Back to the 2000s

Yesterday, my friend Akshay Callar and I were talking about our school days and about how life used to be before. Somehow, one memory brought another, and suddenly I found myself travelling back in time.

So here we are, back in the 2000s.

Back then, Friday afternoons felt different.

I was in primary school at Sir Pierre Dalais Government School in Trou d’Eau Douce. The moment Friday’s bell rang, you could hear Mr Pierre Sandien calling out loudly, “Bon weekend les enfants, à lundi, et pas galouper lor lescalier!”

And as soon as he finished saying it, the school compound suddenly looked like the starting line of a race. Children running everywhere, excited that the weekend had finally arrived.

Somewhere nearby, you could hear the clerk, Mr Gungaram, reminding us, “Pas galouper!”

Next to me was my brother Joe. We would cross the road with the help of the policeman, then walk through the church compound. We used to simply say, “Hey, passe par la cour l’église.”

Our school bags felt so heavy on our little backs, but somehow we did not care. We walked carefully along the side of the road until we reached La Boutique Poma.

That little shop was almost part of our Friday ritual.

You would see schoolchildren everywhere, buying juice and ti gato, talking about their weekend plans. I can still picture my friend Akshay Callar with his dadi, together with his cousins Ashaima and Sweta, who were both in my class.

But I had one very important mission.

Ceres juice.

It was only Rs 5.

And, of course, a free pack of Tarzan Panini stickers. I was collecting them at the time, and getting a new pack felt like receiving something precious.

Then came the ti gato tam-tam and la poudre mais.

With our little treasures in our hands, we would run home.

The school bag would be thrown somewhere in the TV room, we would call Mum, and then straight in front of the television.

From around 3:15 pm until 5 pm, that was our little world.

Me and Joe would drink tea and eat cakes that Mum had made, or whatever we had bought on the way home. Our little sister Hadassa would join us, usually with her little doll in her hand.

Then came Tarzan, Minikeums, Looney Tunes, Rugrats and all those cartoons that somehow made an ordinary afternoon feel special.

At around 5 pm, Mum would tell us to go and change before Dad came home.

Mum and Dad had a little vitrine at the school. During the morning and lunch break, they were well known for their roti, chicken croquettes, flan, gram bouille and halim. And, of course, the cold orange juice.

Dad even had a machine that made instant soft drinks using different flavour syrups. For us children, that was something special.

After lunch, Dad would continue with his work. He was self-employed and delivered eggs that he bought from Arc En Ciel and distributed around the island. From Monday to Friday, he could be out after 2 pm until late.

But Friday was different.

He would come home earlier.

I still remember his old Ford Cortina, registration 6142.

Old, yes.

But strong enough.

While waiting for Dad, we would take our baths one by one. Mum would make sure we ate something because she knew that once Dad arrived, he would also have to bathe and change, and then we would all leave for the house prayer meeting.

Dad was a pastor.

Some Fridays we would go to Flacq. Other times it would be Poste de Flacq or Poste La Fayette.

The meetings could finish late.

Sometimes me and Joe would fall asleep wherever we were, and Dad would wake us when it was time to go home.

By the time we returned, the night was already quiet.

We would drink hot milk and go straight to bed.

Then came Saturday.

We would wake up early, around 7 am, just in time for 5,Sesame Street.

Tea in one hand, bread in the other.

My favourite was simple: du pain grillé avec du beurre ek fromage.

At around 8 am, Mum would tell us to take our bath because it was time for “l’école des enfants”, our church children’s school.

Miss Baby, Gama, and sometimes Miss Fiya would come and pick us up. We would walk down the road towards the church, which we simply called “l’église tolle.”

Once there, we would meet the other children.

Jean Vincent, Celine, Kamal, Smitha, Abishek, Akshay, Ashaima, Akish, Ashwin, Vicky, my cousins Jimmy, Sunju,Kunal and Preeti, and many others whose face i still remember but names I have sadly forgotten over the years.

We would sing songs like “Toc toc, quelqu’un frappe à ma porte”, “Dieu a une armée qui se lève”, “J’aime beaucoup ma maman, j’aime beaucoup mon papa” and many others.

Then came the Bible story.

I still remember learning about Moses and later about the Tabernacle.

We would colour drawings based on the story we had just heard. At the end, one of the older children would pray before we all left.

Then we would line up, one behind the other, and walk together to La Boutique Faraad.

And yes, ti gato again.

Ti gato pop pop.

Poppies.

Tam-tam, etc. 

Then straight home.

The television would come on again.

Tintin.

Astérix et Obélix.

Cartoons.

Sometimes we would play with Joe and Hadassa. Sometimes our cousins would come over and the house would become even noisier.

There was always laughter.

Always some joke.

Always someone running around.

And, of course, somewhere between all the fun, there was homework.

Didi Preeti and Bhai Jimmy would help us sometimes, and Mum would also sit with us when needed.

