Close your eyes and step back in time.
It’s the 80s or 90s.
You’re that little child again — waking up to the whistle of the cooker, the smell of filter coffee, and your mother’s gentle voice calling out your name.
You can almost hear the radio playing in the background and the soft pages of the newspaper turning.
Morning Then
There’s only one washroom in the house, yet somehow everyone is ready on time.
No shouting, no rushing — just a rhythm that flowed with love.
Father reads the newspaper, mother flips an omelette, and you get ready for school while listening to their chatter.
Everyone knew what was happening in the world — not from a phone, but from the morning paper and word of mouth.
Conversations started at home and continued in buses and trains.
Even strangers spoke with ease.
And when school ended, you waited — that moment when you’d see a familiar face at the gate, ready to walk you home.
Morning Now
Fast forward to today.
You’re the parent now.
Every bedroom has its own bathroom, yet everyone’s running late.
Someone’s on a call, someone’s scrolling, someone’s skipping breakfast.
Even when everyone’s awake, the house feels silent.
You rush through your morning, unaware that your child is quietly watching you — waiting for you to look up, smile, say a few words.
Just like you once waited for your parents to hold your hand and walk beside you.
Evening Then
Evenings had a charm of their own.
The sound of the key turning in the door was the most awaited moment of the day — Papa is home!
You ran to the door, eyes on his shirt pocket.
There it was — a thin Dairy Milk wrapped in lavender foil, half peeking out.
Some days it was peanuts or roasted chana from a train vendor.
If your mother worked, she too came home with a small paper packet — accessories (earrings ,hair clips) from the vendors who come to sell in the ladies compartment of the Mumbai trains.
That tiny packet carried more joy than any gift today.
It wasn’t about the chocolate or gift — it was about the waiting, the love, and that moment of being seen.
Evening Now
Now, you’re the one walking in after work — with AirPods in your ears or a phone pressed to your face.
Your child waits, hoping for a smile, maybe a story.
You hand over a small gift or leave it on the table — because you’re “still on a call.”
You don’t even pause to see that sparkle in their eyes, that joy you once lived for.
It’s not that today’s parents don’t love or surprise their kids — they do.
But somewhere, we’ve forgotten that the real gift isn’t the toy or chocolate — it’s time.
The same child who once waited for you at the door now learns to wait quietly — for you to get free, for you to look up.
Why aren’t we able to give them the same luxury of time that our parents gave us so effortlessly?
Homework and Home
Back then, parents remembered everything — PTMs, fancy dress days, annual functions, exams.
No reminders, no WhatsApp groups — just love and involvement.
They helped with homework, made costumes, taught us songs, and explained sums patiently.
Now, we have reminders, calendars, and class reps sending ten messages — yet something’s missing.
We outsource everything: food, tuition, hobbies, even affection.
Earlier, our aunts, grandparents, and parents passed down talents — from stitching to singing, from gardening to storytelling.
Today, it’s a paid class, an online course, or an app.
We had less money but more togetherness.
Now we have more convenience, but less connection.
Weekends Then
Sundays were a festival of their own.
A tiffin carrier filled with meethi poori or poori and sukhi aloo sabji , sukhi bhel, and lemon rice or tamarind rice.How can we forget the flask that carried tea (some of those flasks had two lids one smaller than the other both worked as cups).
An old mat,newspaper,a few bottles of water, and a bunch of excited faces ready to go to the beach, park, or zoo.
We took two buses, one auto, and walked long stretches — but no one complained.
We shared snacks, laughed loudly, and came home tired but happy.
Weekends Now
Today, before even planning an outing, we ask, “Will there be parking?”
By the time we check reviews, traffic, and crowd, the plan is cancelled.
Our kids wait — not for a new place, but for our company.
But we’re too busy “managing time,” while they’re silently longing for it.
Even a diamond today can’t bring the kind of joy that a five-rupee Dairy Milk once did.
Food and Family
We knew exactly what our mothers made best — that one curry or chutney only she could get right.
We knew our grandmother’s special dish, which aunt’s pickles were famous, and what our father loved to cook on weekends.
There was effort, warmth, and emotion in every meal.
Today, food still comes — but often from a cook, a swiggy, or Talabat.
We’ve stopped stirring love into our pots; we just outsource the flavour of home.
No wonder food fills our stomachs but not our hearts anymore.
Home Then
We never called before visiting friends or relatives.
We just showed up — rang the bell, were welcomed with chai, snacks, and endless talk.
No one asked “Why didn’t you call?” — love didn’t need appointments.
Home Now
Now we check before calling, schedule before meeting, and often postpone altogether.
Our children rarely see relatives except on birthdays or screens.
We’ve built larger houses but smaller worlds.
Health Then vs Now
Our parents didn’t go to gyms.
They walked, carried, climbed, cleaned — and stayed healthy.
They didn’t know about “steps per day,” yet they slept well and laughed more.
Now, blood pressure and diabetes knock early at our doors.
We track everything on smartwatches but can’t track peace of mind.
Maybe health was simpler when happiness came free.
What Really Changed
We were once the kids waiting by the door.
Now, we are the parents our children wait for.
Back then, love was given in time.
Now, it’s wrapped in gifts.
Our parents gave us moments that built memories.
We give our kids things that get replaced.
Maybe it’s not the times that changed — it’s us.
We moved faster, worked harder, earned more — but felt less.
In chasing success, we lost slow sunsets, shared snacks, and silent hugs.
Closing Thought
We are the same children who once waited for that lavender-foil Dairy Milk.
Now we are the parents whose children wait for us to get off our phones.
If only we paused — to look up, to smile, to listen — we could give them the same warmth we once received.
Because the real gift is not what’s in your hand — it’s you.
Happiness hasn’t changed.
It still lives in the same place — inside those moments we choose to share.
✨ Author’s Note — Abstracts by Anita
For the children who once waited at the door, and the parents whose children now do — this one’s for you.
We can’t bring back the 80s or 90s, but we can bring back what made them special — time, presence, and love that didn’t need reminders.
Do share your fond memories of childhood with your parents 💛
Blessmesai 