Postcard from Nanu Oya :

Market day in Little England

Aditha DISSANAYAKE

It is not all that hard to imagine the joy Dr John Davy would have felt when he discovered Nuwara Eliya in 1818. The mist rising from the ground like the steam from a cup of tea, the Pidurutalagala mountains standing like silent sentinels over the green meadows which would later become the town, the rays of the sun, warm yet not too harsh, the wild chrysanthemums covering the footpaths and the song of a robin in the distance would have brought back fond memories of home.

Today, almost 200 years later the sound of the very church bells, Sir Edward Barnes, Samuel Baker and Sir William Gregory would have heard on those long forgotten Sunday mornings, mingle with the cries of Lakshman, enticing the passers by to take a look at the jackets, sweaters and mufflers spread on a plastic sheet at his feet.

Homemade juggery

“Hundred…hundred…hundred. Everything here is hundred rupees. Buy a jacket even if you don’t wear it. Take one home for your brother or sister”, he shouts in a voice loud enough to make even Cacophonics of Asterix fame, shiver.

Oblivious to the noise, a short distance away, Chitra is busy selling packets of homemade juggery. She generously offers me a plate with several brown coloured cookie shaped pieces on it and assures me “they are made from pure kitul treacle”. The piece I take into my hands melt on my fingertips and tastes like...well...what it ought to taste like (I suppose), jaggery made with kitul treacle. “If sugar has been added it won’t melt like this” Chitra enlightens me on the arts of identifying good jaggery.

Her generosity is matched by her neighbour who offers me a slice of a pear to prove how fresh it is and urges me to buy four for Rs100. “These pears are grown here. They are fresh, not like the ones that are imported,” he assures me. The four pears he offers me join the packet of juggary in my bag.

By ten in the morning the Sunday fair at the centre of the Nuwara Eliya town is bustling with vendors and shoppers. Making my way through the stalls of plastic goods, blankets and clothes to reach the vegetable and fruit sellers seems like running through an obstacle race. After a severe bump on the head from a man carrying a bag of cabbages on his shoulder and temporarily losing the hold on my bag when it gets entangled with a dozen hair clips at the stall of the haberdasher, I know I am there when I hear a lady tell her companion “Brinjals are fresh and cheaper here than at the supermarket.”

I silently agree and mutter under my breath, especially at this time of the morning, recalling a recent encounter at the supermarket where the cashier had advised me to buy my vegetables in the evening because I can “enjoy” a 20 percent discount after 4 pm.

Auspicious times

She had also told me with deep sorrow had I bought chicken parts instead of a full chicken I would have got a 50 percent discount. “But you must buy it after 3 pm”. What a relief to find that there are no such “auspicious times” to buy the things I need here at the Sunday market and that even without the discounts things are far cheaper and certainly fresher than the vegetables and fruits, wrapped in cellophane and kept inside freezers in supermarkets.

Nutritious manioc

The produce here at the market come in the form of well rounded pumpkins seemingly bursting with sweetness because the sun had been so generous with its rays just before they were plucked, the bundles of cabbages have so visibly been harvested at dawn today that you can almost see the dewdrops on them, while the firm, nutritious manioc still bear traces of the rich soil they were grown in just a mile’s drive away, in Welimada.

Sirisena sells me 500g of ladies fingers and happily poses for the camera. He has the best selling vegetables here at the Nuwara Eliya market for over twenty years. “I cover two markets every week,” he explains running a hand over his hair, adjusting the collar of his shirt and giving his best smile to the camera. “I sell vegetables at this market and at the market in Wellawaya. All my vegetables are from Wallawaya. In between the market days I get three days off to rest”.

His neighbour, Martin has a basket of breadfruit which he says is from Ambalanthota. The bundles of kohila kept in a bucket of water had come all the way from Monaragala. But it’s Piyasena who makes me recall Charlie Trumper in Jeffery Archer’s novel As the crow flies. Ever generous, ever concerned, he persuades me to buy at least 250g of thiththa thibbatu because they are healthy and delicious when prepared with dried sprats.

Thibbatu curry

“Gunai, Rasath Niyamai,” he assures me and gives me a brief description of how his wife cooks it, which according to him is the best possible way to make a thibbatu curry.

By eleven in the morning I decide to call it a day, not because I had run out of things to buy but because I could no longer carry the two bags in my hands which seem to get heavier and heavier every passing minute. Yet, even as my brain warns me not to do it, I listen to the voice from my heart and dig into my purse for one last purchase - a bag of Boondi for Rs 30. If you ever make it to the market in Nuwara Eliya on a Sunday morning don’t miss this treat. It’s worth the risk.

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