This emotional story captures the life of a boy growing up in the 1990s in rural Tamil Nadu, where television was a dream, electricity was rare, and a
Times Have Changed, But Those Memories Remain…
Back in the 1990s, I was just a 10-year-old boy. Life in those days was simple, yet filled with unforgettable moments. Not every household had a television back then. In our village, the Panchayat office was the only place with a TV. Every evening, we’d line up, sit in order, and watch programs like Jai Hanuman and other mythological serials.
Some elders had black-and-white TVs placed on their verandahs. If we could manage to sit and watch there, it felt like a festival. But often, we weren’t even allowed near. On Saturdays, we eagerly waited to watch the late-night drama at 10 PM, only to be told the TV was switched off or “the power is gone.” We’d leave disappointed, not knowing if it was true or just an excuse to keep us away.
Years later, a few households got their own TVs. Even then, not everyone allowed others to come in and watch. If they were relatives, maybe. If not, you stayed outside. For children like us, watching TV wasn’t just entertainment—it was a dream.
My mother worked hard every day, earning just ₹20 a day. With that money, she managed to feed us and run the home. We once bought a small piece of land. We built a mud house on it—literally with our own hands. We dug the earth, gathered sticks, and built walls with mud and small stones. There was no electricity. We studied at night using kerosene lamps. After 6 or 7 PM, we wouldn’t even dare step outside—it was pitch dark, almost like a forest around us.
But come Saturday night, we’d brave the dark just to catch a glimpse of that drama on TV.
Back then, we often wondered, Will our house ever have a TV? Will we ever get electricity? Those were dreams—just dreams.
As I grew up, I moved to Tiruppur to work. With my earnings, I bought everything I once dreamed of: a proper house, a television, lights that switch on with a button. Life had changed. Tiruppur became my new hometown.
In those early days, there was no shortage of work. Day or night, jobs were available. Salaries were small, but life felt satisfying. Today, even though salaries have increased, work is scarce. The peace of those days is missing.
One thing, however, has never changed—the sacrifices of women in our lives.
My mother used to cook idlis, dosas, and sambhar early in the morning, finish all the chores, and leave for work. We never really thought about how she managed all that. Now, I see my wife doing the same—managing the household, cooking, raising the kids, going to work—and still, she never complains.
We often take it all for granted. We go to work, sit in front of computers, and think we’re doing enough. But they are the ones running the real show—silently, strongly, every single day.
This isn’t just a blog post. It’s a reflection of real life. A tribute to the sacrifices made by mothers and wives. Maybe one day, our children will see this and understand how much their mothers gave—without ever asking for anything in return.
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