I was having a chat with my friend Terry Genorge over a cup of tea. This was during the recent past when Colombo city was invaded by the stillness of the avurudu holidays. With all the bakeries and fast food outlets closed we were gladly forced to recollect the days when vendors used to come down our lane selling both sweet and spicy delights.
This happened 30 years ago, when Colombo still had the beautiful mild stains of old Ceylon. I am sure you too had your favourite vendor. With mass production, extended spending power and convenience, today, these dear vendors are no more: at least in the city. Now we indulge in high tea.
The primary of these hardworking souls was the bakery uncle. He used to come daily between 4pm and 5pm with the vibrant declaration of “paan paan”. He faithfully carried his large basket, woven together, which had a metal lid. Within this basket was a three layered domain of taste. The first had my favourite items. Ah the baked sensations- cream buns, tea buns (studded with raisins), kimbula bunnis (a local variant of a croissant), pol cake (again a local confectionery loaded with caramelized sugar and coconut), gnana katha (can we translate to imply as the bun of” wisdom”? - a hard baked cake dusted with white sugar), doughnuts and soft sponge cake. Every evening my mind was subject to some serious decision making, as I decided which ones to buy. Occasionally, my beloved dad would join me in this process like “father bear” and make his pick.
In the second tier were the spicy goods- maalu paan (fish buns stuffed with real fish), cutlets, seeni sambol buns and egg rolls. At the bottom layer was the prized “roast paan” baked to perfection with a dark brown crust.
As Terry stated, we never had a dull evening with such choice for our tea! I remember one evening a youth named Henry afflicted with mental retardation suddenly came near the baker and took off with the metal lid. The irritated baker followed in hot pursuit and I was left to guard the basket of delights!! The lid was restored, thankfully.
The vendor coming second on our mobile food list was a woman who claimed she travelled from Ragama by train, carrying her burden. A box, which was immaculately padded with cloth. In its chamber rested some traditional delights. Halape (baked in a folded leaf), kalu dodol (cut in squares) lavaria (string hoppers steamed with coconut and oozing with caramelized sugar) and “wandu appa” which was a local variant to a muffin, wrapped in some kind of leaf.
The type of leaf remains a mystery to me after three decades. I used to wonder if this middle aged woman resided somewhere in Colombo and used the Ragama address to enhance the village appeal. Anyway, I do miss her treats. Today, I notice some of these goodies are sold in hampers.
Modestly taking the third slot on our topic was an old man, perhaps of Indian origin. As a child I looked at him as a captivating magician, not fully understanding his culinary skills. He accentuated his image by wearing a red turban. He used to steadily push a steel cart with three wheels, often after 7 pm. The focal point was a burning lamp.
The cart was modified to hold a kerosene oil stove (a safety hazard by today’s standards). When stopped the mobile cook would take stacks of pre baked rotti and reheat it on the stove using a black pan (similar to an iron skillet). He also sold boiled gram garnished with fiery red chilies, which was relished by some retired seniors who would reach realms of temporary joy, aided by their arrack. In a way the rotti cart was an “action station’ that brought the older folk for an extended pre dinner chat.
On the weekends there was a short soul who sold his alluring “Bombay mittai”. I remain uncertain if the origins of this sweet candy had any roots in Bombay as it was surely not imported. Again, this worthy enticed us by ringing a small brass bell.
The strands of finely shredded candy were wrapped in newspaper. Mother used to warn me that this man’s finger nails were not that clean. Alas, the desires of childhood often yield to such temptations. I recall an incident when someone threw a few firecracker at this vendor as a prank, and he in turn let out a volley of uncouth words. After this mild “ambush” the vendor was not that regular.
Time moves us. As the years rolled by our choices for tea were redirected towards other forms of food. The services of the bakery did adapt as they sent a tri-cycle with a large red plastic box. I did patronize this, but somehow the young rider did not have the aura or sales competency of our beloved old baker, who probably retired afflicted with varicose veins after all the walking. The vendors of that era always engaged in humour laden conversation. They didn’t mind the heat of the evening. Somehow, they mildly influenced our childhood and added some element of joy, that we can look back and write about, decades later.
As we travel life’s highway these were the humble, yet, happy people who came along and made our journey enchanting.