We, born between 1966 and 1999, are truly fortunate people.
We are the last ones who sat in homes made of clay and listened to fairy tales.
We are the last ones who played traditional games with friends on neighborhood rooftops during our childhood. We played cricket in the streets during the rain, flew kites during the Basant festival, spun tops, played Gilli Danda, and even played Carrom, Ludo, and other games with our parents, siblings, and relatives.
There is no one like us.
We are the last ones who played with the girls in the neighborhood, swung on swings with them, and even attended their dolls’ weddings.
We are the last ones who read stories by the light of lanterns.
We are the last ones who expressed our feelings to our loved ones by writing letters.
We are the last ones who sat on mats to study, and even brought sacks from home to sit on at school.
We are the last ones who saw oxen plowing the fields.
We are the last ones who drank water from clay pitchers, saw tube wells without electricity, and bathed in them. We also picked mangoes and guavas from neighborhood trees and ate them.
We are the last ones who were scolded by elders but never showed any mischief in return.
We are the last ones who clapped with joy upon sighting the Eid moon and sent handwritten Eid cards to our family, friends, and relatives.
There is no one like us because we are the last ones who stood shoulder to shoulder with each other in every joy and sorrow in the neighborhood.
We are the ones who thought ourselves to be classy just by wearing a muffler around our necks.
We are the charming ones who shed tears over the failed love stories of Shabnam and Nadeem and found joy in watching Uncle Sargam.
We are the last ones who adjusted the TV antenna and waited a whole week to watch a movie.
We are the best ones who thickened the ink for writing on our wooden tablets and considered it an honor to ring the school bell.
We are the lucky ones who tasted the true sweetness of relationships.
There is no one like us.
We are the ones who took our charpoys outside to sleep in the open fields under the sky, and during the day, all the neighborhood folks would gather under a tree to chat. But those days are gone now, and so are we.
There were times when everyone slept on the roof.
Water was sprinkled on the bricks to cool them down, and there was a stand fan on the roof.
Fights would happen over whose bed would be in front of the fan.
As soon as the sun rose, everyone would wake up, but stubbornly they would pretend to sleep.
Sometimes, it would rain in the middle of the night, and the bed would stay wet the next day too.
Those days of sleeping on the roof have passed.
The beds have broken, and relationships have faded.
It was a beautiful era of genuine relationships. People were less educated but sincere.
Now the world has become educated, but it has lost its compassion, drowned in selfishness and interests.
What a wonderful, educated, yet truly insensitive era has come.
