NihshabdBlog

Tag: childhood memories

  • Fictional Characters | Two Extra Chairs for My Childhood

    Fictional Characters | Two Extra Chairs for My Childhood

    If you could have dinner with any fictional character, who would it be?

    If I could have dinner with any fictional characters, I wouldn’t choose a wizard, a detective, or a king.

    .

    I would choose Nagraj and Super Commando Dhruva.

    .

    Not because they were superheroes.

    .

    But because they quietly became a part of my childhood.

    .

    For children growing up in the 80s and 90s, comics weren’t just something we read. They were an emotion. A new Raj Comics release could make an ordinary week feel extraordinary. There were no online stores, no instant deliveries, and certainly no digital copies waiting on our phones.

    .

    There was only hope… and patience.

    .

    Every visit to the stationery shop began with the same question, “Bhaiya, nayi comic aayi kya?” Sometimes he’d smile and hand us a fresh copy. Other times came the heartbreaking reply, “Kal aana.”

    .

    And somehow… we actually believed tomorrow would arrive faster.

    .

    Buying every comic wasn’t an option for most of us, so we created our own little library of friendships. We borrowed comics from cousins, exchanged them with neighbours, and waited our turn like it was the most important appointment in the world. If someone got the latest Nagraj before us, we practically counted the hours until they finished reading it.

    .

    Those comics travelled through many hands before reaching ours. The covers became soft, the corners folded, and sometimes a page carried someone’s name scribbled in blue ink. None of it mattered. The adventure inside was still as magical as ever.

    .

    Those fictional characters didn’t simply defeat villains. They defeated boring summer afternoons, power cuts, lazy Sundays, and endless holidays. Nagraj made impossible things seem possible. Dhruva proved that intelligence, courage, and compassion could be superpowers too.

    .

    I still remember reading under a blanket with a torch long after everyone thought I had gone to sleep. “Just one more page,” I’d promise myself. One page became ten, and before I knew it, the adventure was over… leaving me desperate for the next issue.

    .

    We argued over who was stronger. We imagined crossovers that never happened. We became heroes in our own games, saving imaginary worlds before dinner was served.

    .

    Looking back, I don’t miss just the comics.

    I miss the waiting.

    I miss the excitement of spotting a brand-new issue on the shelf.

    I miss the joy of exchanging comics with friends as if we were trading priceless treasures.

    .

    Most of all, I miss that little child who believed every story with all her heart.

    .

    So if I could have dinner with any fictional characters, my table would have two extra chairs—one for Nagraj and one for Super Commando Dhruva.

    .

    Not because I want to know how they saved the world.

    But because I want to thank them for making mine so unforgettable.

    .

    Until the next whisper…
    —Rajeshwari     🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari

    .

    P.S. Please ignore the clock. It has clearly been reading Raj Comics all night and has completely lost track of time! 😂

    .

    READ MORE :What Villain Actually Had a Good Point? Maybe It Was Mogambo

  • Childhood Memories I Had Forgotten

    Childhood Memories I Had Forgotten

    Daily writing prompt
    What’s a moment in your life that felt like it was straight out of a movie?
    View all responses

    “What’s a moment in your life that felt like it was straight out of a movie?”

    Some of my most cherished childhood memories are tangled up with a cousin who spent his vacation doing little more than annoying me.

    If someone had told my younger self that one day I’d be writing fondly about those few chaotic days of teasing, silly games, and endless arguments, I would have laughed in disbelief. Back then, I was convinced he had made it his personal mission to test my patience.

    Yet years later, those ordinary moments would return in the most unexpected way.

    For me, it wasn’t a dramatic adventure.

    There was no rain-soaked confession, no missed train, and certainly no slow-motion scene with emotional music playing in the background.

    Instead, it began years ago when a far-off cousin came to stay at our house for a few days.

    At least, that was the plan.

    Those few days felt much longer because he seemed to have only one goal—to annoy me whenever possible.

    If we played a game, he turned it into a competition.

    If I said something, he found a way to tease me about it.

