In post colonial Ceylon the 1950’s started the period of enormous transformation. The era of the common man emerged as the politicians wooed the rural voters in their quest for power. There was a frenzied rise of nationalism that swept across the land. It was an irresponsible act of political vandalism that created racial division. This was indeed a dramatic turning point in our recent history. Political turbulence, rise of the trade unions and strikes quickly followed.

As free education became widespread the farmers who were the backbone of our economy couldn’t convince their children to till the land. Instead they left the soil to join the masses in the city. They preferred to shuffle paper around desks than toil in the fields. There was a tremendous rush to the metropolis. As a result Colombo spread its wings to engulf the suburbs. A rapid growth in the population accelerated the urbanisation of rural Ceylon. This is indeed a simplification of a complex process of population shift, which smothered and destroyed the rural idyll of Nugegoda.

My emotional journey begins in Nugegoda in the late 1940’s. It was then truly rural. Hundreds of vivid pictures of its past often fills my mind. It was then a sleepy little town at the edge of the big city, far away from the grime and noise of Colombo. Nugegoda was closer to a village in the jungle than suburbia. Its charm lay in its picturesque atmosphere. It prided itself on its unique middle class appeal and the sheer good-natured generosity of its people. The community depended on the Temple and the Church to provide refuge and direction. The landscape was green and its beauty touched us with grace. The shady streets were lined with tall flamboyant trees. It was a paradise for birds. Woodpeckers bore holes in the coconut trees. Parrots, barbets, sparrows and golden orioles were a common sight. Hundreds of bats took over the skies in the late evenings. There were vast stretches of uncultivated green land through which ran a few narrow dusty gravel roads. There were hardly any cars. Heavy commerce and trade hadn’t arrived here yet. There was little industry in and around Nugegoda and jobs were scarce.

My grandparents belonged to different religions and grew up in different regions of the country. They met at Deltota hospital in 1918 where they both worked. It was love that brought these two diverse but emancipated personalities together. The marriage lasted a lifetime. They brought up their children during horrendously difficult times of World War II, food shortages and rudimentary healthcare. In those dark days a sense of apocalypse dominated the lives of people. During the colonial period there were fewer rights and too many rules. The Crown was God and always right!! Travel by road or rail was expensive, time consuming and at times treacherous.

My grandpa was an Apothecary and was a softly spoken, quiet, noble man from Kandy. From the time I can remember he had grey hair. As a kid I wondered if he was born that way. He took life easy but worked diligently. He was much more, a philosopher, an expert in country lore, an amateur astrologer and an old character of a type that was endangered and nearly extinct. He was not interested in money except the bare minimum to sustain his family. My grandma was a qualified nurse. She was a firebrand from Kurunegala with lots of courage and foresight. She was a sprightly, intelligent woman whose passion was for crosswords. She helped to drive the family forward through uncertain times. Her fearless spirit and kindness was well demonstrated by an act of bravery in 1958. During the race riots our Tamil friends’ lives were in danger. Grandma asked them to stay with us until the danger has passed. As I peeped through the window I witnessed the angry crowd that gathered outside our front gate. I saw the hatred in their eyes. She went out to them and refused to expose our friends to danger. After much deliberation and fist waving the crowd gradually dispersed. This was an act of raw courage and I have no doubt she saved their lives. The crowd seems to have recognised and respected my grandpa as a man of the people and a good conscientious doctor.

After living in Biyagama close to Kelaniya for many years my grandparents moved to Nugegoda in 1945. It was to a quiet dignified house at 56, Church Street. The house was opposite the Anglican Church of SS Mary & John. The large sprawling house had a tall roof and a spacious garden all round. The house made of kabook was of solid construction. There was a wide spacious verandah facing the north and west. The whole building was painted magnolia yellow, inside and out, with a broad dark brown border touching the floor. The front garden had rows of colourful Cannas and Coleus with a circular patch of grass around a Jambu tree. It bore fruit in great abundance. At the back of the house was a garage and several coconut trees. We had a ‘billing’ tree on the side laden with juicy fruit all year round. The house was solid, austere and unobtrusive, just like its owners. My extended family of uncles aunts and cousins all lived here where I enjoyed a sheltered and privileged existence. It still amazes me how we could all fit into that house. I loved this communal life as there was never a dull moment. The wooden inscription above the front door read "Doris Cottage 1930".

