Streets
Published on
Reading Time
10 mins
Intro
Hey guys, good day, and welcome to the next article on my website. Thank you for reading me, first and foremost. Today, I’m gonna tell you about my golden times, from 2015 to 2016, back in Dangara, or how I like to call it, Dangarapolis. Those were happy times. No phones, no Internet, just pure joy, games, and fun stuff. Alright, let’s go.
My First Ever Game
When I got back from Russia in 2014, I spent almost a year adapting again. School, neighbors, etc. But I genuinely just wanted to go outside and play some games with the neighbors, alright? So here we are, almost a year later, in 2015, with the guys. We had an abandoned factory right in the middle of the houses where people lived. The factory had belonged to my father a long time ago, where he would make ice cream and later sell it to the public. But my father’s brother got into debt and sold the factory. The factory later went bankrupt and eventually belonged to a bank.
But it was also a perfect place for games. It had everything. Many rooms, many places for shooting games, races, football in the backyard of the factory, etc. Folks later started saying that the factory was haunted, but I think those were just older guys messing with them. Not a single ghost when I was there. I was out on the streets when I saw Dilovar and Rajabali, two of my relatives, calling me for a game. And then I was out there with them already.
Genuine Interaction
Games without the Internet were so good that they left so many memories in my head. So here we go. I was with Dilovar and Rajabali, and then I saw Shahob and Ma’ruf for the first time. Shahob and Ma’ruf are brothers, and they also happened to have vast lands with fruit trees. Apples, mulberries, apricots, quinces, grapes, everything was guaranteed to us, COMPLETELY FOR FREE. Plus, near their house, across the bridge, we had access to a swimming pool if we agreed with the owner to clean it whenever he called us.
And then I saw two other brothers, Mahmadsharif and Mirzosharif. These two were so funny just by looking at them that we would constantly roast them purely for fun. But they were good people. I remember Dilovar telling me, “I woke up, then I got ready for school. I came near the window of their house, meaning the Sharif brothers, and then I tried to call him for school. But it turned out the guy had just woken up and started praying the morning prayer.” We laughed so hard because the sun was already out, and these two just happened to wake up exactly at that time.
Shortly after, we saw another two brothers, Anushervon and Bachon, from down the street. So basically, we were all out there. We started playing football, and it was the best game I had ever played in my entire life. A simple game with neighbors, laughing, eating fruits, and having a good time. None of us had an Internet connection, but all of us had computers and laptops. We would share pirated versions of games through DVDs, SD cards, or an app called ShareIt, but we would call it “sharoit.” “Sharoit” also happens to be a Tajik word meaning “conditions,” like financial conditions.
What I Learned
I learned that happiness was meant to be something simple, not something that was so hard to comprehend. The more we grew up, the more disconnected we became because of work, responsibilities, and life in general. But we never forgot those moments because they were special.
Some neighbors got married. Some moved on with their lives abroad. Others are still living with their parents. Everyone got a life of their own, nothing more, nothing less. And I think that is just how life works. People come into your life, you share a certain period together, and eventually everyone goes their own way.
Conclusion
Sometimes I look back at those years and realize that we had almost nothing, yet somehow we had everything. We didn’t have smartphones, fast Internet, social media, or endless entertainment. We had a football, a swimming pool, some fruit trees, old computers, pirated games, and a bunch of crazy guys from the neighborhood. And honestly, that was enough.
Maybe that is what I miss the most about Dangarapolis. Not the place itself, but the people, the simplicity, and the feeling that tomorrow was just another day to go outside and play. Those golden times are gone, and everyone has their own life now. But somewhere in my memory, we are still there, running around that old factory, eating fruit, playing football, laughing at each other, and having absolutely no idea how valuable those moments actually were.
