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Reading Dr. Granville Fernando's article "When Colombo was lit by gas lamps" which appeared in a recent 'Daily News', I recalled so many other aspects of life which have been blown away by the winds of change. In almost every sphere some new patterns have emerged changing our lifestyle which was once agreeable and quiet.

Notable is the writer's reference to the lighting system of days gone by. As a child I remember the gas-lamp throwing a circumference of light around its ornate lamp-post. In its own way it lit up the darkness in a green and ghostly manner.

Gone are the cameos like the itenerant vendors and certain landmarks that perhaps will never be seen again.

How many of us recall the Chinese toy vendor? She ambled along the roads dressed in baggy satin clothes and small cloth shoes, carrying two baskets of crepe paper toys to sell. There were brightly coloured pin-wheels, beautiful fans, miniature umbrellas and small creatures like ducks made of papier-mache.

I would long to buy some of those delicate creations which cost a mere five or seven cents each. There was also the "thorombol man" - a veritable walking shop he was, the glass-panel box perched on his head and precariously supported by both hands. Several compartments in that box had various things like pins, tiny celluloid dolls, clips and combs, glass bangles, beaded chains and small household goods. To me he was a "walking caravan" displaying tea-spoons, rattles and strainers which made a clinking sound as he walked down the narrow street. Almost everything a woman needed including shiny trinkets were brought to her doorstep.

The baker with the large cane woven basket carefully covered with some soft, black leather would call out "paan, paan". How delicious were those small sugar loves dripping with burnt honey, and buns sprinkled with raisins.

I was quite entranced with the vivacious Tamil woman who came weekly to grind spices. On her elongated ear-lobes her gypsy ear rings spangled. The wad of betel she chewed made her lips crimson. When her chore was done, she smilingly accepted the coins my mother gave her. Tying it up within a fold of her saree, she went away quite happy.

I also remember the rodiyas going from door to door begging. They each held out their own peculiar cup-shaped palm leaf into which a person could drop a coin.Nobody turned them away because it was believed they would call upon some super-natural power to harm you.

The "stilt walker" drew many children round him. His face garish with rouge, bright lip-stick and flashy feminine wear he danced surprisingly well on those high bamboo poles. Wonderful entertainment that was ! Forgotten are the rickshaw and its 'puller', a lean wiry man running with that contraption on large, revolving wheels. I was carried away with delight to see a buggy-cart rolling along and picturesque bullock-carts with their straw hoods "covered wagon styled. It went along in a meandering manner with the man singing a melancholy tune. Now and then he would rouse himself to lay his stick on the bull's back.

At night, the "godamba roti" seller and his glass box on sturdy wheels rumbled along. The little fireplace within it and a bright Aladdin lamp lit up the glass box making it glisten like myriad jewels. The aroma of his speciality pervaded the street.

The Chinese vendor sold small portions of spiced food and different pickles with its piquant flavours. So life with its quaint and colourful characteristics have ceased, but wispy reveries of those scenes are etched in my mind.

- Caryl Nugara

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