Vacations.

Vacation time, that period of the year when non-travel addict, non-partying, non-sporty, non-‘generally perceived as cool thing’ doing people like me while away time happily chewing up all those movies and books that we could not. When the itinerary of the day usually includes waking up, eating, watching, eating, watching, yawning a lot, maybe bath, watching, eating, watching, sleeping and repeating. Halfway through which boredom and yearning for the college creeps in. But there used to be a time in my life, and yours too I suppose, when vacations were waited for and enjoyed.

Picturize this vacation day. It is early June. The Sun, shielded by clouds, has completed close to 140 of the 180 degree quota. But clearly his domination of the skies is over, at least for a few months. The lovely aroma of mud and rain is brought forth by the slowly moving cold air. Every living being senses the impending rain, except for me that is. I’m on my perch, my favorite spot in the house. Took 10 years too long to discover but I’m glad I finally did. Books and gadgets are strewn haphazardly on the cold white tiled floor, littered with empty and half full snack packs. The hot cup of coffee slowly dissipates heat in spirals, pretty. And there is someone, slouched on one corner, constantly changing positions and lost in some book. The iPod plays Lynyrd Skynyrd and he makes approving, almost inappropriate in public, noises in between. Me.

I’ve apparently succeeded in eliminating nature. The guitar solo easily wipes out the chirping birds, the coffee makes every effort in screening out the smell of rain and I have eyes only for the book. I’ve reached that part of every book where things get mildly boring. When the protagonist and everyone around and all variables involved are defined and the transition from introduction to the main plot is pending and of course, no one is making love. Music switches to The Beatles and the perfect stage for sleep is set. My eyes droop and low metabolic rates set in. Near about this time a clerk at Central Rain HQ, over at Amazon forests, presses the red coloured rain activation button, a massive hydraulic mechanism and invisible sprinkler systems, for rain itself, and digital sound systems and laser systems, for acoustic and visual effects, are activated (I bet you didn’t know that was how rain happened eh!) and SKADOOSH! Rain. Water sprays hit my face and elevate me to a state of partial consciousness.

Brutally beautiful rain lashes, paints and erases masterpieces on the courtyard every second. Everything is in sepia now. I’m in my own memory. Every vacation that I had whizzes by. There is me, much shorter and much shorter bermudas, aiming hard at the haphazardly placed pile of stones. Game of seventees (I don’t even know if that is the name). I nod at the team mates, throw and scram. The ball finds its target and then runs off to the road where it hits the wheel of an onrushing bicycle. I’m at the wheel, bigger, same bermudas. Cycle race. I stumble on a stone and take a tumble. I look up and I’m on a cricket pitch. I only vaguely remember the batsman’s face, but I’m at first slip, much bigger, and wearing makeshift jeans-cut-to-trouser. The ball is slammed to the next street where two distant figures are cycling away. Me and my sister, exploring, waving at known faces. We reach a muddy, land-filled field and there is a makeshift badminton court. I’m playing and there are unknown faces all around. I’m tall now, I take a jump and the racquet reaches over the net. The shuttlecock dangles in the air for a moment after which it is engulfed by shock waves from the impact of the hit. It gracefully etches a parabolic path and lands in my courtyard again. The courtyard is filled with water, at least an inch high. The drainage holes are all stuffed with plastic now and me and the cousin are having a fun time, RoadRash-kicking each other and occasionally falling, and splashing muddy water all over the sit-out. Mom is standing,hands-on-hip, in the sit-out whose walls are marred by soiled tennis ball impact spots. I’m with her and drinking lemonade and getting scolded. And suddenly the background is filled with Stairway to Heaven.

I’m awake now and I’m driveling. Brutally beautiful rain lashes, paints and erases masterpieces on the courtyard every second. The sepia is gone now and the courtyard is empty. I blink a few times, throw off the earphones, remove my shirt and run into the rain. I try and pretend that I’m having fun, that there are friends all around me and that it is like old times again. But it is not. I continue to stay in the rain and pretend.