(I usually don’t do essays in parts, but this seemed to long to post in one go)
School picnics have always been such an integral part of my year, even at the age of sixteen. Nowhere near fancy or expensive, rather, ridiculously cheap; yet, I never wished them to end. Last year had been a particularly tough one for everyone. The school pelting us with a series of tests every single month, we were all in a desperate need of some sort of break. Miraculously, for once, the teachers heard our pleas, and a one-day trip was planned, just two weeks before we sat for our final exams.
Seven in the morning, we set off. The weather was kind on us, it was unusually pleasant, as opposed to being intolerably hot. January is known for its chills, but Mumbai was unyielding. A week of sweat later, it felt like winter had finally come.Forty of us stuffed into an old bus, which jolted madly, as one pothole after another rattled its weakened framework every few minutes. The scene within was in stark contrast with the dilapidated exteriors. Despite the rough drive, people had the nerve to not just stand, but dance wildly; we were rebellious teenagers afterall. Playing bohemian rhapsody was a moral obligation, and in no time everyone was screaming out the lyrics of the song in perfect unison. Shrieks of laughter were often accompanied by strings of unforgivable curses. Amidst this, one could hear an on-going war over a packet of crisps. Absolutely perfect.