There was a time when summer holidays did not need an itinerary. No flights, no resorts. Just a suitcase packed with cotton clothes, a train ride with a tiffin full of puris, and weeks spent at a cousin’s or grandparent’s home – often in a smaller city, a slower place. Those homes burst at the seams, joyfully full — with mattresses rolled out on every inch of floor, mangoes cooling in buckets of water, and meals that somehow stretched to feed whoever showed up. Grown-ups chatted late into the night while kids ran wild through corridors, always finding someone to play with, argue with, or quietly learn from.

Of course, there were fights — over board games, who got the window seat, or whose turn it was to fetch water. But there was no storming off. You stayed, sulked, and slowly figured out how to get along.

I remember the first time I travelled alone — a long train ride with a packed lunch, a window seat, and a slightly nervous heart. I felt grown-up, even heroic. At my aunt’s place, I was sent off with cousins — unsupervised — to the zoo, to a movie theatre, or just to buy ice cream from the corner shop. I still remember the thrill of sitting in that theatre, just us cousins, feeling all responsible and older than our years.

Those weeks away were more than just fun — they quietly shaped us. We absorbed different parenting styles, new foods, unfamiliar rules. We learned how to fit in, adjust, speak up, stay quiet – all in a very organic way.

Today, with everyone working and time tightly scheduled, summer fun is often limited to weekend sleepovers. Sleepovers, though lovely, are meticulously planned – right from food to games. But I do think there’s value in bringing back a bit of that beautiful summer chaos. Perhaps there is a sweet spot in between — where spontaneity and community can still find space in our modern summers!