Under the Stars, with Stories and Silly Laughter

I grew up in a small South Indian village where life had a rhythm — unhurried, grounded, and full of moments that linger. My school day began at 9:30 in the morning and ended by 4 PM. The classes were not about racing through subjects but about letting learning settle in — slowly, patiently. There was hardly any homework, and whatever little we had never came in the way of what really mattered to us as children — our playtime.

Evenings were sacred. I’d be out with friends, inventing games, mimicking cricket shots, or just running around until dusk gently reminded us it was time to go home. The world felt open, safe, and ours.

Nights were the most magical. We’d sleep outside, under the sky, on a simple Coir-string cot. The air was cool, the stars countless. And right before sleep would take us, my father would begin his nightly tradition, a story. These weren’t grand moral tales or scripted bedtime stories. They were often spontaneous, funny, mysterious, or sometimes just continued from the night before. We’d wait eagerly for the next “episode,” often begging for more until our eyes gave up. Some nights we’d try to count the stars as he spoke, always losing track, always amazed.

What stands out now is not just the stories, but the presence. Our parents saw us grow in real-time. They were around for the small things, the fights, the laughter, the scraped knees, the new words we picked up. Sometimes, they even joined in our games, not to control or correct, but just to be with us, to encourage, to smile.

In those moments, values were passed down without lectures, just by watching them live. We learned about hard work not from textbooks, but from seeing our parents live with integrity. We understood what was right or wrong not because someone scolded us, but because we knew they were watching, gently guiding.

That version of childhood feels far away now. Not because the world changed overnight, but because we slowly stepped away from that rhythm. Today, we chase more money, growth, recognition, and in doing so, perhaps we leave behind the very thing that shaped us.

This is just the beginning of my reflection. Each week, I want to take you with me through memories, through moments, and maybe, through gentle reminders of what we might be losing.