I Grew Up In India So I Decided To Illustrate What Childhood Was Like There (28 Pics)

Back then, there were no fancy gadgets. No costly toys. No branded clothes or delicacies. Limited quantities of unnecessary pampering. Reasonable demands (on rare occasions). Yet, all the human senses were far more satisfied and happier. That glint in the eyes upon hearing the bell of an ice-cream vendor, especially during the hot summer days, is all but gone.

As a kid, I had always hated doing household chores. Like my family members said, the reluctance was transparent: on my face, in my body language, and by the response time. However, like the silver lining of a cloud, there was one thing I thoroughly enjoyed—lighting up a desi stove or ‘chulha’ (‘unoon’ in Bengali). I did this with a lot of willingness in my heart. The ‘chulha’ especially came in handy during the winter days, when hot water was used for bathing in large quantities. I just loved the different phases. First came the preparation phase: ransacking the storeroom to locate the stove, bringing it out in the open, getting rid of cobwebs (if not regularly used). Then, gathering the items (cow dung cakes, dry wood/sticks, a bunch of newspapers, a little bit of kerosene oil, matchbox, and, of course, a hand fan). A metallic rod or a decent length of wood was also required to stoke the fire once in a while. Then came the decoration phase: placing layers of dung cakes in the top chamber (not too densely packed, mind you), and pieces of wood and twisted paper below. And finally came the ignition phase. The trick was to keep the air flowing, using a hand fan. After the first smoke (which I loved, but my eyes did not), when the dung cakes turned glowing-red, it was time to place the aluminum utensil on top.

I have never been a fan of sour/tangy food. My teeth develop a funny (and extremely irritating) sensation.

However, there is an exception, and I thank the Gods for that. When it comes to raw mangoes, sliced and served with black salt and red chili powder, I cannot control myself—the gastronomical equivalent of "Bungee jumping"—according to me.

Slingshots were extremely handy in procuring the raw mangoes, fresh from the trees.

Firefly is the most mysterious and intriguing insect I've come across in real life. When I was a kid, my curiosity knew no bounds when it came to fireflies ('Jonaki' in Bangla, 'Jugnu' in Hindi). Whenever I encountered a group of these glowing beauties, I acted immediately to make sure there were no other sources of light around. Be it turning off the lights, or closing the windows, in order to maximize the effects.

However, when it involved roaming outdoors, it was advisable (not to mention safe) to carry a battery torch. No one wants to end up being bitten by a snake while enjoying the fireworks in the sky.

I did catch a few fireflies to have a closer look. Unable to understand the physics of the light source, I used to stare at these amazing insects. Every single time.

If there is one thing I absolutely hate, it is waking up early. The regular struggle during schooldays (school started at around 7 am) was tormenting as hell. It was even more agonizing then because negotiations such as "5 more minutes", "Little bit more" didn't work at all. With the onset of Autumn, something magical used to happen: the blooming of 'Shiuli' flowers. Those tiny white flowers, with reddish-orange stalks, singlehandedly drive Bengali folks mad with its intoxicating fragrance.
This flower, along with 'Kaashphool', jointly declare the arrival of the greatest festival for Bengalis, 'Durga Pujo'. Although these factors didn't help at all in easing the waking-up process, they did provide a wonderful incentive once I was up. Picking up the flowers from a bed of dew-covered grass early in the morning, while savoring the fragrance, was simply blissful.

In today’s world, distrust and religious extremism are on the rise, fuelled by the spewing of rampant hatred and poisonous propaganda. And for what? Ah yes, for shallow political gains... As a result, the world is burning. That’s already bad and sad enough. However, there is a far more dangerous and disturbing trend gaining momentum at an alarming rate- poisoning the evolving, impressionable minds of the nation’s future generations. I need not stress enough; this will have a devastating impact if left unchecked. Nothing short of Apocalypse. Something no one in the right frame of mind would ever want. I sincerely hope that, by the time people realize this, it is not too late. All religions preach love, brotherhood, and peace. What has gone wrong are the translations.

Remember VCR? My uncle had one. During summer vacations, we were allowed to immerse ourselves into the world of the incomparable Charlie Chaplin. It was Chaplin, and the duo of Laurel-Hardy, and some of the Arnold-Stallone-Bruce Lee action flicks. I really enjoyed these afternoons.

The batting order selection during a cricket match was a precarious job. There were several methods, and the most barbaric one was "My bat, so I'll bat at no. 1". To get away with this unjust, feudal rule, we had to take the refuge of luck. All we had to do was to select from a bunch of lines drawn on the ground with a number assigned to each line. The corresponding numbers were kept hidden under a bat to ensure transparency.

Although the process was not fool-proof with occasional accusations of partiality and cheating doing rounds, it was one of the most accepted systems.

There's a reason why Holi is described as the Festival of Colors (mind you, "colors" and not "color").

My grandmother (called her 'Thamma') was quite an awesome lady. She couldn't complete her schooling because of the turmoils caused by the Partition (millions of people got uprooted from their ancestral homes and forced to settle elsewhere). But that didn't stop her from being wise. She had the stamina of an athlete, and the determination of a mountaineer. However, one thing she was absolutely petrified of is snakes. It is said that perseverance pays off. Although my mother was and still is (rightfully so) totally against wasting food items, once in a while, due to my constant nagging, she had to hand over small pieces of wheat dough. Using that, I could've sculpted anything: tiger, dinosaur, rat, gorilla, you name it. But what did I create? That's right. Snakes! Approaching from behind, I used to place the doughy forms on her shoulder, and scream "Grandma, Snake!!!!". It used to scare her real bad! Every single time. I know. I know. I won't be allowed to enter Heaven.

When I was a kid, Rath Yatra was one of my favorite festivals. We, the neighborhood kids, used to decorate a small chariot and drive with it in our neighborhood. Then, our neighbors would come out in the streets, pay homage to the holy siblings, and even donate some money a small cashbox kept inside the chariot. In return, they received 'nakuldana' and 'batasha'. This collected money was used to fund the ingredients for 'khichdi' and we would have a feast!

This faulty device called ‘Fountain Pen’ was nuisance objectified during school days. Remember those stains on school uniform? I had to dig out new excuses every time to avoid parental wrath, such as: “What can I do? The pen was leaking”, “I lost the pen cap,” “Had to write a lot during a surprise test,” “Two boys were fighting, one of them had a fountain pen in his hand, and when I intervened, he did this to me,” “Lost my handkerchief, so smudged the ink on the shirt.” All said and done, wasn’t it fun writing with a fountain pen?

Making paper planes was definitely an exciting exercise. All the folds had to be crisp and proper. Otherwise, the plane wouldn't take off, or travel the distance.

A piece of paper, if folded in certain particular ways, is likely to stay afloat for a while, thanks to physics. As kids, we used to release the planes in a certain fashion, which made sense, such as lifting the left hand (or the right, basically the so-called weaker one) for stability, closing the left eye (or the right) for better aim, etc. But what was with the childhood ritual of giving a blow at the back of the plane just before releasing it? Some sort of spell to summon the God of Wind?