When My Daughter Challenged My Memories....

Was My Childhood Really Better?

Over Christmas break, I was talking to my daughter about my childhood.

Like many parents, I found myself saying what we often say: “Our childhood was better. We didn’t have much, but we were content.”

She listened. Then she gently asked,
“Maybe for you, Mom. But what about others in your society? Did they have the freedom to express themselves?”

Her question stayed with me.

I grew up in a tiny village outside Mumbai in the ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s. We didn’t have much by today’s standards. No television. No refrigerator. Not even 24/7 electricity. We ate mostly what we grew—rice, vegetables, fruit. I breathed clean air. I walked freely through fields and dusty roads without fear. I was surrounded by an abundance of greenery, nature.

And I don't have any pictures from my childhood. 

But the truth is—

I was privileged. Not in the way one would think, no , not money or wealth.

My first privilege was my parents.

They were loving, present, and determined to give us what they never had. They were givers. Whatever little we had, they shared. Inside our home, there was no gender discrimination. My father encouraged us—his daughters—to speak boldly, to be brave, to have opinions.

Not everyone had that.

My second privilege was that I had access to an education. As a girl child in India, I received free schooling and my college education cost was very minimal. I loved school . I was a book-loving nerd who started reading early because of my older siblings. School was my happy place.

My third privilege was a constant roof over my head, 3 meals a day though they consisted mostly of rice but I was never hungry nor did I have to worry about where my next meal was coming from. 

But even as a child, I remember classmates who didn’t come regularly. Some didn’t like school. Others wanted to be there but couldn’t. They had chores, responsibilities, limitations. They weren’t as fortunate as I was.

I grew up in a farming community where alcoholism was common. Where hardship was visible. Where not every home was safe. Where not every girl was encouraged to dream.

At the time, I didn’t fully see it.

My father was driven—not just for us, but for the community. He wanted change. He believed in education. He believed in lifting others. And because of him, I grew up in what now feels like a carefully protected bubble. I grew up in a house named Jagruti, which means "awakening, awakened".

Recently, when I went back to visit, I kept my eyes open. I listened more. I heard stories from cousins, in-laws, old friends. Some still feel voiceless. Some are still bound by society’s expectations, traditions, and religious pressures. Some are still negotiating freedoms I took for granted.

So when my daughter asked her question, I didn’t have an answer.

I had been looking at my childhood through my own lens—from my little castle of love and security.

Yes, we didn’t have material things.
Yes, we were content.
Yes, it was beautiful.

But it was beautiful because I was protected. Because I was supported. Because I was privileged. 

Maybe the real truth isn’t that “our childhood was better.”

Maybe it’s that mine was.

Fast forward, I moved to # 1 country in the world and did not realize that some people here had no voice either, that they weren't as privileged as I was, that they had to worry about a roof, food on their table. 

Anyways, it took a conversation with my daughter to open my eyes. 

That conversation humbled me.

It reminded me that contentment and privilege can coexist.
That simplicity does not erase inequality.

And that sometimes, the greatest growth comes when our children challenge our memories. 

And perhaps what our children are asking us to do is widen the lens—to see beyond nostalgia and acknowledge both gratitude and truth.

Now I find myself wondering—if I widen the lens on my own childhood, what do I see that I didn’t see then?
And what might you see if you did the same?

Have your children questioned about your past that made you see it differently?

Sharing another one of my blog ,  https://www.rekhasrambling.com/2025/07/a-born-screamer-how-my-voice-has-changed.html