Good old days, from a safe distance

AT a recent get-together, one of my friends grew nostalgic about the “good old days” when community living was not just an ideal but a way of life. He recalled how, during weddings or other family celebrations, neighbours didn’t just share all the joy — they shared homes, opening their doors to accommodate guests.

His words transported me to my childhood, when my mother kept a special trunk filled with extra bedsheets, quilts and blankets, always ready for unexpected company. During weddings, bereavement or any significant gathering in the neighbourhood, our home would effortlessly expand to accommodate 10-15 guests at a time. The neighbours knew of my mother’s generous hospitality and often relied on her to make their guests feel welcomed, cherished and utterly at home. Those were indeed days when hearts and houses had no walls.

The discussion soon veered towards the present times, when ‘destination weddings’ are the new norm — celebrations marked by grandeur, curated guest lists and meticulously planned itineraries. While these weddings are undeniably picturesque, some of the old warmth seems to have faded. The spontaneous laughter echoing through crowded courtyards, the shared responsibility of feeding guests and the collective ownership of joy have slowly given way to carefully orchestrated events handled by professionals.

We reflected on how the community had gradually been replaced by convenience. The festivities are grander now, yet perhaps the sense of belonging that once defined them has quietly slipped away.

However, the words of an anonymous poet soon floated back to me: “Nostalgia is a beautiful lie, dressed up in sepia.” The moment someone asked whether, given a choice, we would actually return to those “good old days” of shared sleeping spaces — 10 cousins packed like sardines on floor mattresses, ceiling fans groaning in protest during peak summer and no air-conditioners in sight — the room erupted. There were dramatic groans, exaggerated sighs and a unanimous chorus of “Absolutely not!”

Instantly, the excuses came tumbling out, each more dramatic than the last. “I have medical issues; I need proper rest,” declared one. “My back won’t forgive me if I lie on the floor,” lamented another. Someone claimed allergies to “closed spaces, open spaces and possibly all spaces with other people.”

Another hesitantly admitted, “I snore like a generator — no one will sleep if I’m there.” And of course, there was the classic, “I need my eight hours, my own pillow, and preferably, my own room.” It became clear that while we lovingly romanticise the past, we are quite content to remember it fondly — from the comfort of our well-cushioned, air-conditioned present.

By the end of the evening, we concluded that while nostalgia wraps the past in a warm, irresistible glow, the present has its own comforts we are not ready to give up. Yet, the spirit of togetherness from those days still matters. Perhaps the way forward lies in blending both — keeping our air-conditioners and private pillows, while making sure our hearts and homes remain just as open as they once were.