Although the number of street vendors who used to shout “Leich Fita” has gradually decreased over time, it is undeniable that these vendors played a significant role in the past in the city and surrounding suburbs. The term “Leich Fita” brings to mind street vendors with large bundles on their backs, carrying attractive glass-framed boxes containing beautiful items. Their job was to wander the narrow streets, selling various items, and during festivals, like other vendors, their business would flourish. “Leich Fita” is even featured in a famous song by the renowned ‘Nagar Baul’ and band singer James.
A few decades ago, women had far fewer freedoms, and many were reliant on these vendors. They would comfortably shop without hesitation for these items, which were often inexpensive, sitting in their homes.
In life, you meet many people along the way, and some leave an indelible mark on your memories while others fade into obscurity. Among them are two “Leich Fita” vendors who will always be remembered: Kontai Bhai and Shilpi’s father. Without their presence, Eid celebrations would never feel complete. These two vendors were different from others in many ways, and most women have fond memories attached to them. Every Eid, even amidst the hustle and bustle, I still find their faces emerging in my memory.
I first met them when I was very young. Over the years, I watched them grow older, sometimes interacting and joking with them. However, for several years now, neither of them has been seen around. Kontai Bhai had already been absent from public sight for a while. When he was selling his goods, age had already started weighing him down. In contrast, Shilpi’s father, physically fit, continued selling for many years until old age caught up with him too, and he disappeared from the scene. Their demeanor, their approach to work, and their unique style of doing business set them apart from other vendors. They brought a kind of charm to Eid, and although they are no longer with us, they live on in memories.
Kontai Bhai was the elder, and Shilpi’s father the younger, but they never worked together. They each traveled to different places, each carrying their own load. They were well known in the city and had a connection with almost everyone. Unlike other vendors who would loudly shout “Leich Fita,” they would quietly approach homes and softly call out “Kuntha rakhilaukate” or “Kuntha rakhayanigo,” which earned them nicknames like “Ataora Melaora,” “Kuntakunti,” and “Kuntha rakhilaukate.”
Kontai Bhai’s style was simple: he would carefully lay his goods out on the ground, and if someone was interested, they would buy, but if not, he would pack everything up again without a fuss. His stall was often referred to as the “Ataora Melaora store” by others, and he himself would proudly spread the word. Interestingly, inside his bag, one would often find the names and addresses of numerous people, even from places like Sunamganj, Hobiganj, Moulvibazar, and Sylhet. Wherever he went, he was welcomed, and people would often write down their names on paper or cards to invite him to stay. He never had trouble with food or shelter, as people trusted and cared for him.
Shilpi’s father, on the other hand, was even more entertaining. He would go up to houses and in a soft voice say, “Kuntharakhilaukate.” Some people didn’t buy anything but just invited him in to enjoy his humor. He would often tell jokes, especially about children’s names. If asked about his children, he would count them out on his fingers: Shilpi, Amena, Momena, Rubina, Sabina, Zarina, Samina, and so on. He would demonstrate how to wear items like scarves, small shirts, lipsticks, nail polish, bangles, eyeliners, etc. His technique for applying eyeliner was both terrifying and beautiful, and some customers were amazed to watch him apply it in such a unique way. He would even show how to use different products, like lotions and perfumes, and offer detailed explanations.
If anyone hesitated to buy something, he would softly say, “Kuntha na kinle oitna, Shilpir maaya koiyaa dishain jeenish bechhiya jaiyabar laagi,” meaning “If you don’t buy, then the rooster will be brought to you in my bag, and you will get a red slap from me.” This would make everyone laugh, and he seemed to take great pleasure in it. He would often reduce prices if someone called out to him after he had started leaving, making it an even more enjoyable experience for all.
People eagerly awaited his visits during Eid, and while some didn’t buy anything, they still gave him extra money for the joy of his company. Life’s simple joys like these seem to have been lost in the hustle and bustle of modern times. I miss those days of pure joy during Eid, the sweet smell of Leich Fita, and the simplicity of Shilpi’s father and Kontai Bhai’s smiles, their laughter, and their warmth. In today’s world, filled with chemicals and artificial things, I long for the authenticity of those memories and wish they could return.
