A Holiday I Will Never Forget
In the last summer vacation, I visited my grandparents’ village in the hills of Satara. I had expected a quiet, boring holiday, but the very first morning brought an adventure I had not imagined.
My cousin Omkar and I decided to climb the small hill behind the temple to see the old fort at the top. We carried water and biscuits and set off early. The path was narrow and the sun was hot, but we laughed and went on. When we reached the top, the view was wonderful — green fields, a silver river and the roofs of the village far below.
Then, suddenly, dark clouds covered the sky and it began to rain heavily. We took shelter in a ruined stone room of the fort and waited for more than an hour. When the rain stopped, the path had turned into a stream of mud. We slipped, fell and laughed at each other, and it was almost dark when we reached home, wet and tired.
My grandmother scolded us and then gave us hot soup and pakoras. That day I learnt that the best holidays are not the ones we plan, but the ones that surprise us.