Looking back now, I realise how simple everything was.

I can still remember the smell of Mum’s cooking in the evening.

We were not rich.

But we were happy.

We had each other.

At night, we would all sit together for dinner. Mum and Dad would talk, joke around, and we children would listen or interrupt from time to time.

Then came Saturday night television.

An Indian movie.

The whole family together.

And somehow, we would stay awake much later than usual.

Eventually, everyone would go to bed.

Then came Sunday.

Again, we were awake early.

Around 7 am, we were already in front of the television watching Le Monde Irrésistible de Richard Scarry, F3X:Le Choc des Héros, while drinking our morning tea.

Then, at around 8:15, Dad’s voice would come from somewhere in the house.

“Go get ready! We need to go to church!”

And the routine started again.

One by one, we would bathe, dress up and get ready.

By around 9:10, we were already in the car heading towards church in Flacq.

Songs.

Preaching.

Testimonies.

Then a little fellowship after the service.

By noon, church was over.

But Sunday was not finished.

We would head towards the old Flacq market.

And the old market was something else.

Lots of people.

Vegetables.

Clothes.

Cakes.

Different smells.

Different voices.

People greeting one another.

Life happening everywhere.

And Dad had one Sunday tradition that we all looked forward to.

Dholl puri and a cold orange juice.

That cold orange juice felt like heaven.

Sometimes he would also buy chana puri and laddoo to bring home.

On some Sundays, while returning, Dad would take us to the seaside.

We would relax, play in the sand, run around for a while and enjoy those little moments that meant nothing extraordinary at the time.

But today, they mean everything.

Then we would return home.

Another bath.

One by one.

Then straight to the bedroom.

Nap time.

While we slept, Mum would start preparing dinner and also preparing for her work next day. 

Later she would wake us up and tell us to check our school bags.

Homework.

Books.

Uniforms.

Everything had to be ready for Monday.

Then, if there was still some time, we could watch television.

Around 7 pm, dinner.

Usually while watching TV.

After dinner, Dad would talk to us.

Then he would pray.

Mum would make sure we had our hot milk.

And finally, we would go to bed.

Ready for another long week.

And today, 25 September 2026, I sit here thinking about all of it, and honestly, I miss those days.

Life has changed so much.

The children we were are now adults carrying responsibilities we never imagined back then.

The dreams we had as children have changed. Some became reality, some disappeared along the way, and some were replaced by responsibilities, work, family and simply trying to make it through life.

Some of the people we knew are no longer with us.

Some have moved away from Mauritius and built their lives in other countries.

Some are still here, living somewhere around the island.

Some friendships remained.

Some slowly disappeared.

Some people we once saw every day are now people we only remember through old photographs and memories.

But every single one of them was part of our 2000s journey.

The children from church.

The classmates.

The neighbours.

The teachers.

The people at the little boutiques.

The faces we saw every Friday afternoon and during weekends. 

They were all part of a chapter of our lives that we did not know was going to become so precious.

Back then, we never thought about growing up.

We never wondered where we would be in 2026.

We never imagined that one day we would look back and miss the sound of the school bell, the smell of Mum's cooking, Dad's old Ford Cortina, the little shops, the cartoons, the church mornings, the old Flacq market, the seaside, the dholl puri and even the homework we sometimes hated doing.

We simply lived.

And maybe that is what makes those memories so beautiful.

Life in 2000 and life in 2026 feel like two completely different worlds.

Technology changed.

The way we communicate changed.

The way we work changed.

The way we spend our weekends changed.

Our responsibilities changed.

And we changed too.

But somewhere inside us, that little child from the 2000s is still there.

The child who could be happy with a Rs 5 Ceres juice, a packet of free Tarzan stickers and a few ti gato.

The child who did not need much to feel that life was good.

Today, we have more things, more responsibilities, more worries and more places to be.

But sometimes, what we really want is something we cannot buy anymore.

One more Friday afternoon.

One more school bell.

One more walk home with a heavy school bag.

One more Saturday morning watching cartoons with Joe and Hadassa.

One more Sunday with Dad, Mum and everyone together.

One more dholl puri from the old Flacq market.

One more afternoon at the seaside.

One more night drinking hot milk before going to bed.

Just one more ordinary weekend from the 2000s.

Yesterday, Akshay and I were only talking about our school days.

But those conversations have a way of opening doors we thought we had closed a long time ago.

And behind that door are people, places, voices, smells, laughter and memories.

A whole world that once felt ordinary.

A world that is now gone, except in our memories.

Today, 25 September 2026, I realise something.

We did not know we were living some of the best memories of our lives.

We were simply living.

And maybe that is the saddest and most beautiful thing about growing up.

The days we wanted to finish quickly became the days we now wish we could have back.

Those were our days.

Our childhood.

Our Trou d’Eau Douce.

Our 2000s.

And I will always be grateful that I was there to live them.