Dr. Nawal Thorat
“There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.”
— William Wordsworth
Wordsworth’s reflection perfectly captures the magic of childhood—a time when the world brimmed with wonder and endless possibilities. Looking back, those days feel like a dream, untouched by the worries of adulthood.
Among the most cherished phases of our lives were our school days—carefree and filled with simple joys. We lived entirely in the present, unburdened by the future. Convent schools had it their own charm, with nuns introducing us to our first alphabets and instilling discipline. The fear of punishment loomed large, but in hindsight, we owe them much for teaching us hard work and structure. Today, however, missionary schools are a dying breed.
For those who grew up in the 1970s and 1980s, life had a distinct charm. Cinema reigned supreme, and television—our beloved Doordarshan—was slowly making its way into middle-class homes with black-and-white TV sets. Amitabh Bachchan, the “angry young man,” was our childhood idol. Watching his films on the silver screen was a grand family affair. Later, in high school and college, I made sure to catch every re-release of his blockbusters.
One particular evening stands out vividly. My father took us to watch a Marathi film by Dada Kondke, only to realize it was A-certified, barring children from entry. With no other choice, he took us next door to watch Naseeb, an Amitabh Bachchan starrer—his silver jubilee hit. Lucky me!
Childhood games were more than just recreation; they forged lifelong friendships. I still cherish my bond with a childhood friend, with whom I spent countless hours playing cricket, badminton, and chess. Cricket, of course, was our greatest passion. We often fought and yelled, then lost in the game’s thrill. Gully cricket was the heartbeat of every boy growing up in suburban Mumbai. From underarm matches to our version of Twenty20, we lived and breathed the sport. Playing under makeshift floodlights with a tennis ball felt like an adventure. Cricket truly became a religion in India after our Prudential Cup victory in 1983. Firecrackers were kept ready—not just for wins, but for every milestone, every century, every thrilling moment. Yet, as cricket’s glory rose, our national game, hockey, faded into the background.
What made Mumbai’s suburban culture truly special was the spirit of bonhomie among people from all walks of life. Issues of caste and class were alien to us in childhood. We took water breaks at neighborhood homes, and people offered us a drink without hesitation. Who would have thought that one day, we’d live in a world where we had to buy water? By the mid-1980s, the magic of cinema faced a real threat from VCRs, which brought movies into our living rooms. On festive occasions, watching back-to-back films with neighbors became a new ritual, replacing the grand outings to the theater. Soft drinks were a rare treat. Campa Cola and Gold Spot were our favorites—but only if we could earn it.
Radio was a lifeline, just as it remains today—albeit in a different avatar. Amin Sayani’s Binaca Geet Mala was a weekly ritual, bringing us the latest film songs. Vividh Bharati kept us entertained, and no singer could lift our spirits like Kishore Kumar. His voice had the power to brighten even the dullest of days. A different thrill came from cricket commentary on the radio. Doordarshan was still in its infancy, we clung to every word, every ball, every wicket. Firecrackers were lit at milestones, and the passion was electric.
This was also the era when we discovered the beautiful world of books, newspapers, sports magazines, and comic strips.
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, in The Little Prince, beautifully captures the innocence of childhood when he says:
“Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.”
Indeed, childhood was a time of unfiltered joy, pure friendships, and endless discoveries. As the years pass, those golden days become more nostalgic, more wistful. In today’s digital age, childhood often unfolds on screens. I wonder: will future generations look back with the same warmth and wonder?
