Because before we became people with deadlines, we were kids with dreams and dirty knees.
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The Playground Before the Pressure
There was a time—before rent, deadlines, and blue ticks—when happiness came wrapped in orange toffees and summer vacations. You didn’t need a reason to smile; you just needed a cycle, a sunny day, and a best friend who didn’t care if you wore the same clothes twice.
That time was called childhood.
And if you close your eyes just for a second… you might still hear it calling.
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The Lane with No Name
In the heart of my hometown, there was a dusty lane we never named but knew by heart. It led to an old mango tree with roots so thick, it doubled as a bench for tired feet and broken hearts. That tree knew all our secrets.
It was where we met after school, hiding exam marks and giggling about crushes.
It was where we played Gilli-Danda, not for points, but for pride.
It was where we first learned the meaning of friendship—and the sting of betrayal when someone took your spot in the hide-and-seek lineup.
We didn’t need smartphones. We had street smarts and stories.
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Lessons Without Blackboards
Childhood wasn’t all sunshine. It had its share of bruises, scoldings, and stolen tiffins. But it was honest.
We learned risk management by sneaking out past curfew. We discovered economics by trading shiny wrappers for rare cricket cards. We understood politics during group games—and heartbreak when someone chose another team.
No syllabus. No grades. Just raw, unfiltered learning.
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The Disappearing Act
And then… life happened.
One friend moved cities. Another got a phone. The mango tree was cut down in the name of development.
Suddenly, we weren’t chasing kites anymore—we were chasing careers.
We weren’t jumping into puddles—we were jumping through hoops.
Playgrounds became parking lots. Friendships became phone calls scheduled two weeks in advance.
Somewhere between growing up and growing tired, we forgot how to play.
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But Here’s the Secret… Childhood Doesn’t Leave You
It hides.
In the smell of wet mud after the first rain.
In the taste of Maggi made on a mountain trek.
In the joy of finding a forgotten photo tucked inside an old notebook.
Childhood doesn’t need an invitation—it just needs a moment.
It isn’t a place to return to—it’s a map we still carry, folded, a little crumpled, but never truly lost.
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Let the Child Win, Sometimes
So, the next time life feels like a full inbox or a missed train…
Buy that cheap candy. Sing off-key. Write with crayons. Laugh with your mouth wide open.
Because that child—the one who wasn’t scared to be silly, who believed in magic, who loved without agenda—is still inside you.
And trust me, they miss you.
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If this piece stirred something in you, share it with someone who once stole your last Eclairs. Or tag a friend who still calls you by your childhood nickname. Because growing up is inevitable—but forgetting? That’s optional.