Saturday felt like it would never end. The week dragged itself through job, lectures, assignments, and that constant hostel noise. By saturday night I was already scrolling for escape plans in my head. Then the notice came in our hostel group: “Pool party tomorrow at the farmhouse. 11 AM sharp. Bring your swimsuits and your energy.”
Just like that, my mood flipped. Weekend vibes had officially started 12 hours early. Sunday is going to be a funday for sure.
We woke up at 9, which for hostel life is basically sunrise. Everyone was moving fast but laughing. Towels, sunglasses, sunscreen, spare clothes we looked like we were going on a week-long trip, not a 6-hour party.
The hostel owner had arranged two vans. The moment we got in, someone started a playlist. Punjabi beats, old Bollywood, a bit of reggaeton. Windows down, wind in hair, and the city slowly turned into fields. After 40 minutes of bad singing and worse dancing in the van, we saw it: a huge gate, trees everywhere, and behind it a farmhouse with a bright blue pool catching the sun.
The first thing I thought was, “This doesn’t look real.” The second thing I thought was, “I’m jumping in the second I get a chance.The owner greeted us with cold water bottles and told us lunch would be ready by 2. But nobody cared about lunch at 11 AM. The pool was calling.
I changed in minutes and ran out. The water hit my legs, then my waist, then I just jumped. That first splash was everything. The whole week of stress, deadlines, noise, tired eyes… all of it washed off in 3 seconds. Cold water, sun on skin, people shouting and laughing around me.
For the next hour there were no phones, no worries. Just cannonballs, backflips that failed gloriously, and that one friend who pretended she could swim but drank half the pool instead. We played water volleyball with a half-deflated ball. We floated on our backs and watched clouds. I remember thinking: this is what weekends are supposed to feel like. Light.
By 1:30 the sun was high and our stomachs started making demands louder than the music. That’s when the smell hit us. Chicken biryani. They had set up tables under a big tree with fans blowing. Huge disposable degchis were opened and steam rolled out like a scene from a movie. Basmati rice, pieces of chicken so tender they fell off the bone and salad. And next to it, crates of chilled Coca-Cola. The bottles were sweating from the cold.
I took my plate, found a spot on the pool side and sat cross-legged. First bite: game over. The biryani was hot, spicy, full of flavor. The kind that makes you close your eyes for a second. Then the Coke. Ice cold. The fizz hit my throat and I swear I heard angels. We ate like we hadn’t seen food in days. Second helpings, third helpings. Someone joked,We came for the pool, we’re staying for the biryani.” The owner just smiled and said, “Eat more, beta. You’ve earned it.”
Oh, my fingers are dirty here, coz i was eating with my hands.hahahah..!
Lunch turned into a 2-hour hangout. No rush. We talked about rouitnes, future plans, stupid memes. Coke bottles kept getting passed around. That combination of spicy biryani + cold Coke + friends + shade under trees....I want to bottle that feeling.
After lunch, most people went back to the pool or just lay down for a food coma nap. But then the owner pointed to the far side of the farmhouse and said, “Who wants horse riding?” Honestly, I wasn’t planning to. I’m not a horse person. I’ve only seen horses in movies and school books. But everyone was lining up, so I thought, why not?
There were three horses. Brown, calm, with trainers holding their reins. Mine was named “Sheru” according to the tag. He looked huge up close. The trainer helped me up and my legs instantly forgot how to sit properly. Sheru started walking slow, step by step, around a small track near the trees.
First 30 seconds: panic. I was gripping the saddle like my life depended on it. But Sheru was so steady. His walk had this rhythm. Left, right, left, right. The trainer walked beside me and told me to relax my shoulders, breathe.
After one round, something changed. I stopped being scared and started looking around. The trees, the breeze, the pool in the distance with people still splashing. From up there, everything looked slower and bigger. I even dared to let go of one hand and wave at my friends. They screamed, “Look at him, the cowboy!”
When it ended, my legs felt wobbly getting down. But I was grinning like an idiot. Horse riding went from “never in my life” to “can I do one more round?” in 5 minutes. The owner said, “That’s the magic of farms. They remind you that life isn’t just screens and walls.”
By 4 PM the energy shifted. The intense pool games slowed down. People were floating, talking, taking photos. The sun started going down and turned the sky orange-pink. The pool water looked like glass with gold in it. Some of us sat at the edge, feet in water, passing around the last Coke bottles. Someone played guitar badly but we sang anyway. No agenda, no “what’s next.” Just being there. I lay back on a mat, eyes closed, and listened. Laughter, water drops, birds in the trees, the faint sound of a horse neighing from far away. That mix of sounds is now my definition of “peace.”
We left at 6, sunburnt, full, and weirdly quiet. The van ride back had full loud music. All people staring out windows, smiling at nothing and singing to their full voices.
When I think about that day, it wasn’t just “a pool party.” It was a reset button. For months I’d been living in cycles: job → hostel → phone → sleep → repeat. This one day broke the cycle.
→The pool taught me that cold water can wash off mental heat.
→The biryani taught me that simple food tastes best when shared.
→The Coke taught me that small things like fizz can feel like celebration.
→The horse taught me that fear disappears when you trust the rhythm.
→And the farmhouse taught me that nature + friends is the best therapy, no appointment needed.
People always say “weekends are for rest.” But this weekend taught me that rest doesn’t mean doing nothing. Rest means doing things that fill you up. For me, that was jumping into water without overthinking, eating with my hands and not caring about spills, riding a horse even though I was scared, and sitting quietly while the sun set.
Now, whenever hostel life gets loud again, I close my eyes for 10 seconds and I’m back there. Water on my skin. Biryani smell in the air. Sheru’s slow steps under me. That’s my experience. Not perfect, not filtered. Just one day that felt like 100.
And if the owner arranges another one next week or next month, I’m first in line. Towel, sunscreen, and empty stomach .....ready.
How is your summer going?
#CrossPost on blurt.
