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?

Remember seeing a real tiger for the first time? It's arguably one of the most humbling experiences! The poise, the gait, and the sheer presence of the largest member of the cat family are both captivating and intimidating.

During school vacation, a visit to Calcutta was an accepted ritual. At the Alipore Zoo, alongside other animals and birds, I saw a real Royal Bengal Tiger for the first time. Boy, was it absolutely impressive! One can easily gauge the excitement. We didn't have access to the likes of Discovery Channels and National Geographics back then. And jungle safaris (costly affair) were beyond imagination. All I had seen till then were photographs of the apex predator in magazines and school textbooks. Hence, the transition from paper to reality was overwhelming, to say the least!

However, I should admit that it was equally sad to see such a force of nature trapped inside a cage.

Some kids wanted to become doctors when they grow up. Others, cricketers, and astronauts. I wanted to become a paleontologist. It all started in 1994 when I saw a movie called "Jurassic Park." I became such a big fan that I irritated even my parents! I painted pictures of dinosaurs and put them on our walls. It used to make my mom crazy. Naturally, I had to take my activity outdoors. Believe it or not, I even tried digging up a dinosaur fossil in my backyard using gardening tools and a toothbrush.

If there is one public transport in Calcutta that is the uncrowned monarch of nostalgia—that's the tram! By now, Calcutta is the only city in India that still has them. Trademark metallic, clanking sounds (due to friction between the track and the wheels), the sound of the bells announcing the arrival or warning the pedestrians and vehicles to stop, occasional sparks on the wire above, and the sluggish, yet steady movement are some of the most iconic features that associates with this rapidly vanishing transportation system.

Hitting someone was, is, and always will be something one should refrain from, especially from behind, which is genuinely dishonorable. However, using a handkerchief as a whip was too much fun! And the best part was that it only made sense (and maximum impact) tp hit the posterior.

At the cost of being controversial, let me say this upfront: In India, it doesn't get more majestic than riding in a yellow Ambassador taxi of Kolkata! Mumbai's kaali-peeli taxi doesn't even come close. The mighty Delhi has auto-rickshaws (trying to suppress my laughter.)

Also, no other city in India provides a grander entrance than Kolkata, if you are entering the city through Howrah Bridge, of course. I kept staring in disbelief at this magnificent engineering marvel every time I crossed.

Knowledge is gathering the information that all life forms need water to survive. Wisdom is the understanding of exactly how much and why. The fact that over-watering, and surprisingly not under-watering, has resulted in more plant casualties was something beyond belief back then. Despite instructions from family members, I always ended up giving more water than necessary, especially to the saplings. Hence, I had to face a lot of disappointment in the field of gardening early on. I mean, is too much love and pampering is bad for growth?

An idol-making workshop (be it the legendary ones of Kumortuli or in any small town) can be a fascinating place for a kid. To witness magic unfold in front of your eyes, wherein wooden frames, straw bundles, and layers of clay are maneuvered to give form to the divine, is indeed something! I remember visiting the local workshops just before Durga Pujo and staring in disbelief at the workmanship. I mean, don't they all deserve awards and immense recognition for their craft? Especially for the finesse with which they paint the eyes. Simply mind-boggling.