    If I got irritated, he considered it a personal victory.

    Naturally, the rest of the family found all of this hilarious.

    Every little argument became a source of entertainment.

    Everyone laughed.

    Everyone enjoyed the show.

    Everyone except me.

    The Childhood Memories That Slowly Faded

    Eventually, he went back home and life moved on.

    As it always does.

    School happened.

    Exams happened.

    Responsibilities happened.

    Some friendships faded, new ones appeared, and without realizing it, I grew up.

    Those few days became one of many memories stored somewhere in the back of my mind.

    Not forgotten.

    Just buried beneath years of newer experiences.

    Like old photographs sitting quietly in a dusty box.

    You know they’re there.

    You just don’t think about them very often.

    And honestly, if someone had asked me about that time, I probably would have remembered only the broad outline of the story.

    A cousin.

    Some games.

    A lot of teasing.

    The end.

    Or so I thought.

    The Conversation That Felt Like a Movie Scene

    Many years later, we met again.

    We started talking about old times.

    Nothing unusual.

    Just one of those conversations where people casually wander into the past.

    Then something unexpected happened.

    He started recalling things.

    Tiny things.

    The games we used to play.

    The silly arguments we had.

    The ridiculous things we fought about.

    The funny habits I had back then.

    One memory followed another.

    Then another.

    Then another.

    Meanwhile, I sat there wondering if he had secretly maintained an archive of my childhood.

    Because I barely remembered half of what he was talking about.

    Yet he recalled those moments as if they had happened yesterday.

    And that was when it happened.

    The movie moment.

    Not outside.

    Inside my head.

    It felt as though someone had switched on an old projector hidden in a forgotten corner of my mind.

    One dusty scene after another flickered back to life.

    The house.

    The laughter.

    The endless teasing.

    The games with rules nobody remembers anymore.

    The arguments that seemed incredibly important when we were children and completely ridiculous now.

    For a few minutes, the years disappeared.

    And I wasn’t remembering a story.

    I was stepping back into it.

    Why the Smallest Memories Stay

    What surprised me wasn’t that he remembered those moments.

    It was realizing how many of them I had forgotten.

    As children, we think the important memories will be birthdays, celebrations, and major milestones.

    But years later, it is often the smallest things that survive.

    The inside jokes.

    The silly nicknames.

    The pointless arguments.

    The games invented on lazy afternoons.

    The people who drove us absolutely crazy.

    Somehow, those are the memories that quietly stay behind.

    Waiting.

    Final Thoughts

    When people imagine moments that feel straight out of a movie, they often think of grand events and dramatic turning points.

    But I think the most cinematic moments are sometimes the quietest ones.

    A conversation.

    A forgotten memory.

    A sudden glimpse of a version of yourself you haven’t seen in years.

    I remembered my cousin as the expert who never missed an opportunity to annoy me.

    What I didn’t realize was that he remembered a childhood I had quietly begun to forget.

    And for a little while, it felt as though someone had dusted off an old reel of film and pressed play.

    Maybe the most cinematic moments aren’t the dramatic ones. Sometimes they’re the moments when someone unexpectedly hands you a piece of your own childhood and says, “Remember this?” ✨

    Do you have someone like that in your life? Someone who remembers old stories, forgotten jokes, or pieces of your childhood that you had almost lost? I’d love to hear about your own movie moment in the comments. 💭✨

    With love,
    — Rajeshwari 🧿💕

    © Nihshabd by Rajeshwari. All Rights Reserved

  • ✨ When I Believed the Sky Was Taking Attendance ✨

    ✨ When I Believed the Sky Was Taking Attendance ✨

    Are there any activities or hobbies you’ve outgrown or lost interest in over time?

    There was a time

    when the road looked less like asphalt

    and more like a magic carpet

    that forgot to fly.

    And I?

    I rode my bicycle

    as if two wheels were enough

    to negotiate with the universe.

    Butterflies floated beside me

    not flying,

    flexing.

    Showing off their glitter wings

    like they were the fashion icons

    of the botanical world.

