Of Rituals and Routines
Things you do to keep your inner child happy!
This essay was written as a part of a collaborative exercise with fellow writers in the Delhi NCR Substack group. Links to their essays are at the end of the article.
The year is 2000, the whole world is waiting to enter into a new millennium. One that will fix all their problems. One where flying cars will be as common as flies hovering over a child’s face trying to get a taste of the snot river flowing out of their nostrils.
And before you scrunch your nose and go ‘eww,’ hold on.
You’re probably the same person who adds mayonnaise and cheese to literally everything. Who are you to judge a fly’s taste?
Nonetheless, the year ends with a different type of new year program aired on the TV. This time there is no regional artist playing a melodious tune rather it is the dawn of Anu Malik and descent of good new year programs aired on TV. So many things changing left right and center and yet nothing changed for us. We’re still in the lower middle class.
No, no! Save that pity and aww of yours. It is too soon to change your eww to aww. New Year didn’t mean much for us. It was just another day marked by the smell of the Gajar (carrot) ka Halwa my mother would cook for us. Our problems stayed the same. Too bad, new year new me trend wasn’t a rage back then.
I come from a very humble background. One where we had more laughs and discussion on how do we get out of the adverse situation than the money at hand. It was always just enough to fulfil our needs (almost). Wants were a distant dream. We were just surviving.
As a child, this survival mode didn’t sit well with me. Why couldn’t we buy the things my friends had? I always wondered. My childhood was about dreaming big and watching those dreams get heavier with each passing year.
I saw kids zipping around on gear cycles, playing with Hot Wheels whose front wheels actually turned, and coloring with those legendary 70-shade color pens. To me, they had everything. I imagined their lives were so magical that they even farted rainbows. Not the boring ones, but ones with 70 color shades!
I always dreamt of being rich like them.
Back then I couldn’t appreciate the life I had in the midst of the hardships my family faced. My parents gave me the best that was possible and more than what they could afford, yet the mini me felt the absence of those fancy toys. Playing it safe never appealed to me. I wanted more.
Days passed. I grew up.
I realized that my parents had it tough and yet made life easy for us, way more than they could. But a part of me wanted to do better. Do things which my younger self yearned for.
The year is 2018, May heat is in full swing. People were sweating in places they never thought they could. The AC in the office cab kept me shielded. But that’s not why I was happy. A few days back I got my salary and that was the day I decided to splurge.
I didn’t buy a big smartphone. New clothes didn’t fancy me either. Those shiny restaurants couldn’t get my attention as well. But the More departmental store had me by my eyeballs.
With my hard earned money I was free to buy that big 30/- Lays packet and not worry about the less quantity of chips. I could skip buying Kurkure because it offered more chip per Rupee than Lays. I could choose Lays without any worry. I could afford that more air less chips packet. That fiery red packet of chips from a new company I hadn’t heard of before was bought as well. So was the strawberry flavored cream filled Hide and Seek biscuit pack. I wasn’t afraid of wasting my money if that new flavor didn’t taste well. I wasn’t playing safe. The inner child in me was elated beyond means. Money was indeed buying happiness.
And from there, a ritual was born.
Whenever I see a new snack, flavor, or drink—I try it without thinking about its value. Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes it’s a disaster. Either way, it gives me stories, laughs, a little spark of joy and to my tongue — new taste profiles.
Like the time I ordered a sea salt mocha at a Delhi Substack meetup (shameless plug: DM me if you’re in Delhi NCR to join this writing group). Salt and coffee isn’t the marriage anyone asked for but it was something I hadn’t tried so I went for it.
Was it worth it? Maybe.
Do I regret it? ABSOLUTELY NOT (all caps, bigger font).
I can, with 100% surety, tell the person next to me that you can safely skip the sea salt mocha and you’ll not regret it. You can see the twinkle in my eyes when I tell you that the strawberry cream filled hide and seek biscuit is something which Parle company would probably want you to forget.
Now, don’t mistake me for an adventure junkie. I’m not Bunny from Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani chasing sunsets or bungee jumps. My thrill lies in food menus.
I’m the guy who orders a mocktail just because its name sounds like a puzzle. I’m the guy ordering Kolhapuri Mix Veg in a dhaba in Rajasthan simply because it is in the menu. I’m the guy trying ‘Eggs Kejriwal’ and secretly expecting it to arrive wrapped in a muffler. (Spoiler: it didn’t. Also, unimpressive.)
However, this experimentation of mine has limits. There’s a fine line between genius and insanity and I chose sanity over chocolate dosas and chowmein filled samosas every single time. I don’t want the world to burn by creating and eating such combinations.
I’ve tried almost every Naturals ice cream flavor, tortured myself with Amul’s 90% bitter chocolate, and surprised myself by loving their Lemon Zest white chocolate. Some wins, some fails, but always worth the ritual.
Because this is what keeps my inner child alive.
If you grew up like me, in a childhood of constraints (though no fault of your parents), the world will offer you moments to let your inner child rejoice.
You just have to notice them and repeat them. Like a ritual.
And that inner child? He deserves it.
The boy who once stared at a toy car deserves to know life can still surprise him. The boy who thought rainbow farts were a sign of luxury reserved for a few, deserves to laugh at sea salt coffee. The boy who heard ‘no, we can’t afford that’ deserves to have an inner voice which says, ‘why not, let’s try it!’
Keeping that child alive isn’t reckless, it’s gentle. It’s telling yourself: you didn’t get everything then, but you can give yourself small joys now. Even if they don’t always taste great, they always feel right.
Because rituals aren’t just routines. They’re reminders. They’re how we honor the curious, silly, hopeful five-year-old still inside us. If that means I’ll keep failing spectacularly at weird food experiments? So be it.
Now when my inner child looks at me, he doesn’t make that ‘eww’ face. He grins wide and farts rainbows — all in 70 glorious shades.
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Other essays from fellow writers:
And the quiet choreography of the ordinary by
The day in the life of a woman at home by
My ruthless morning routine could make great Shah Rukh Khan cry by
About childhood, habits and the rituals you curate by
The love language of predictability by
I romanticize my caffeine addiction by
How ten minutes of humiliation taught me the difference between rituals and routines by
This one will really stay with me. I love how you traced something as simple as trying a new snack back to the feeling of reclaiming childhood joy. I find myself eat chips I wouldn't be allowed to eat as a kid. The way you connect experimentation with care, and ritual with remembrance, made me pause. I loved it!!!!! <3 Please keep writing.
I have to try the strawberry cream filled hide and seek biscuit. This was so nice to read Abhishek. I think the small joys and snacks add up in the long term.