Growing up in the nineties in a small town, the literature that one had access to was fairly limited. One grew up on a fat diet of Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, Enid Blyton's writings, the Anne of Green Gables series and relied heavily on the books that the relatives got from abroad. The comics were a different ball game with Chandamama, Tinkle, Champak, ChachaChaudhury, Pinky, Billoo to name a few and of course, Archies. Now when one looks back at the gamut of English literature that was available for children, one is taken aback by the paucity of children's literature from India that was available. The identification that one had with the Blytons and the Drews and others stopped short when the landscape that was described in those books was not at all relatable; the food as well as certain words and phrases that were not at all used in one's surroundings. That chasm grew. Cut to the present times, and there is no longer a dearth of literature that is getting translated or written for children. The richness of words surrounds the children of today's world. I was curious when I came across the writings of Dhan Gopal Mukherji (1890-1936). He was writing for children when he moved abroad and won much acclaim for his books. Visiting his books as an adult fills one with wonder about how time has been captured in his works.