Dying Trades, Relive

I was driving into the car park of my home when I saw a tired looking old man holding on to two metallic paraphernalia and hitting both the objects together making a unique 'clinking' sound. Standing by the car park in front of a row of cars and under the blazing hot sun, the presence of the old man did not fail to attract my attention. For one there is something familiar about what he was doing. The metal clinking sound that he generated from the two metallic objects held on his hand and the white looking substance that is inside the aluminium casing which he was seen hitting it with occasionally, catapult me back to the days when I was still in primary school.

He is the seller of a home made sweet flour. A hardened paste mixed with sugar and flour. The scene and sound made, reminds me of my younger days when we used to rush out of school compound just to get a packet of the sweet flour from an old Chinese man who would wait under a big Angsana tree outside our school. Dressed in his usual shorts but with his signature big rattan hat, he will rhythmically knock on his metal apparatus signalling his presence to the hordes of students coming out of the school. Like a scene of the Piped Piper from Hamelin where the children were taken away from the village by the piped piper, the scene

that was played were less dramatic however still nostalgic. We would line up often with our parents in towed to get a packet of the sweet paste. Back then there are no branded sweets or chocolates that is the staples for our young nowadays, the sweet white paste of flour and sugar mixture is our favourite sweet of the day.

Simple flavour without the sophistication of content or the mixture of vanilla, chocolate or strawberry or any other flavour and ingredients that we will find in today's' s sweet, the trade of the old days was simple flour and cane sugar. If we used to see the old seller almost everyday during my younger years or growing days, now the sight is seldom and as rare as an antique beetle. The Sweet Flour seller is one of Singapore's dying trades that is being swallowed by the wave of rapid modernisation.

It is safe to say that the uncle that sold my packet of sweet flour is the last in his family to ever carry out the trade. Undoubtedly his children would never ever want to carry on with his trade.

I did not waste the opportunity to talk to him and asked him how long he has been selling the sweet flour. He relived his younger years where he used to sell the sweet flour along the rustic roads and pathway of old Chinatown. Back then he said children would rushed to the sound of

his clicking metal and the content of his metal plate would be gone in a matter of minutes, hotter then a plate of Laksa. Even the older folks whose teeth have seen their better days would not passed the opportunity of sucking their way into the hardened flour. But now he lamented, to even finish selling the whole plate by the time the sun sets would be a feat. As I sucked my way through my packet of sweet, I bid my farewell to the old man, realising that I may never see him again and that it would be my last packet of sweetened flour that would make my way through my watery mouth.

It is with sad realisation that the old trade of the past is fast disappearing as society is being swept through the rapid pace of modernisation and globalisation. The things and experiences that we used to take for granted is vanishing into the dark chasm of history. Sooner or later many of the trade that we are seeing now would only be seen in museums or through the annals of history.

The gates of the world that used to separate nations from its neighbours, society from other cultures are now groaning wide open. From the marble balconies of someone's home and over the airwaves of local radios, demagogues decry new risks to ancient cultures and traditional values because of globalisation. Satellites, the Internet, and jumbo jets carry

the contagion. To many people, "foreign" has become a synonym for "danger." Many have now cried afoul of how globalisation has slowly eroded our cultural and heritage values. Of course, now the chants of cultural preservation and heritage and anthems of nationalism are gaining voices. Virtually every individual at every level of society can sense the impact of international changes. They can see and hear it in their media, taste it in their food, and sense it in the products that they buy. Even more visceral and threatening to those who fear these changes is how the two waves of modernisation and globalisation is threatening our cultural and heritage values.

More and more our old heritage are gone, blown away by the wind, evaporating like snow capes over a mountain. People like the old chinese uncle who braves the glaring sun to sell his produce are disappearing. Many other scenes like parrot fortune teller, the streets walker shoes mender or even our fame barber shops that cuts our hair for less than 10 dollars are now being replace by hair beauty saloons and Mr Shoeman.

I supposed that we will not be able to stand against the tide of change and moderniation that is sweeping through us. What we can do now is to immerse ourselves with the remaining heritage that is left. For me at lease, I will enjoy my last packet of sweet flour.