My cousins Ranjit, Nirmalene, Nissanke and Lalini shared my pleasures at Doris Cottage. We made paper boats and paper planes and played cricket from dawn to dusk. Our quarrels raised the temperature but our bonds always remained strong. The blistering heat of the mid day sun and the torrential monsoon rains didn’t seem to bother us and we spent our lives in the outdoors. We did our homework on the dining table and recall chanting the numerical tables like a manthra. Cowboy comics and bubble gum pictures were the craze. They inspired our generation. It was a simple but good life. Ranjit now lives in Sri Lanka, Lalini and I live in the UK and Nissanke is in USA. The forces of destiny have kept us apart. On the rare occasions when we meet it rekindles the closeness we enjoyed all those years ago. Nirmalene sadly passed away in 1975 aged 33yrs. This loss of a beautiful young life broke our spirit and its aching sadness never really left us.

For us children it was wonderful to live with grandparents. They preserved the domestic niceties and lavished huge affection on us all. We were always forgiven for our mischief. In those days there was this strange belief that a clean bowel was the prerequisite to a disease free existence. We dreaded the annual ritual of taking an "opening dose". This started with a fast in the morning and the "runs" all day. Home remedies were immensely popular. Grandma gave us "koththamalli" for our coughs and colds. Grandpa did the running repairs for our cuts and bruises. We looked forward to our visits to the local cinema – Metro or Quinlon to see Laurel and Hardy or Sinhala films with Eddie Jayamanne and Rukmani Devi. We were in the lap of luxury and those years were a rich gift.

The mornings were magical as the light glowed on the green leaves. The dew on the grass shone brightly. Getting outdoors was a priority for me. We had a lot of freedom and wandered freely. We'd go off by ourselves on long walks visiting our school friends. The Nugegoda landscape is flat as a pancake. There was a winding cycle path between Kandewatte road and Kirillapone through deciduous woods and rock pools. We saw the sun only at either end of this lonely dusty road. The social networks were strong and we knew every one we met on the way. Tall grass, ferns and wild flowers lined our paths. We passed moss ridden culverts and trickling streams. There were ponds with fish and water lilies where kingfishers dived for their meals. I remember a myriad of dragon flies whizzing past our faces. It was so peaceful and lovely. Even recalling these heavenly memories gives me such great joy. This is so far removed from the busy uncertain world of today.

I have a clear memory of our Sunday lunch. This was an important family ritual. In the morning grandpa walked down to the market in his hard hat and white trousers. He bought fatty pork and some curd and treacle. Grandma was a fantastic cook. There was a hive of activity in the kitchen as she intently supervised the cooking. The whole clan gathered for the feast. The men finished the bottle of doubled distilled before the meal was completed. Grandpa was never a heavy drinker but Sundays were special. He laughed a lot. Hilarious stories from the past came in torrents. He was a fine raconteur. When his face turned pink he soon retired for a well earned sleep.

The evenings were quiet and dull. There was no television. Radio Ceylon was in its infancy and the programmes did not have much appeal. We made our own entertainment and created our own plays and costumes. We played card games like rummy and happy family and laughed so much. Aunt Phyllis was a fine musician and played the Hawaiian guitar to a professional standard. She taught us to sing the old English arias and the ever popular Sinhala songs of Sunil Shantha. Those vibrant, amateur performances seem to consistently captivate our audience.

I still recall how quiet and dark the nights were. We heard the eerie croaking of frogs and the din of crickets. The stars as they moved along majestically and inexorably seem brighter and nearer then. The fire flies always reminds me of Nugegoda of the 1950’s . It was only the rumblings of the KV trains that punctuated the silence. Eight o’clock was bedtime and we were soon tucked up and snoring. In those days we had the early-to-bed, early-to-rise culture for kids. Oh! how could I ever forget the hordes of mosquitoes that tormented us every night.