Things were different in the old days. Coffee didn’t come from Starbucks or OldTown White Coffee. The coffee I knew, growing up in Alor Star, came from a no name tall gold colored tin from the back seat of a bicycle. Seriously. My mum bought artisanal ground coffee from a travelling or mobile coffee man or ‘kopitul man’. He rode a bicycle, and carried a weighing scale and a scoop. Our coffee man scooped the coffee from the tin, weighed it and folded it up in brown paper.

There was only one type of coffee. Black. I can almost smell the coffee he sold. Strong, aromatic, ground black coffee. A bit of sugar and loads of milk, and it was café latte or as I knew it, ‘kopi susu’. Exactly one kati or 500gm was delivered to our doorstep every Tuesday morning. My mum still mentally weighs things in kati, pikul (100 kati) and gantang (eight pints) – not commonly used units of measurement now. Each weekly transaction was carefully jotted down in a brown note book, and payment was made either the following week or at the beginning of a new month. It was, in fact, a door-to-door, personalized, environment-conscious (no plastic and no CO2 emission from the bicycle) and credit available service.

Like coffee, clothes, especially my mum’s, didn’t come from shopping malls or via online shops. My mum bought her staple attire, sarees, from the back seat and boot of a car. I know it sounds a bit dodgy but it was a legitimate business. The merchandise didn’t fall off the back of a truck or lorry but came from relatively well known saree shops in KL.  This salesman, how my family knew him or him, us, I don’t know, brought a car load of sarees and would display a wide selection for my mum to choose from. Negotiations, aka haggling, would take place, a sale or two ensued. The payment option was either cash or credit.  If it was on credit, the amount owed was written in a brown note book (the standard ledger back then) and payment would be made at his next visit. With no landlines or mobile phones, he would let us know when he would next be in town. He kept his appointments.

My mum bought her sarees from the travelling salesman as there were very few saree shops that sold cotton sarees, which were her casual, wear-at-home clothes. Truth to be told, there were no supermarkets or shopping malls in the 1960’s. We had pushcart vendors, independent and family owned small grocery, sundry and coffee-shops. The only building that seemed large – to small me – was a wet market that my mum and I walked to each morning to get fresh fish, chicken and vegetables for our daily meals.

It wasn’t just my mum who enjoyed personalized service. My two older brothers and I used to have our hair cut by a mobile barber man. Seriously. He too rode a bicycle with a makeshift extended seat.  He sat us, one at a time, knotted a piece of white cloth like a barber bib or cape around our necks to keep hair from falling on our clothes, and snipped away.  If I remember correctly, the style was short on the top and short at the sides. Yes, it was a one style fit-all haircut. Quite honestly, we were too young and devoid of any fashion sense to protest.

In the old days, we also had ‘kuih’ or local cakes delivered to our home like clockwork every day. Hawkers, both men and women, came a calling either in the morning or mid-afternoon; aptly timed for breakfast or tea. Our morning kuih-lady sold a wide array of nyonya kuih in a hand-carry rattan basket. The best kuih in her hamper of magical delights was pulut kaya (as it’s known in Kedah and Penang) or pulut tai-tai (as it’s called in KL). The glutinous rice cake served with kaya or coconut jam was simply divine, and I remember wanting more. We were visited by a kuih-man in the afternoon, whom I christened Sue. My favourite kuih from Sue was the tepung talam – a sweet and salty pandan, tapioca and rice flour plus coconut milk, two-layered, green on the bottom and white on the top, sliced kuih. The kuihs cost a few sens, were probably made from organic ingredients, and never failed to taste delicious.

Simple pleasures, cleaner air, fresher food and a quieter lifestyle is how I remember the old days. Do I miss it? Sometimes.