That One Slice Before Vacations

The Last Slice Before Vacations

Every school has traditions… Some are written in rule books. Some quietly survive in children’s laughter. Mine survived in slices of watermelon.

Long before we students began calling it the legendary “Tarbooz Party”, there was simply a tired British man standing under the ruthless Delhi sun. Mr. Gange — the founder of our missionary school. They say when he first came to see the barren land where our school stands today, the heat was unbearable. Delhi summers have never really shown mercy to anyone.

They carried watermelons along with them that day.

Nothing fancy. No grand celebration. Just exhausted souls sitting under the burning sky, cutting open cold watermelons to survive the afternoon heat. Maybe they laughed. Maybe they sat silently. Maybe they had no idea that this tiny act of relief would one day become a sacred memory for generations of children.

But somehow… it did.

And even today, right before summer vacations begin, our school still carries forward that tradition. Trays loaded with freshly cut juicy watermelon slices seem inviting to every eye. Students sit in circles in the school compound, wrapped in a celebratory mood, waiting to hold their share of that unearthly yummy treat… forgetting the world around while giggling endlessly and making blueprints of vacations with friends and family.

We called it the “Tarbooz Party”… as if it were the biggest festival on earth.

Funny how childhood works.

You forget formulas. You forget report card percentages. But somewhere deep inside you… a watermelon slice served before summer vacations becomes immortal.

Even now, whenever summer arrives, my mind does not first remember heat.

It remembers laughter echoing through the school compound… sticky fingers… carefree vacation plans… and childhood quietly dripping down our wrists.

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