I belong to a generation…
A generation that knew life without mobile phones or the internet.
Where homes often ran on DC current,
and days or nights without electricity were common.
We prayed instead of complaining,
and resilience was not taught—it was natural.
A generation where play was pure—
Hide and seek, lock and key, cricket, book cricket, carom, seven stones, ludo, corner-corner, kitchen set, skipping rope/jump rope, Antakshari, kho-kho, kabaddi, paper boats/paper planes, stock exchange, playing cards, and WWF cards and even cricket on the roads during strikes——innocence ruled our games, and mischief ended in laughter, not hurt.
A generation where I joined a local activity club, the only girl among the boys, yet ran, played, and laughed with unfiltered joy, my mother’s gentle nod opening the way.
A generation where spirituality was nurtured since childhood. Every Tuesday, we did devotional singing together. Everyone worked as a team to prepare, and everyone got a turn to sing. Even when we didn’t understand the meaning, we sang with full heart, from start to finish, just out of innocence.
A generation that didn’t demand everything we desired.
We understood our parents’ hearts,
and quietly let go of wishes
that could weigh heavy on them.
Gratitude wasn’t taught—it was lived.
A generation where silence spoke volumes.
A glance, a smile, a gesture
carried more than words ever could.
Simple. Innocent. Content.
We found beauty in less,
and meaning in the smallest moments.
And though the world has changed,
the roots of that generation live in me—
reminding me always
that less can still mean more.
