When I opened my eyes, sunlight was already pouring into the room like liquid gold. For a few moments, I lay there staring at the ceiling, confused, until I realised something incredible.
It's Sunday.
A slow smile spread across my face. No bell. No warden's whistle. No rushed uniforms. No attendance lines.
Just freedom.
And suddenly, I had the wildest, most wonderful idea.
I jumped out of bed, grabbed my phone, and checked the time—7:23 AM. Perfect.
"Appaaa!" I yelled, already halfway down the stairs. "Ammaaa! Wake up, wake up!"
They were still groggy and curled up in their beds when I burst into their room like a mini hurricane.
Appa grumbled, "Kanna, it's Sunday… why are you yelling?"
"Exactly! It's Sunday!" I said, practically bouncing on the floor. "Let's go to Isha! Right now. A one-day trip."
Amma peeked at me from under the blanket. "Isha? As in Coimbatore? Today? What happened to your peaceful Sunday at home?"
"I've had enough peace yesterday," I grinned. "I want a spiritual reset now."
Appa sat up slowly. "Are you serious?"
"Yes! And also," I added dramatically, "I'm packing a spare dress—just in case we find a waterfall on the way."
Appa laughed, "This is why we can't predict your mood. One minute you're talking about assignments, the next minute you're chasing waterfalls."
But they didn't say no.
By 8:30 AM, we had finished a light breakfast of dosas and chutney. I packed my spare clothes, towel, water bottle, and a plastic bag (Amma insisted we carry one for wet clothes, just in case). Santhosh was more excited than me and was already wearing his shoes before any of us were ready.
The road from our house to Coimbatore felt like freedom stretched into kilometres. The early morning sun wasn't too harsh, and the green fields and trees zipped past us as we drove. Amma sat in the front seat with Appa, and I sat in the back with Santhosh, playing music from my playlist.
"Play that Harris Jayaraj one," Appa said, and I grinned. Somehow, his favourite songs were slowly becoming mine too.
We stopped at a roadside shop for some tea and hot vadais, and I noticed a small sign pointing to a forest path claiming a "hidden waterfall" 3 km in. "Appa, detour?" I asked with pleading eyes.
"Next time, kanna," he said. "Let's go to Isha first before it gets crowded."
When we finally reached the Isha Yoga Centre, the giant Adiyogi statue loomed before us—majestic and timeless. The whole place felt calm, yet powerful. There was a strange silence here, like the place itself was breathing slower than the rest of the world.
Santhosh ran towards the lawns, excited to see the fish pond and the small caves. Amma bought incense sticks and flowers near the temple entrance while Appa checked the timings of the meditation sessions.
I stood in front of Adiyogi and folded my hands.
In my past life, I came here not even once. But I heard about it from my friends, they was here on a school trip, rushed and noisy. But now, standing here as someone who knew the value of time and second chances, it felt… different.
More sacred. More personal.
We lit lamps at the Dhyanalinga, sat for a few minutes in silence. Santhosh tried to meditate for exactly two minutes before he whispered to me, "Akka, I think I reached enlightenment."
I chuckled softly. "You reached boredom."
"No, this is serious," he said with a mock straight face.
We all laughed.
After lunch at the centre's canteen—simple pongal, chutney, and lemon rice—we roamed around the garden and took photos. I took a selfie with Amma and Appa in front of the statue, then clicked one of Santhosh trying to imitate the Adiyogi pose. It came out blur but hilarious.
As we sat under the peepal tree with our shoes off, I leaned back and closed my eyes for a moment.
This life was giving me everything I missed the first time. And I wasn't going to waste any of it.
After we stepped out of the Isha temple grounds, the clock had just crossed 1 PM. But instead of heading home, Appa looked at me and smiled.
"You really want to go find that waterfall, don't you?"
I grinned like a child caught red-handed. "Absolutely."
"Okay then. Let's make this a full-on Sunday adventure."
Our next stop was the mini waterfalls near Siruvani. We didn't know the exact route, so Appa stopped the car near a roadside tea shop to ask for directions.
The tea stall was warm and aromatic, and before we knew it, we were seated on the wooden benches, sipping fresh lemon tea and munching on hot snacks. They had paruppu vadai, medhu vadai, mirchi bajji, and crispy bondas fresh out of the oil.
I took one of each but stopped everyone from finishing everything right there.
"Don't eat too much now! Save some for after the trek and swim," I warned. "Imagine sitting under a tree, wet hair, and crunchy vada in hand… that's the vibe!"
Santhosh clutched his plate dramatically. "Akkaaaa, at least let me eat two more!"
We all laughed.
The tea stall owner gave us directions—"You'll have to park before the forest check post, then trek about 1 kilometre through the trees. The falls is not big, but it's clean, and water flows even now."
Excited, we drove to the parking point, changed into more comfortable footwear, packed the leftover snacks, spare towels, water bottles, and started our little trek.
The forest trail was narrow but shaded with tall trees on both sides. The soil was a bit damp, and we could hear the faint trickle of water even before we saw it. Birds chirped from somewhere deep in the canopy, and Santhosh tried to spot monkeys on every tree.
And then, we reached it.
It wasn't a huge waterfall, just a beautiful, clear stream tumbling down over dark rocks into a shallow pool—but it was ours for the day.
No crowds. No noise. Just the sound of water and our delighted squeals.
I jumped in first, holding Amma's hand, while Santhosh went full-speed, splashing like a duck. Appa waded in slowly, warning us to be careful about the slippery stones.
The water was ice cold, even in this heat. It made my skin tingle, but it also washed away every bit of stress and tiredness I had stored up since the start of school.
We stayed in the water, playing, splashing, floating, and occasionally just sitting under the falls and letting it pound our shoulders like a massage. I caught Amma smiling to herself as she dipped her feet in the water.
After the first round of fun, we came out and sat on a dry patch under a large banyan tree.
I opened the snack bag, and Santhosh practically snatched the mirchi bajji from my hand.
"It's better than any resort," Appa said as he bit into a bonda.
We sat there, our clothes dripping, hair clinging to our necks, crunching snacks, and laughing at everything and nothing.
It was perfect.
After eating, we waited under the shade, letting the sun dry us a little. But none of us were ready to leave yet.
"One more round?" I asked.
Santhosh yelled "Yessss!" before anyone else could answer.
Back into the water we went. This time, we took photos. Appa clicked one of me and Amma trying to balance on a rock, and another where Santhosh was pretending to meditate under the falls. I clicked one of Appa holding a towel like a shawl around his shoulder, calling himself "Swami Kannanananda."
Finally, reluctantly, we came out.
We walked back slowly, carrying our wet clothes in plastic covers, our bags slightly heavier but our hearts so much lighter.
We changed into dry clothes near the car, wiped our feet, and drank some cold water. Amma gave Santhosh a tiny massage with balm for his slightly sore leg, and Appa started the car.
As we pulled away from the forest road and merged onto the main highway, I looked back through the window.
A waterfall, a bag of bajji, laughter echoing in the trees—this was a Sunday I would never forget.