Those peaceful days without cell phones, ever-buzzing notifications, and the pressure to stay connected 24×7—yes, I am talking about the 90s. A time when our eyes were more familiar with playground dust than glowing screens, and luxury meant upgrading from a landline to a cordless phone.
I lived through the 90s, and for me, it truly was a golden period, even without modern conveniences.
School holidays meant actually playing with real friends. Sundays were incomplete with the echoing chant of Shaktimaan—our very own Indian superhero. (I bet the title music is playing in the back of your mind right now.)
Cartoons were simple, joyful, and oddly aspirational. DuckTales made us dream of a tijori as big as Uncle Scrooge’s, while TaleSpin had us wishing we could fly a plane like Baloo. There was the looming threat of Sher Khan, the comfort of Mickey and Minnie, and Goofy’s harmless chaos—a fantastical Disney world that felt magical.
Watching television was never a solitary act; it was a family ritual.
Siblings gathered in front of the TV, arguing over channels and eventually fighting over the remote. The television didn’t isolate us—it united us.
A few days ago, while cleaning my closet, I stumbled upon my cherished autograph—or slam—book. Its cover was adorned with Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet in the iconic pose from the movie Titanic. Holding it instantly transported me to a time when choosing these books was an event in itself, and getting them filled by friends and favourite teachers felt so exciting. Every page carried handwritten notes, inside jokes, confessions, and promises—memories we carefully preserved long before cloud storage existed. Pure nostalgia, isn’t it?
Back then, shopping too had a rhythm. It wasn’t impulsive or daily—it was festival-oriented. Durga Puja or Holi meant new clothes, carefully chosen, worn with pride, and remembered for years—sometimes even passed down to younger siblings or cousins. Eating out wasn’t routine either; it was a monthly celebration, an event worth looking forward to.
Even power cuts carried a strange kind of magic. Nights without electricity meant stargazing from the verandah, getting lost in the mysteries of the universe, or sitting on the terrace with siblings and friends, whispering stories under candlelight. When darkness surrounded us, we would simply light a candle, make animals with our hands, and watch their shadows dance over the candle flame. Simple acts but full of joy.
All these small moments make me realise that things were less accessible back then.
And perhaps, because of that, more beautiful.
Today, the world rushes ahead at an alarming speed. Groceries arrive in ten minutes, food travels across cities to reach us warm, and literally anything can be bought with a single click. Convenience surrounds us—but somewhere along the way, it has robbed us of the joy of waiting, of anticipation, of longing.
Maybe we live in a highly competitive, sharp-edged world now—one that demands constant movement and leaves little room to pause. We seek rejuvenation because exhaustion has become the norm. And sometimes I wonder—why did the world transform this way?
I wish we still had the chance to live in the 90s.
Or at least, to carry a little of its slowness, warmth, and togetherness into the lives we lead today.
The golden days remind me of innocence,
The simple joys and a heart full of laughter,
Less technology but more social,
Less convenience but deeper joys,
Less noise, yet more meaning,
Less hurry, yet richer moments,
When time moved slowly,
And life felt complete in its quiet simplicity.
PS: This post was published in Thought Lantern magazine (February 2026 edition) founded by Palak Chauhan.
PS: This blog post is part of ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’ hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla
Cerebration 