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Charlotte Warr (Andersen)
My son-in-law, Niri, has a sister who lives in India. She posted the following poem to our family chat group. Even though it's a half a world away, I think we can relate.
Ode for the Unsterilised, Unapologetic Generation
My mum wielded one knife like Vishwakarma’s blade—
Tomatoes, dhaniya, butter brigade.
No separate boards, no sterile rites,
Yet we lived—no bloating, no ambulance lights.
Our sandwiches wore recycled couture—
Wax paper from bread, tea foil demure.
E. coli, fatty... No never,
We ate, we ran, we laughed, with a healthy liver.
We cycled through germs like warriors of lore,
Played on roads, lawns, gravel galore.
Made mud utensils, sculpted divine,
No Dettol wipes, yet we felt fine.
P.T. shoes—canvas, flat as fate,
No air-cushion soles to elevate.
We ran, we fell, we bruised, we healed,
No orthopedic drama was ever revealed.
The cane, the duster, the slap of truth—
Discipline wasn’t abuse, it was youth.
We bowed to elders, not trauma charts,
Respect was earned, not torn apart.
Forty kids in one chalk-dusted den,
We learned to spell, to count, to pen.
No apps, no AI, no grammar bots—
Just teachers, books, and ink blots.
We prayed in chorus, sang the anthem loud,
No one sued, no one disavowed.
Religion was rhythm, not a fight—
Unity wasn’t a copyright.
Detention meant shame, not therapy’s gate,
We didn’t “process,” we just stayed late.
Pride was earned, not self-declared,
Trophies came when we truly dared.
No PlayStation, no cable maze,
Yet boredom never set ablaze.
We climbed trees, not leaderboards,
Our dopamine came from dusty chords.
Bee stings? Gravel wounds? Divine rites!
Iodine dabbed, then parental smites.
No ER drama, no legal fuss—
Just a scolding and a healing crust.
No one had labels, no DSM tags,
No ADHD, no dyslexia flags.
We were just kids—some slow, some fast,
No diagnosis to make it last.
No Prozac parades, no therapy squads,
We vented through cricket, not mental facades.
We were duped, they say, by simpler times—
Yet we survived without pills or rhymes.
So here’s to us— the unfiltered crew,
Who drank tap water and still grew.
LOVE to all who shared this age,
And to those who missed it—sorry, stage.
So so truthfully nostalgic!
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