The Golden Echoes of Our Childhood

Whenever you get the chance, open the old chest of memories in solitude. Sit quietly with those windows of the past open, where time left behind a scent. Every moment was a story free of worries, free of deceit, without desire or any sense of lacking. A simple, sweet world, known as childhood.

How beautiful those moments were! When there was no sense of time, no distinction between day and night. No burden on the heart, no pressure on the mind. Just peace pure joy and at the center of it all was our golden, innocent, carefree childhood.

How simple and innocent we all were. We would wake up with the cool morning breeze, without alarms or resistance. Our mother’s gentle call, the aroma of breakfast, and then hurriedly getting ready for the madrassa. Learning the alphabet felt like discovering a hidden treasure. On the way back, the smiles of children carried the fragrance of victory who recited the lesson first? Who made the fewest mistakes? Who earned the teacher’s praise?

Do you remember those days when we would happily go to school with only a simple corn bread and a few sips of tea? No lunch boxes, no fancy uniforms just a slate, a couple of books, and that schoolbag? Ah yes, the schoolbag, stitched from our mother’s old scarf or fabric. That was our “brand,” our identity.

We had no money in our pockets, no mobile phones, no watches yet we had a sense of time, a sense of responsibility, and a dream the dream of growing up quickly.

Some children brought used books from their older siblings. Even those were a source of pride. We carefully preserved them. Every page felt like a map to a treasure. We would devour the words and silently think, “One day, I will be educated too.”

Do you remember how we used to write and erase on slates again and again? How we made our own ink? Rubbing the soot off pots and mixing it to form ink felt like conducting a scientific experiment. We peeled old batteries to extract useful materials pencils, ink, or tiny wires. Our learning wasn’t confined to books we created, we discovered, we failed and laughed all on our own.

Using a slate was an art in itself the slate’s shade, the special chalk-like “beej” to write, and a small damp cloth to erase. That hand-carved wooden pen we were truly creators.

And the summer afternoons? When there were no fans, no air conditioning just the sun, a river, and joy. We’d bathe in rivers, laughing, splashing, then lie on warm rocks like we were embracing life itself. Sometimes we built sandcastles on the banks, or made our own icy treats using water bottles frozen with jaggery. That taste still lingers no chemicals, no cost just happiness and innocence.

At night, when there was no electricity, we played hide and seek in the streets. One would hide behind a tree, another beside a wall, and some would sneak onto rooftops. That game, that laughter, that chase, that triumphant “Gotcha!” all now live as dreams.

And then at night, after we were tired, we’d gather around the clay stove near the fire mother would be making bread, father would tell stories, and we’d cuddle into our bedding, listening to our aunt’s bedtime tales until sleep quietly embraced us. We didn’t need lullabies or mobile screens — just a familiar, loving voice.

Do you remember those tales with kings, fairies, giants, and lions? We’d imagine them vividly in our minds, creating our own worlds. While listening, we would drift into a magical realm where good always triumphed over evil.

And those Eids? Even without new clothes, there was joy. Mother’s henna, father’s Eid money, and sweet treats in the morning all were pure gold. That time when love was not bought it was shared.

Today, we search for smiles on social media. Back then, we brought real smiles to each other’s faces. Today, we take pictures back then, we made memories.

How beautiful those moments were! No smartphones, no networks, no WhatsApp, no Instagram. Only a network of hearts — sincere, genuine, and deep.

We dreamed small dreams to become a scientist, a teacher, or a police officer. And we believed deeply that they would come true because no one stopped us, no one scared us. Our homes were small, but our hearts were vast.

And now? Now we’ve grown up and perhaps, grown small within. Now we have everything except time, peace, and sincerity. Now we frame our memories, whereas before, we lived within them.

Life has changed, the world has changed, and we too have changed but one thing is true: Those moments, that childhood, that simplicity they will never change. They will forever smile from some quiet corner of our hearts, just as we once smiled.

So when you're tired, when the race of the world begins to defeat you, when you begin to forget yourself Just close your eyes, and remember those moments Because these memories are your true identity. This is a treasure that can never be stolen or erased.

How beautiful those moments were! And if you truly desire, that simplicity, that sincerity, that fragrance can still be lived Just try being a child once again