    And I chased them

    with the confidence of someone

    who truly believed

    speed was a personality trait.

    The sun was my spotlight,

    sprinkling warm gold on my face

    like a friendly aunty

    throwing blessings at a wedding.

    Clouds drifted lazily above,

    those soft, spoiled creatures

    with zero deadlines

    and too much attitude.

    Every time the wind

    whipped past my ears,

    I felt it gossiping,

    “Look at her…

    thinking she’s faster than me.”

    So obviously,

    I pedaled harder

    because childhood egos

    are the safest to lose.

    The road was full of bumps,

    twists, loose stones

    basically nature’s way of saying,

    “If you fall,

    I’ll give you a story.”

    And it did.

    Scraped knees,

    dramatic pauses,

    and that tiny moment

    between the fall and the rise

    where even the dust whispered,

    “Go again…

    this scene can be improved.”

    There were days

    I truly believed

    my shadow was trying to keep up.

    Days I felt the sky

    lean in closer

    as if taking attendance:

    “Present!” I’d shout silently,

    racing with dreams

    I didn’t even know

    were dreams yet.

    Those rides weren’t about speed.

    They were about that bold, silly hope

    that maybe just maybe

    the world was small enough

    for me to explore

    before lunch.

    And now?

    Life has turned into

    traffic, to-do lists,

    and grown-up sighs.

    But sometimes the wind

    brushed against my arm

    in that old familiar way,

    or a butterfly zigzags past

    like a sign I once understood…

    And suddenly,

    the road inside me wakes up

    stretching, sparkling,

    smelling faintly of sunshine

    and scraped knees.

    Maybe I don’t ride every day.

    Maybe the bicycle waits longer.

    But that childhood version of me

    the wild one,

    the sky-toucher,

    the wind-challenger

    she still flutters inside me

    like a stubborn butterfly

    who refuses to retire.

    And honestly?

    I think one morning,

    when the breeze gets a little naughty

    and the sun looks exactly

    like an old friend trying not to smile,

    I’ll push those pedals again

    wobbly, excited,

    heart beating like a small drum.

    Because some roads

    don’t forget you.

    They just wait.

    And some dreams?

    They grow wings

    the moment you stop doubting

    you had them all along.

  • I Never Had One Thing to Hold Onto — And That Shaped Me

    I Never Had One Thing to Hold Onto — And That Shaped Me

    Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a youth. What became of it?

    There is a question people often ask with nostalgia in their voice:

    “Was there something you were deeply attached to as a child?”

    A toy.

    A book.

    A blanket.

    Something that carried comfort.

    I wish I had an answer that fits neatly into that memory box.

    But I don’t.

    Growing up, I didn’t have that one thing the kind you protect, hide, or cry over when it’s lost. Not because I didn’t want it, but because life didn’t really allow attachments to settle.

    Things came and went.

    Spaces changed.

    Responsibilities arrived early.

    So instead of attaching myself to objects, I learned something else.

    I learned to let go.

    As a child, I watched items age, break, disappear, sometimes without warning, sometimes without explanation. There was no ceremony, no goodbye. Just acceptance. And slowly, that acceptance became a habit.

    I didn’t keep souvenirs.

    I didn’t hold onto childhood treasures.

    I held onto moments instead.

    The warmth of a quiet afternoon.

    The comfort of silence.

    The strength it takes to adapt.

    If I look back now, I realize something important:

    not having an object to be attached to taught me resilience early on.

    I learned not to define safety through things.

    I learned that memories don’t always need physical proof.

    I learned that loss doesn’t always arrive dramatically sometimes it just blends into growth.

    So what became of that item I was attached to?

    It never existed.

    And maybe that’s why today, I don’t cling easily.

    I appreciate deeply, but I don’t possess.

    I value presence more than permanence.

    There’s a quiet strength in that.

    Not every childhood story is wrapped in nostalgia.

    Some are wrapped in survival.

    And those stories matter just as much.

    —Rajeshwari 💕