In the heart of Telangana lies a small village named Chinakaparthy, where the rhythm of life moves gently, in tune with nature’s melody. It is in this humble setting that my childhood unfolded—a time painted with innocence, joy, and timeless memories that continue to echo through my life.

A Land Bathed in Golden Light

Each morning in Chinakaparthy began with the soft chirping of birds and the gentle golden rays of the sun pouring over the lush green fields. The earth smelled fresh and alive, as if nature itself had just awakened. My friends and I, barefoot and carefree, would dash out of our homes the moment our chores were done. The fields were our playground, and the wind was our companion.

We raced through the tall grass, our laughter ringing like bells in the morning air. With sticks in our hands, we imagined ourselves as warriors, explorers, and heroes. We played until the sun was high, pausing only to quench our thirst at the nearby well or grab a quick snack from home. Every little adventure was a story, every scratch a medal of bravery.

Dusk: A Time of Magic

Evenings in Chinakaparthy held a different kind of magic. As the sky turned amber and the shadows grew long, we would chase butterflies and fireflies with the same excitement as if seeing them for the first time. The distant call of a koel, the rustling of leaves, and the soft whisper of the breeze set the mood for dusk.

That’s when the smell of my mother’s cooking would float through the air—warm, comforting, irresistible. No matter where we were, it would pull us home like a magnet. The clang of pots, the sizzle of spices, and the laughter from the kitchen meant it was time for dinner.

Home: The Heart of It All

Our home wasn’t grand, but it overflowed with love. We sat cross-legged around the floor, plates full of steaming rice, tangy sambar, and crispy fryums. We talked, laughed, and shared stories of our little triumphs and silly mishaps. My father would listen silently, occasionally chuckling, while my mother served with a smile that made the whole room glow.

And then there were the festivals—Sankranti, Diwali, Ugadi. The village would transform into a celebration of colors, lights, and music. Women adorned in bright sarees, children with new clothes, houses decorated with mango leaves and rangoli patterns. The temple bell would chime, and the scent of incense would mingle with the aroma of festive dishes.

Lessons Etched in Time

As the years passed and life took me far from Chinakaparthy, the simplicity and purity of those days stayed with me. The village taught me the meaning of contentment. The fields taught me freedom. My friends taught me loyalty. And my family, through everyday moments, taught me the value of love and togetherness.

Now, whenever life feels too fast or too heavy, I close my eyes and return to that village in my mind. I see the sun rising over the fields. I hear the laughter of my friends. I feel the warmth of my mother’s hand.

Those childhood days may be behind me, but their light still shines, guiding me gently forword.

• Srishanth