{"id":9156,"date":"2015-08-17T15:57:16","date_gmt":"2015-08-17T05:57:16","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.ourowncorner.com\/poohsden\/?p=9156"},"modified":"2015-08-17T10:29:54","modified_gmt":"2015-08-17T00:29:54","slug":"then-and-now-childhood","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.ourowncorner.com\/poohsden\/then-and-now-childhood\/","title":{"rendered":"Then and Now – Childhood"},"content":{"rendered":"

Nostalgia is a powerful thing. It hits you at the unexpected moment taking one back to days of my childhood. It happens when I see the gulmohar tree burst out in flowers shading the skies red. It happens when I see a fine sheet of dust coat a pristine white shirt staining it brown. I watch my almost six-year old daughter sing, spin, twirl and collapse giggling on the floor. And let nostalgia seep through me.\u00a0I travel back in time to my own childhood.<\/span><\/p>\n

We are very different. Her and me. My daughter and I. In looks, in the choices we make and the way we are wired. Our childhoods are no exception. Very different they are.<\/p>\n

She would never run out and dance in the rain with other kids uninhibited and least worried about sickness and germs. She would never know the thrill as the first drops of fat warm raindrops hit the skin. She would never hop, skip and jump over puddles and squeal in delight and horror as the clayey sand struck to polished white canvas shoes.<\/p>\n

She would never pluck a raw mango from the tree and bite into its tangy sourness and plucker up her lips in distaste. She would never dream about climbing up the tree and drool at the sight of the first mango flowers of the season. She would never know the taste of the tender shoots of the tamarind leaves and savour it. The wild cherries, the pollen from hibiscus buds, the sweet nectar from the bird-like flowers? (Devil’s Backbone – thanks for the ID Archana<\/a>) Will she feed a stray goat the peel of a banana and pet its head? Chase turkeys, chickens and guinea fowl around the yard and jump over their droppings. Go foraging for wild mushrooms after the rains and marvel at the vivid purple and orange poisons ones? Watch bright green paddy fields turn golden yellow?<\/p>\n

\"We

We used to bite off the heads of these flowers (Devil’s Backbone) and suck off their sweet nectar<\/p><\/div>\n

The wide-open spaces I grew up in are not a part of my daughter’s life. As a child, I interacted with the elements of nature (with a heavy dose of fear bubbling within me) and learned to respect, beware and be awed by the bounty given to me. Will my daughter appreciate the world around her in the same way, I wonder. Her life involves watching a video on how mushrooms grow on the Internet or hitting a well-organized summer camp to experience what was all mine. Sigh<\/p>\n

\"My

My daughter at a farm in Australia. Her experiences are structured and well-planed unlike my childhood experiences.<\/p><\/div>\n

This post goes to the #BachpanWithFlinto <\/strong>blogger contest in association with Women’s Web.<\/a>\u00a0Flintobox creates award-winning discovery boxes filled with fun exploratory activities and games for children in the age group of 3-7. If you wish to gift\u00a0Flintobox<\/a><\/strong>\u00a0, use the exclusive coupon code WELCOME to avail Rs. 250\/- off.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Nostalgia is a powerful thing. It hits you at the unexpected moment taking one back to days of my childhood. It happens when I see the gulmohar tree burst out in flowers shading the skies red. It happens when I see a fine sheet of dust coat a pristine white shirt staining it brown. I watch my almost six-year old daughter sing, spin, twirl and collapse giggling on the floor. And let nostalgia seep through me.\u00a0I travel back in time to my own childhood. We are very different. Her and me. My daughter and I. In looks, in the choices we make and the way we are wired. Our childhoods are no exception. Very different they are. She would never run out and dance in the rain with other kids uninhibited and least worried about sickness and germs. She would never know the thrill as the first drops of fat warm raindrops hit the skin. She would never hop, skip and jump over puddles and squeal in delight and horror as the clayey sand struck to polished white canvas shoes. She would never pluck a raw mango from the tree and bite into its tangy sourness and plucker up her […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[191,204],"tags":[1094,162,49,621,642],"class_list":["post-9156","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-family-room","category-my-zen-spot","tag-childhood","tag-kuttyma","tag-memories","tag-motherhood","tag-parenting"],"yoast_head":"\nThen and Now - Childhood — PoohsDen<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.ourowncorner.com\/poohsden\/then-and-now-childhood\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Then and Now - Childhood — PoohsDen\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Nostalgia is a powerful thing. It hits you at the unexpected moment taking one back to days of my childhood. It happens when I see the gulmohar tree burst out in flowers shading the skies red. It happens when I see a fine sheet of dust coat a pristine white shirt staining it brown. I watch my almost six-year old daughter sing, spin, twirl and collapse giggling on the floor. And let nostalgia seep through me.\u00a0I travel back in time to my own childhood. We are very different. Her and me. My daughter and I. In looks, in the choices we make and the way we are wired. Our childhoods are no exception. Very different they are. She would never run out and dance in the rain with other kids uninhibited and least worried about sickness and germs. She would never know the thrill as the first drops of fat warm raindrops hit the skin. She would never hop, skip and jump over puddles and squeal in delight and horror as the clayey sand struck to polished white canvas shoes. 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