Kishore Singh: Family holiday

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The summer holidays from school are long so, if one year you decide not to take a vacation, the 60 days pass agonisingly slowly for children whose friends seem to have taken off for London or Los Angeles, and tortuously for parents who must find some way to keep them entertained in the absence of those friends.

Having sought admission for my brood in tuition sweat shops that don't relent with summer breaks, I thought I had got over the hurdle of why we couldn't go on holiday. I hadn't realised that the first to break the breach would be my wife.

"If you won't take us for a holiday," she protested, barely a week after school had closed, "we'll go on our own." The children, usually critical of their mother, were immediately on her side.

Fortunately, all fanciful destinations were docked for the simple reason they were too far, and I wouldn't relent over their missing tuition classes.

"Fine," said my wife in a huff, and packing for herself and our daughter, took the bus to Jaipur. But having realised how hot summer can be in Rajasthan, she was back in just a few days. But not before our son, deciding he was all grown up, went off on his own trip, also to Jaipur (but steering clear of family) and then Bikaner.

My daughter, using guile, booked herself to a camp in the hills, escaping from Delhi's fierce heat and her warring parents in one swift package.

"I'd like to go visit my friend in Bangalore," sulked my wife, "so check the airline schedule and make me a booking, pretty please." Flights to Bangalore are at least as expensive as a trip to South-east Asia, so I tried to dissuade her, but proved unsuccessful.

"All right," I relented, "at least you won't be paying for your accommodation." My wife looked at me in horror. "Are you saying," she asked, "that I should stay with my friend?"

"Naturally," I said, "isn't that why you're going there?" "And have her think I'm a freeloader," said my wife, "no, you must book me into a nice hotel for two weeks, and maybe I'll go and spend one day with her."

I did a quick count of the likely expenses and decided that her trip would cost more than we'd spend on a holiday for the two of us in the hills, and told her so. "Then," said my wife, "why don't we go to Ranikhet with our friends, we'll be together and that'll be fun."

Persuaded like that, I had no choice but to agree, but before I knew it, my son was calling from dusty Rajasthan asking to be included in the programme.

That should have taken care of things but my daughter, unhappy at not being included in the family outing because she'd be away at roughly the same time, promptly decided she wouldn't settle for anything less than a family holiday as well.

"You're so mean to leave me out when you go off together," she started to sob. "You can always come with us," my wife said, "and not go to camp." "The camp," she insisted, is my holiday, but I also want a family holiday."

"And what about tuition?" I asked, for the classes were expensive, and the children had already missed a substantial number of days. "How can you talk about tuition at a time like this?" complained my wife.

So it has been decided that, even though our children have taken separate breaks, and my wife and daughter have travelled together, and my wife, son and I are going on a family break, before school begins we'll head to Shimla for yet another holiday "" all together at last.