Services delivered at your doorstep. Ah, those were the days…

The abridged version of this article appeared in our November issue. However, since the original article was so adorable, we couldn't resist posting it on our blog

Many moons ago Bangaloreans got fresh milk off the tap, pasta made at home, kitchen utensil repairmen, clothiers, doll-makers, ice-cream wallahs and such, all landed at your doorstep, to deliver the goodies. That is, until time and the retailer juggernaut hit town ... and changed our lives.

The milkman cometh. With fresh milk.
At dawn, bungalows awoke to a series of door deliveries. First it was the milkman. With cow in tow.

The cow's hind legs were strapped with a chord – so it wouldn't kick. The milkman washed the udder before calling out to mother. When she responded from the kitchen window, he'd hold the bucket upside down, as if to say, "Ok, lady. There's no water in the bucket. I am giving you undiluted milk."

With that, he'd squat on his haunches and work the animal's undercarriage – squeezing milk into the bucket. The first jets of milk made a hollow tinny sound. As the bucket filled, froth and a new sound emerged. Later, the milk was measured, delivered. Closure came after the man doled kosuru, extra milk.

The 'nati' egg and ghee/curd man
At about that time, an old, bare-footed turban-wearing individual arrived with a long thin bamboo strip with two bouncy reed-baskets at either end, carrying farm fresh produce. Country eggs in one basket, and ghee/curds in the other. About the person there was an unmistakable aroma of the village – grass, cattle, nati koli, and farm. He'd dunk the eggs in water in an open vessel. If the eggs sank, they were good. If they floated, they were rotten!

Out of the other basket, came two pots. The smaller container had ghee. The other, black clay pot held curds. Lumpy, sweet and sour. But that's how yoghurt was in those days.

The pasta makers
Pasta came early misty mornings. Cycle vendor went about the street crying "Idiappam! Idiappam!!" Or in summer a couple arrived at your doorstep to make semiya. They'd knead, prepare the wheat dough before inserting lumps of it into a mounted little aluminum extruder. With a few cranks of the handle, came oodles of noodles! The string pasta was manually collected and sun-dried on a large white muslin cloth spread over reed mats in the open backyard. At the end of the day, the dried vermicelli, for delicious payasam, was stored in large tin boxes. But not before mischievous kids, nicked the drying sticks and scooted with old attendants screaming after them!

The household utensil tinkerman
The bearded 'kalai-wallah' came about once a year, to repair and re-surface dekshis, tawas and other cooking utensils. To work he made elaborate preparations in the back yard - digging, scooping, forming a hollow in the ground, before inserting a metal pipe to the muddy formation. A flat hide bellow was connected to the pipe, to pump air for the makeshift hearth. With that the foundry got going, and vessels were repaired and polished.

The knife sharpener
Another service-provider was the knife-sharpener. He'd come with a wooden contraption strapped to his back. Setting the treadle machine down, he'd stamp on the pedal and get the grinding stone going. A host of knives, scissors, 'cut-throat' razors and such came out for sharpening. This happened with a wonderful stream of red, orange, and blue sparks flying off the emery wheel. Kids were wowwed by the magical sight!

The toys and clothier
Toys and cloth were home delivered too. Two Chinese gentlemen nattily clad in tie and suit, happened at our bungalow, just before the festive season. On their bicycles, were big bundles of exquisite clothing fabric – for ladies and men. While one laid out the selection, the other Chinaman got children's attention with his box of clay and material to make dolls. His nimble fingers worked fast and expertly to fashion the precursor of today's Barbie dolls. Lumpy clay took shape. Coloured with deft brush-strokes, and dusted with iridescent powder, the dolls had the girls going aaah! and oooh!

The ice-cream wallah
A mobile vendor who brought tremendous pleasure on a sweltering summer day was the ice-cream man. His timing was perfect. Post-lunch, when protesting hyper-active kids were made to 'rest' for a while. A solar hat, cotton suit, tie, goggles, and a distinct American accent marked the man.

"Aa-ISSH- creammmmMM!", he'd go, swinging an impossibly largish bronze bell, as he pedaled his cycle. Parents resting would be shaken awake, and soon the whole family was at the compound wall dazzled and salivating at the tantalizing array of stick ice creams in a large thermos flask. What joy! If this was a treat beyond compare, it had many a kid taking in the vendor, and wondering about career choices – engine driver or ice-cream vendor?!