Ayiyoe! (අයියෝ) polishing brass was a pain worse than the midday sun beating down on your neck! Every week, I was armed with a tin of Brasso and a rag, rubbing those old pots till they gleamed like the eyes of the gods they sat beside. There were four or five of them, some fat and round like my mother’s cooking pots, others tall and thin like my grand uncle’s walking stick. They arrived with my aunt and uncle and took their place on the pedestals, silent witnesses to our family’s goings-on.
Outside, our dusty lane buzzed with life. Vendors peddled their wares on their trusty steeds — bicycles, foot-pedalled trishaws, even bullock carts. With his tinkling bell and khaki shorts, the bread man had a metal box overflowing with crusty loaves and soft buns. Kadayamma, our grandmother, always bought from him, remembering him from her days running a shop on Kandy Road.
Then there were the fish vendors, their cries of “Maloe, Maloe!” (මාලෝ මාලෝ) echoing through the air. Their wooden boxes held treasures from the sea — kingfish, prawns, all shimmering fresh. Sometimes, when a trip to the town centre wasn’t possible, their catch became our dinner.
The firewood vendors rumbled by in their bullock carts, laden with mountains of wood. Eight stones of firewood, a measure fit for a giant, promised warmth for our clay oven nights. Firewood was gold in our village, and their arrival was always a welcome sight.
Kerosene vendors, too, rode in on their carts, their red cow-driven browsers contrasting with the dusty earth. They sold the fuel that lit our lamps and stoves, a precious commodity in those days.
But bullock carts weren’t just for selling! Back then, before fancy cars became commonplace, they were our wheels. The rich folks might have had their thirikkales (තිරික්කලේ) and bakki karaththes, (බක්කි කරත්තෙ) sleek and comfortable. But for us, it was the humble barabage (බරබාගේ), pulled by our faithful bull, that carried our paddy from the fields. And when I visited my grandfather in Kadawatha, his proud bakki karaththe, with its basin-like seat, was my chariot. Even the school run, with other kids piled into a shared bakki karaththe, was an adventure on dusty roads.
Our lane wasn’t just a marketplace but a recycling centre, too! Folks with bicycles and carts would call out, offering to buy old newspapers, bottles, and anything they could reuse. It wasn’t just about money, though that was always welcome. It was about making the most of what we had, a lesson we learned without realising it.
Then there were the thorombal vendors (තොරොම්බොල් කාරයා), those magical men with boxes balanced on their heads. Inside, they had everything a housewife could desire — ribbons, buttons, needles, thread, even the occasional brassiere! They spoke Sinhala with a funny accent, these South Indian fellows, but their smiles were broad and their prices fair. Kadayamma would haggle with them, her eyes twinkling, and always come away with a treasure or two.
And let’s not forget the Chinese noodle man! His sun-baked face and rickety bicycle were a familiar sight. The box on his back held a secret — he made crispy egg noodles. My mother loved them in her stir-fries, and Kadayamma’s noodle soup was legendary.
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Those were the days, my friend! Our dusty lane was alive with sights, sounds, and smells. A world where brass pots gleamed, bullock carts rumbled, and vendors brought their magic to our doorstep. A time I wouldn’t trade for all the polished pots in the world!
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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