I was smiling from ear to ear. I was there. In the place
that I would spend the next couple of days. I stepped out of the car. Two
elderly people appeared grinning endlessly and scooped up my kids in their
arms. My kids, aged seven and two, went to them readily and started demanding
for toys and sweets. I looked at the lady and smiled. She was looking at me
with a twinkle in her eyes and asked me if I would like some tea. I nodded. I
looked at the 200-year old house. It looked magnificent with its wooden carvings,
and long dark verandah and corridors. I went up to my room, kept the bags, and
took a deep breath. The smell of old wooden furniture was intoxicating. My
husband walked up behind me, gave me a hug, and asked me if I was happy. I
nodded yes. Of course, the next two days went like a dream. We ate home-cooked
meals on the verandah, wandered in the yard picking fruits, played games,
horsed around with the kids, sat at the banks of the rivulet and chatted,
watched the cow being milked, and sat up late into the night talking. Suddenly,
it was time to leave. The kids were kicking and screaming, and refusing to come
with us. The elder one wanted me to leave him there and pick him up the next
weekend. My eyes welled up while peeling him off the elderly man’s arms. I
could see the glimmer of tears in the man’s eyes. I hugged the elderly lady.
She asked me when I would be back, and I said next weekend. And, I meant it.
After all, what vacation can top my kids visiting their grandparents?
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