Wake up in the morning (not feeling like P. Diddy, Deedee maybe), go for a nice 2 hour long swim, return home, devour a perfectly ripe mango, go back to play silly games, return home for lunch, SUNBURNT, stuff your face with awesome home-made lunch sans a complaint, invite friends over to play a game of Monopoly, don’t stop until one of you cheats (*_*), gulp down that customary glass of milk, go to the club to resume the session of silly games, don’t return home until mumma calls out your name for the seven hundred and second time, go straight into the shower without ANY interoggation whatsoever, change into a fresh pair of nightclothes that smell of detergent, watch some cheapskate horror show on T.V, fall asleep on the couch, walk into the bedroom in a state of unconsciousness and drift into the deepest slumber ever the very moment your head hits the pillow.
Oh, AND…there’s that huge ice-cold pitcher of nimbu pani in your fridge all the time. Mm..
Now, THAT is what I call a summer vacation.
And I miss my summer vacation. I miss everything that comes with it. The tan, the new friends, the new collection of books that you exhaust by the end of your vacation, cousins from all over, long cycling trips, picnics, late-night banter on the staircase, chasing your older brother’s cooler friends, sleepovers, shorts and worn-out t-shirts and family holidays.
I hate that we grow up to be monsters who work even during the summer. The only kind of recreation that seems possible is alcohol infested. All we think of is money and members of the opposite sex. I don’t like that growing up sucks the living hell out of you. It makes you robots. Robots, whose only way to get nimbu pani is on their way to work. I don’t like how matchbox offices have conveniently replaced playgrounds in my life.
I want to go back to being 10. I want a lock and a key. I want land and water. I need Doctor-doctor.