Labelled a phillumenist, no less!

Matchboxes were a prized possession, eagerly collected and bartered

During the late 1960s, the tiny town of Hassan was known for its weekly shandies, rain, and tongas. I was in primary school. Many in my class had cultivated several hobbies, one of which was the collection of labels from match boxes. Soon, I picked it up. I used to look for such labels in front of shops on Salagame Road, Ararlikatte Circle, and occasionally near the old bus stop on my way to and from school.

I had a good collection. Once in a fortnight, we exchanged for rare ones, parting with multiples. We did this trade during leisure hours near the cemetery adjacent to our school playground or under the shade of trees nearby a tank. There were many, like Chavi, Two Parrots, Cock, Diamond, Sunrise, Koel, Peacock, Tower, Deluxe Chavi, Chetak, Cheeta Fight, Ship, and what not.

Our interest and enthusiasm skyrocketed as Deepavali approached. We used to collect Deepavali labels from matchboxes after the festival. We had a lot of fun collecting them and later categorising them into ordinary and Deepavali labels, as well as exchanging them for rare ones. During the long holidays, we worked on it meticulously, keeping ourselves busy for hours on end.

Chickmagalore Town gave much strength to my hobby. Because the school I was attending was far from my home, I purposefully walked on two major roads, IG and Ratnagiri, selecting shops in order to look for new coloured labels with diverse pictures. I used to visit the place where the weekly shandy was held on Wednesday and walk home sometimes with a happy face. I did this even in high school, looking for labels on both sides of the road along the Dantaramakki Tank Bund.

In the coastal town of Mangalore (now Mangaluru), I made a little more progress by adding more labels, collecting, and exchanging. Some of my friends had labels from Kerala and Maharashtra, and I exchanged mine with theirs. It was a result of search efforts during their vacation in faraway places.

We exchanged, or rather bartered, once a month in our adda and many times in the playground. A friend of mine had even sent a few of them to his pen pal. Very recently, I came across a word that not only attracted my attention but, at the same time, took me back in time.

Over the phone, I told my friend the word for someone who also collected labels and who is now collecting his memories: “phillumenist,” the one who collects matchbox labels. We were happy that once upon a time we were phillumenists.