Disparity between the last and this century
Curator’s Note: The author reflects on the contrasting experiences of childhood between the past and the present, noting that despite modern conveniences, happiness seemed more genuine in earlier times. Memories of standing in long queues, the excitement over new school supplies, and the anticipation of birthdays highlight the richness of simpler joys. Family gatherings and communal festivities created a lively environment, devoid of today’s academic pressures and material excess. The author suggests that the thrill of waiting for something special has dwindled in contemporary life, yet cherished memories from the past evoke a sense of fulfillment that remains unmatched.
The Quicksand of Conversation
Some of this century’s brats view us as contemporaries of Neanderthal men. They ask in wonder, “Is it true? You traveled by bullock and horse-drawn carts? Life must have been tough.”
I smile and avoid the quicksand trap. If I start explaining, the people who asked would be swept away in a verbal flood, as I have no brakes once I begin. You will notice that senior citizens are often left alone. If someone prods them, that person’s only contribution to the conversation is to open and close their mouth like a fish gasping, since seniors tend to monopolize the talk entirely.
But that remark by the brat set me thinking. Was I happier then or now? What would be the ideal state of happiness? The last century’s leisurely pace and sparse population, combined with this century’s convenience and luxuries, would be ideal.
The Luxury of the Long Wait
We used to stand for hours in a queue just to pay bills. There was no Uber, and yes, this century’s luxuries were far beyond our imagination. But were we happier as kids than the children of today? An emphatic yes.
In our childhood, we were genuinely happy and excited about everything, like a new dress or new textbooks when the academic year commenced. The fresh textbooks, with their crisp pages and peculiar aroma, thrilled us. We would count the days and hours until we could hold and smell them. Those books would inevitably become dog-eared, but that is a separate matter.
The Uniform of Brotherhood
We received new dresses only for festivals or birthdays. Those were momentous events — perhaps four or five new outfits in a year. Dad would purchase fabric for pants and shirts in bulk from the same roll, and a tailor would stitch them for us.
We avoided traveling in a group because we resembled a marching band. Eventually, my brothers gathered the courage to tell Dad that they wanted different colors and designs. Because I was the youngest, I didn’t suffer through that rigid dress code as long as they did.
Aromatic Memories and Editorial Lessons
My dad subscribed to a weekly magazine and a daily newspaper. Every year, the Telugu New Year edition of the weekly magazine would emit a heady fragrance. That was a marketing masterstroke by a fragrance manufacturer (Cunega Marikolundu), who would spray it directly onto the magazines. We waited impatiently for that “free” gift.
My dad would insist we read the editorial section (featuring Dom Moraes or Khushwant Singh) of the newspaper. He would explain the nuances and hone our English skills. I think that specific thrill is missing now. Today, we walk into a mall and buy a dress whenever we want; the novelty of anticipation has vanished.
The Birthday Sanctuary
How we used to wait impatiently for birthdays! On your birthday, you are special; no one can scold you, and you can get away with almost anything. Mom would prepare your favorite dishes, and the whole house pampered you. You received a traditional oil bath, which I detested. There was no shampoo; instead, soap-nuts were crushed, soaked in water, and used to wash our hair. It would sting and burn the eyes. If you accidentally swallowed it, it tasted like beer — though, at that age, we hadn’t yet learned to enjoy beer.
We could go to school in our new clothes, standing out like a sore thumb among a sea of uniform-clad “penguins.” Even the teachers were more tolerant, postponing any punishments until the following day.
A House Overflowing with Life
We were never alone. Apart from a packed house, we had truckloads of cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends. Most families had at least five children. Our Telugu teacher was particularly special; he had ten children.
He seemed to specialize in twins. First came a son (my second brother’s classmate), then twin boys (my third brother’s classmates), one boy (my classmate), then another set of twin boys, followed by a girl (my sister’s classmate), and then three more.
We were never short of companions or games. We would play with marbles, fly kites, climb trees, and engage in “catch-if-you-can,” hide-and-seek, and many other simple games. We had immense fun.
We lived unencumbered by the weight of modern academic pressure; grades, homework woes, and school nightmares were concepts foreign to our daily lives.
While we certainly encountered “cane-loving” teachers, their stern discipline never caused us — or our parents — to lose a moment of sleep. We simply learned to flourish and find our own fun, regardless of the occasional sting of the rod.
Handmade Celebrations
Diwali and many other festivals were vibrant and joyful. We did not buy crackers; we manufactured them ourselves at home. We had heaps of sulfur, magnesium, charcoal powder, and other supplies. Employees from my dad’s office would guide us as we crafted flower pots, rockets, and many other exciting fireworks. Surprisingly, there were no eōxplosions, fires, or injuries.
Contd…
To read the full story, please see The Great Divide
To read all stories, please see Wit & Wisdom: Tales of Humor and Satire and my Medium stories
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