EP05: Summer Vacations...the betrayal of adulthood

🌻 Summer Vacations Are Coming… But So Is Work

There’s a certain sound that echoes in the soul of every desi adult around May-end.

It’s not a koel.
It’s not a plane.
It’s your inner child whispering:

“Beta… June aa gaya. Suitcase nikaal.”

But plot twist:

I’m no longer a school kid.
I’m no longer a college student.
I’m a full-time, salaried, tax-paying corporate prisoner—
Sorry, I mean “professional.” 

And this June-July?
It’s not summer vacation. It’s just... two months of heatstroke, heartbreak, and work emails.

Last year was my first summer as a working adult.
And let me tell you—it hit harder than a chalk duster hurled by an angry mathematics teacher.

What even happened !?

There was a time when “summer” meant freedom. Like actual, Constitution-approved freedom.
The last day of school felt like a climax scene—shirt untucked, bag dragging, hair sweating, heart dreaming.
You walked out like a Bollywood hero exiting a blast.
Except the explosion was just sweaty kids and the smell of Fevicol.

Watching TMKOC for the entire noon

Jobs were done with full focus

Summer vacation didn't need visas, planners, or OOO emails.

It just… happened.
Like an overexcited cousin who barged in, hogged all the mangoes, and left you sunburnt and smiling.

June-July had a vibe. It was a whole personality.
And now?

Now June arrives with:

“Hey, let’s connect for a quick sync.”

No, Ramesh.
I want to drink Rasna in a steel glass and sleep till 11.
Not "sync." Not "align." Not "circle back."
I want to reincarnate.

Back then: water fights.
Now: bandwidth fights.

Summer used to mean two things:

• Wake up as late as legally possible.

• Avoid homework like it’s karela.

Your alarm was your mom yelling, “Uth ja, din nikal gaya!”
Now? You’re awake before the sun, logging into Teams half-sweaty, half-conscious, and fully dead inside.

We used to fight over who bats first.
Now we fight over who takes the Jira ticket.

We used to run around wild, tan, free.
Now we’re pale, caffeinated, and calculating how many leaves you can get approved.

Remember those train journeys to nani or dadi’s place?

No Google Maps. Only uncles giving wrong directions with full confidence.
We packed more board games than clothes. And still forgot toothpaste.

The minute we entered the house, a battalion of aunties would attack:

“Kitna mota ho gaya hai!”
“Aree tu toh pehchaan mein hi nahi aaya!”

Translation: We love you. Please feel attacked.

Afternoons were so hot, even the lizards refused to move.
And yet we’d play cricket with one rubber ball, three bricks, and zero understanding of physics.
Ball goes to Sharma Aunty’s house?
Game paused for 3 business days. And a guilt trip.

Evenings meant pretending to study when someone walked in, watching MTV, playing antakshari till someone cried, and marking mangoes with our names like wild territorial animals.
One bite from your sibling? and it was a WAR.

Now? 
One ice candy gives me a sore throat, two regrets, and three Crocin tablets.

And the cousins?
Scattered across time zones, sending “Let’s plan soon!” messages that go straight to heaven.

We used to laugh till midnight over UNO and ghost stories.
Now we “react” to each other’s LinkedIn promotions and call it bonding.

Even mangoes have betrayed us.
Back then, we’d slurp them like beasts—sticky, happy, uncivilized.
Now we’re slicing them into polite little cubes and saying,

“No more for me, I’m watching my sugar.”

No, beta. You’re watching your childhood disappear with each nutritional decision.

 

And let’s talk about summer homework.

We hated it.
We protested it.
We even faked handwriting to copy it.

But today?
Give me five cursive pages and a geography project over one more 6 PM Zoom call where someone says:

“Let’s touch base offline.”

Touch base? I want to touch grass.
And maybe my childhood.

You know what I miss the most?

Those days when my parents and I were on a mission to collect leaves for my school project >>> 
Damn, I miss that so much!

The permission to do nothing—and not feel guilty.
Lazy afternoons with ceiling fans.
Remote fights.
9 PM cartoon marathons.
The weird smell of naphthalene balls in the suitcase.
The kind of slow, delicious time when days felt endless and life felt enough.

Now everything’s optimized.
Measured.
Monetized.

We don’t live summer—we squeeze it between weekend chores and guilt.

But maybe… we can still steal it back.

Not all of it. But a piece. A slice.

Maybe just take a day off.
Call that cousin for no reason.
Plan a mango night.
Lie down on your terrace and just... exist.

Eat the mango. Not cubes. Full chaos.

Because summer was never about months.
It was a mindset.
A full-sleeves-sweating, Rasna-chugging, zero-agenda kind of joy.

So to every grown up adult now:
No, you may not get two months off anymore.
But you still have the power to reclaim the madness.

Just don’t try playing gully cricket barefoot again. 

We’re not insured for that kind of nostalgia. 

As I write this, I sip chai on my balcony.
It’s not nani’s terrace.
But the breeze feels familiar.

And for a moment… I remember who I was before passwords, productivity, and pay slips.

Maybe summer vacations were never a place.
Maybe they were just a feeling.

Of being free.
Of being happy.
Of being you—minus the noise.

So go ahead & make your 10-year-old self proud.

Just… maybe stretch first before you try to run. 

Your knees aren’t what they used to be.

Happy Holidays Productivity Everyone! ❤