Summer vacations, once upon a time, didn’t begin with a buzz in your pocket, they arrived slowly, almost unnoticed, like a long, golden afternoon stretching ahead with nothing planned and everything possible.
They came with the whir of a ceiling fan on a hot afternoon, the smell of cut mangoes in the kitchen, and the distant sound of someone calling your name from downstairs. They came with long, unplanned hours — where boredom wasn’t something to escape, but something that slowly turned into play, conversation, or simply being.
And if you listen closely, across generations, you can still hear those summers, layered in memory, shifting in form, but holding on to something deeply human.
When every day felt like summer
For some, summer was never about vacations in the first place.
Growing up in a time shaped by migration and rebuilding, Kishan Khemani, an 87-year-old resident of Patparganj in Delhi, remembers a childhood where the idea of holidays simply didn’t exist.
“From the age of eight to twenty, there was only struggle,” he says. “There was no concept of summer holidays when I was growing up.”
When entertainment paused, life didn’t, summer simply moved from the TV screen to the streets below. Photograph: (AI generated image)
And yet, what stands out isn’t the absence of leisure, but the presence of people. “Cousins, neighbours, family, we were always together. Every day felt special because we were together.”
Even something as small as the arrival of a radio carried a sense of wonder. “We liked listening to the radio,” he recalls, “but by the time they came, I had already started working.”
It was much the same with television. As exciting as it felt, it wasn’t something they watched endlessly. And when they did, it was rarely alone; those moments were shared with family, neighbours, and friends gathered together.
Having lived most of his life far removed from today’s world of technology and AI, he looks at the younger generation with a mix of admiration and concern.
He appreciates their sense of exploration, but firmly believes that it shouldn’t come at the cost of something far more important, the warmth of real human connection.
The rhythm of slower days
That sense of togetherness finds a more familiar rhythm in the summers that followed.
Mornings began early, not out of compulsion but excitement. “We would wake our friends up and go to Company Garden,” recalls Sumit Menghani, a 48-year-old chartered accountant based in Noida. There was no fixed plan, just letting the day unfold, being with friends, and creating countless memories.
As the day warmed up, life slowed indoors. Television became the only screen, but never an endless one. And then, almost like clockwork, evenings pulled everyone back outside.
Before screens filled the gaps, the outdoors quietly filled our days—with play, laughter, and friendships that grew without trying. Photograph: (AI generated image)
“Days and evenings were filled with cricket, hide-and-seek, and just playing outdoors with friends,” he says.
Nights, however, belonged to the terrace. He fondly remembers how his family would sleep on the rooftop, enjoying the cool breeze. “We used to sprinkle water on the rooftop and sleep there. It felt cooler and breezier.”
Travel carried the same spirit. “We would go to Lucknow a lot, my grandmother used to live there,” he shares. “Meeting cousins, playing games, exploring parks, streets, and the food, everything together brought a lot of joy.”
Looking at today, he pauses. “The one thing this generation is missing is playing and actually being out there, forming connections that last a lifetime.”
Between two worlds
Somewhere between those terrace nights and today’s screen-lit evenings sits a generation that experienced both.
“I think the first memory that comes to my mind is television,” says 25-year-old Oorvi Bhatia. “At that time, the only source of entertainment used to be TV and going out to play.”
The limitation, in a way, created balance. “If one show was over, we used to take a break, maybe sleep, eat something, then go down to play.”
Days had a loose but comforting structure. “Priority was always holiday homework, that was the task for the entire summer,” she shares with a laugh.
Afternoons were quieter, spent at home, often with parents. But evenings were far more lively. “As the sun goes down, you just know friends are there, and you have to go down to play.”
For her, the part that truly defined summer vacations was going back to her grandparents. “It was almost mandatory,” she says. “We had to go to Nani or Dadi’s house.”
Between nani’s house and notification alerts, summer quietly changed its meaning. Photograph: (Oorvi Bhatia)
Those journeys were never rushed. “That travel used to be very exciting, stopping at places you liked, eating your favourite food.” And once you arrived, it was a feeling of pure belonging. “People would wait for you to come back every year. That feeling of warmth and love is unmatched and cannot be found in any smartphone.”
Today, she sees a contrast that is hard to ignore. “Everything has become so easy,” she says, “but also so non-interesting.” Planning a vacation once meant conversations, asking people for recommendations, and sharing experiences. Now, that process feels far more mechanical. “Now you just go to Google or AI, and your work is done, with no human interaction needed.”
What worries her most is what is quietly fading. “That personal touch, that human connection, is going away, and I believe that is something this generation would cherish the most.”
Summers, now streaming
And then there is the present, where summer still exists, just shaped differently.
For Dishank Bisht, an 11-year-old school student living in Noida, the days are still filled with cricket, family outings, and moments of play. But there is something else that fills the gaps.
They still step out to play, but the pull of the phone follows them everywhere. Photograph: (Dishank Bisht)
“Most of the time is spent on the phone, talking to friends, often just to get through boredom,” he says.
He still steps out, especially in the evenings, and plays cricket with his friends. But the phone is never too far. “I can manage without it for a day,” he admits, “but I can’t really leave it. I need it to catch up with friends.”
Even during travel, the shift is subtle but telling. While he prefers the company of his parents and values spending time with them, he also recognises how dependent we have become on technology. Staying in touch with people now often begins with a smartphone.
What stays, what slips
Across these voices, summer doesn’t disappear; it evolves.
From a time when joy existed without vacations, to days shaped by gardens and rooftops, to an in-between era of television and transition and the present where everything is always within reach.
And yet, the memories that linger feel strikingly similar.
Summers may have changed, but the memories we hold on to haven’t. Photograph: (AI generated image)
The smell of ripe mangoes in the afternoon, the excitement of stretching a game just a little longer, the quiet joy of days that felt special without needing a reason.
And somewhere in between, a gentle realisation begins to take shape.
Maybe summer was never about how much there was to do, but about who you did it with.
As Kishan puts it simply, it’s about “keeping a balance between technology and human connection.”
Because years from now, it won’t be the convenience we remember.
It will be the people, the pauses, and the kind of days that didn’t need a screen to feel full.
