From Bangalore’s Rush to Kerala’s Roots: A Summer Break My Children Needed
Summer vacations had just begun in Bangalore, and like every year, our home quickly slipped into a kind of chaos only parents can understand.
The kids had too much energy and nowhere to put it. Cushions became forts, toys covered every corner, and every few hours came the same question: “What are we doing today?” Between the rising heat, work calls, and the constant hum of traffic outside, even we were running out of answers.
And somewhere in all of this, I realised something that stayed with me.
My children were growing up in a world completely different from the one I knew.
I grew up in a small village in Kerala, where mornings began with the sound of birds not alarms. Where the smell of wet soil after a light drizzle meant we would be outdoors for hours. Where we didn’t learn about nature from books we lived in it.
But for my children, life in Bangalore is different.
Their view is from a balcony car rushing past, horns in the distance, people always in a hurry. If you ask them where vegetables come from, they’ll probably name a delivery app or a delivery agent. Their playtime is often limited to apartment spaces, carefully scheduled between classes and activities.
It’s not their fault. It’s just the life we’ve built.
But I wanted them to experience something more something real, something I once had.
So we decided to take them to Wayanad.
Leaving the Noise Behind
The drive out of Bangalore felt like peeling away layers.
Slowly, the traffic reduced. The noise softened. The air, almost unnoticed at first, began to feel cleaner. As we moved closer to Wayanad, the landscape changed more trees, more open space, more silence.
The kids, who had started the journey with screens in hand, gradually put them aside. They rolled down the windows, letting the wind rush in, pointing out birds, trees, and winding roads.
For the first time in days, no one asked for Wi-Fi.
A World They Had Never Seen
Wayanad welcomed us quietly.
Not with noise or crowds, but with stillness. The kind of stillness where you can actually hear things the rustling of leaves, distant bird calls, the gentle hum of insects.
Early the next morning, before anyone else was fully awake, I stepped outside.
The air was cool. There was a faint smell of earth and greenery, fresh and grounding. Birds filled the space with their calls not loud, but constant, like a natural rhythm. Mist hovered over the trees, softening everything it touched.
It felt like home.
When the kids woke up and stepped outside, their reactions said everything. No screens, no distractions just curiosity.
They noticed things.
The way the leaves moved with the wind. The sound of birds they couldn’t name. Tiny insects on plants. The texture of soil under their feet.
Things we often overlook.
Letting Them Experience Nature
We didn’t follow a strict plan.
We walked, explored, paused. The kids ran freely, without being told to stay within boundaries every few minutes. They asked questions about plants, about where things grow, about why the air felt different.
At one point, while walking through a plantation, one of them asked, “So this is where coffee comes from?”
It was such a simple question, but it stayed with me.
Because back in the city, their connection to things is through packaging, delivery, and convenience. Here, they were seeing the beginning of it all.
The soil. The source.
A Change You Could Feel
Over the next couple of days, something shifted.
The kids slept earlier, woke up fresher. They didn’t ask for screens as much. They were more present, more engaged with what was around them.
And we slowed down too.
We found ourselves sitting longer, talking more, listening to each other, and to the silence around us. Meals felt calmer. Time didn’t feel rushed.
There was a rhythm to everything. Natural, unforced.
It felt like we had stepped away from a fast, mechanical life into something more grounded. From soil to soul, in the truest sense.
Carrying It Back with Us
When it was time to leave, there was a quiet reluctance.
Driving back into Bangalore, the traffic returned, the noise picked up, and life slowly slipped back into its usual pace.
But something had changed.
The kids carried back more than just memories. They carried questions, curiosity, and a new awareness of a world beyond what they see every day.
And I carried back something too a quiet sense of fulfilment.
Because I hadn’t just taken them on a holiday.
I had shown them a part of life I grew up with.
A world of birds, soil, and stillness.
A world that, even if briefly, became theirs too.
