Skip to main content

Simplifly!

The word Vacation has such a lovely ring to it, don't you agree? It brings with it visions of cavorting on sunny beaches and relaxing in seafacing resorts...or for the adventurous amongst us, it urges them to pick up their backpacks for yet another trekking trip. Hill stations with their waterfalls and mountain cafés beckon us in summers, and sandy beaches or the houseboats in backwaters lure us in winters. Either way, its always fun to go on a vacation, and the way I see it, planning the trip is no less fun than going on the promised holiday itself.

My family loves taking holidays. I have fond memories of looking forward to summer or winter vacations at school as they simply translated to family holidays for me. It is small wonder then, that the idea of taking a holiday even now fills me with childlike excitement!

Much has changed about planning a holiday back then and now. My father loved planning our trips back then, but now, the reins of planning have been passed on to me. Of course, all it takes today is a couple of hours online to plan a trip, but I can't help but miss the chaos of planning holidays a decade ago.

For starters, the books would be brought out. Road maps, atlas, railway time tables, tourist handbooks...of course, a huge calendar would always have to be consulted to make sure we got the dates right. All of these would be meticulously perused and notes taken on my fathers notepad. I would trace the distance that we would travel with my finger on the map, and it would invariably fill me with a sense of awe.

Then there would be the phone calls. To friends, family and acquaintances in far off places, taking recommendations about accomodation and sightseeing. Being in the Army helped, as more often than not, we would land up in the Army Guest House at our chosen holiday destination.

The travel reservations were another painstaking affair. Air travel with family for a holiday was unthinkable and unaffordable, so it simply meant having to book our train tickets through the Defence quota to cut down on costs and time.

Years later now, I sit down to plan a trip with my family this summer, and it takes me little over an hour to get our flight tickets,  hotel bookings and sightseeing options confirmed. True, it is so much more convenient today to plan a holiday today...but I admit, I do miss the family discussions and the phone calls throughout the day, the tension of getting train tickets booked on time, the constant worries about the guest house being available during holiday season, the one month of going back and forth between multiple options before choosing the best bargain, the one comic book that I was allowed to buy from the railway platform bookstore but most of all, I miss the sense of feeling important and all grown up when I took notes on my fathers notepad with his letterhead on it :-)

Comments

  1. Exactly my feelings...the roadmaps atlases and dates from the calendar...it was quite an exciting affair just to sit and discuss the various places that we were going to visiy and the special attractions there!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm glad you could relate to it...thanks for taking the time out to read this...appreciate it!

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Sisterhood of Medicine

"Sister, when will the Doctor be here?", asked a middle aged man. I turned from my examination table, where I was examining a six year old boy, and replied, " I am the doctor, how can I help you?". The man looked at me doubtfully - I was in a salwar kameez with my stethoscope around my neck - and repeated - " No but Sister, I need my child to be seen by a Doctor  Sir".   This is only one of the many incidents that I- as well as most of my young female colleagues at work- go through on a daily basis. Young female doctors get mistaken for nurses all the time, although the nursing staff always has a specific uniform. The young male doctors, however, do not encounter any such confusion. I have no idea whether I can label this as casual sexism or pure ignorance, but people across social and economic spectrums tend to address female doctors as "Sister" as opposed to "Madam". The men, however, get to be "Sir" throughout.  S

The Matter of the Root.

In a country where your name (more importantly, your surname) is more or less a reflection of your identity- from where you belong down to your caste and religion- imagine having a name that doesn't pin you down to a certain state or territory or region, even. Given that situation, I have now come to simply laugh off the surprised reactions I get when people realise I am Assamese. I have had colleagues who simply assumed I was Bengali for years,friends of friends enquiring which part of Delhi or Punjab I am from and even random aunties at weddings judging me for gorging on chicken because apparently, I am a Marwari! I usually laugh the whole thing off, sometimes even playing a guessing game with the people who seem hellbent on decoding where I actually am from. But somewhere at the back of my mind, over the years, a nagging question has kept building up in my mind--a question I have tried to answer very many times, although not very satisfactorily--- What does being an Assamese

The Saree and its Excess Baggage

As a lanky young girl in her late teens who first stepped into Medical School, I gawked in horror when I was told that I was supposed to wear sarees to classes for a month or so as part of the college tradition for all Freshers. That the whole saree thing was to be accompanied by drippingly oiled hair parted in the middle and braided with the ends tied with fluorescent orange and green ribbons is another story in itself, of course. But for the eighteen year old me, who didn't really care how she looked, the oiled hair wasn't an issue as much as the saree was - simply because I had absolutely no clue how to drape one.  Cut to a little over a decade later, as a newly married woman, the women of my husband's family and extended family are pleasantly surprised as to just how comfortably I drape my sarees, not requiring the help that was very generously offered by a bevy of aunts and sisters in law. Somewhere in these past few years, I fell in love with this quintessential