Among the winding roads, sweltering heat and bustling traffic, our gaze was suddenly drawn to a colourful sight.

Rows and rows of colourful clotheslines.

The story behind it however... not so much.

Speaking to us, Mr. Kumaraswami elaborated on the not so colourful backdrop of this colourful sight.

"I am nearly 80 now. This has been going on since the days of the white men. Before 1931, four locations as this were built to do their laundry... In Siri Bodhiraja, Kotahena, Kalpitiya and Wekanda... Our fathers, grandfathers all followed this profession. I followed their footsteps."

And we followed his footsteps entering their not so colourful reality.

Each room is filled with bundles of laundry. These people go from house to house in search of dirty laundry. The laundry is soaked, scrubbed, washed. A brush and chemicals come in the aid of stubborn stains. Then they are starched before being hung in an colourful display.

Next, comes the ironing. No fancy irons for them. Just the age old heavy irons heated with coconut shell coals.

Yep... a LOT of elbow grease.

Looking at the laundry en-masse, it was impossible for us to imagine how they managed not to muddle up the owners when returning the clean laundry.

"It is a trade that requires one to keep their wits about them. Such a muddle happens very rarely," answers Kumaraswamy, beaming with pride.

A colourful sight with bleak background.

"Our lives are built and wasted away with water," Kumaraswamy concludes, eyes filled with sadness.

Pics : Deva Jayawardhane