit of background on how you met Cyril. It was the seventies in the sleepy village of Dalugama , my ancestral hometown, some ten kilometres from Colombo. With their flared bell bottoms and Afro-style hair, it was easy to notice Cyril and his younger brother Edward. I’d bump into the duo in the neighbourhood as I walked home after a day at college. A casual hello greeting turned into a conversation and an evolving friendship with the duo at an age when making friends was effortless. However, it was Cyril who reached out to me first. What did the brothers look like? C yril was a younger version of Smokey Robinson and his brother, Edward, a junior Lionel Richie but darker. Both had curly hair, grown long, copying the Afro-American idols of the seventies. Smokey Robinson, Cyril Stan...
A Child of Curiosity How inherent inquisitiveness became a key driver in learning experiences. Denzil Jayasinghe · B orn in the mid-20th century, I am a product of the post-World War II era. My parents, who were teenagers when the war commenced, married in the 1950s. As a representative of the baby boomer generation, I was born under the astrological sign of Capricorn, the tenth sign of the zodiac. My birth took place at Zoysa Nursing Home, a renowned institution in Colombo, Sri Lanka, around 5 in the morning. Sri Lanka, known for its tropical climate, is a beautiful island nation south of India. This climate appealed to me, and I sought similar weather in my twenties, spending them in Dubai, where the winter resembles an Australian summer. Raised by religious parents, I held them in deep affection. However, the church teachings posed a paradox for a young mind, instructing one to love God more than one’s parents. I initially adhered to the Ten Commandments and other societal norms in ...
20 quick-fire questions * If you could give your younger self one piece of advice, what would it be? Your life would not turn the way that you planned. It is OK to be naïve and stupidly young. What do you like doing in your spare time? Writing and reading. Both complement each other. What would you change your name to? My family's name is Jayasinghe. ජයසිංහ in Sinhala in the original script. Phonetically, it is pronounced Jaya-Sinha in Sri Lanka. But in English, through generations, it was spelt Jayasinghe, which sounds differently in English. I would change its spelling to Jaya-Sinha to align it with its original sound. Perhaps my grandkids in Australia could do it. What’s your favourite time of day? The morning hours. I am most productive in the mornings. What is your biggest weakness? I could get carried away with what I could be doing. Sometimes, I must pinch myself to stop what I am doing. What is your favourite colour? Green. Always from my kid days. Would you believe I had...
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