The Curious Case of Disappearing Winter Vacations

The winter vacations we got when we were in school hold a special place in our memories, often standing out more than the summer breaks. Summer vacations in July were more about enduring the heat, rashes, and heavy downpours. Playing in rain-soaked, overgrown grass meant leeches and infections between our toes. My grandparents' fields, swarming with even bigger and scarier leeches, were a battlefield in their own right. Visits to parks during the monsoon were always uncomfortable — we sweated through the clammy air and returned home dehydrated. My cousins and I preferred lying on cool floors under fans to going outside to play. And even if travelling during the monsoons was possible, it was often not advisable. In most parts of India, the heavy rainfall makes some terrains inaccessible and borderline dangerous. Assam, particularly, reels under floods every year, with July falling squarely in the peak of the monsoon season, effectively ruling out any kind of pleasure or educational visits.

In recent years, landslides in the hilly regions during monsoons have increased across India, making travel during that time even riskier. The plains of Assam flood every monsoon, turning the July summer vacations into a time of enforced isolation. The National Parks close, and even visiting nearby districts becomes challenging due to disrupted transport. July was never a pleasant time to travel — now, it's more dangerous than ever because of the extreme weather conditions.

But winter vacations? Ah, that's a different story.

When school closed for Christmas and remained closed until the end of Magh Bihu, a different kind of thrill filled the air. The village paddy fields turned golden and were ready to be harvested. We were allowed — and even encouraged — to take part in reaping the harvest with our inexperienced little hands. After the rice was threshed, the leftover hay became our homemade trampoline. The food, freshly picked and cooked, tasted heavenly, and with all the physical activity, we could eat more of it. The pithas we begged to bake with our mothers and aunts are sweet memories still cherished today. Pulling out radishes, carrots, and potatoes from the ground was an experience that left a lasting impression on us all. The sound of the dheki and the crackling fire in the kitchen still rings in our ears. And the stories shared by our grandparents as we sat beside them until sleep overtook us — those moments remain etched in our hearts, warming us even in the coldest of days. John Neulinger, in the 1974 book, The Psychology of Leisure, says the individuals in a state of leisure have the freedom to choose activities and are motivated by an activity for its own sake, not just for its consequences.  It is in leisure that people learn what they love doing and find the kind of happiness only found in work. It's a space where people discover what they truly love and where they find the happiness that goes beyond the confines of work. Unfortunately, school routines, curricula, and rigid schedules offer little room for this kind of meaningful leisure.

Child psychotherapist Dr. Margot Sunderland, director of the Centre for Child Mental Health in London, emphasises that vacation time is crucial for a child's mental development. Research shows that during vacations, children’s brains engage differently, triggering chemicals that reduce stress and promote a sense of well-being. These breaks not only help children recharge but also foster warm emotional bonds with their families. I was reminded of this last year when my aunt passed away, five months after being diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer. She had never married and had no children of her own, but in her final days, she was surrounded by family — mostly nieces and nephews who had bonded with her during those precious winter vacations. We remember her for her talent in crocheting and knitting, gifts that she passed down to us. Despite living 300 kilometres away, we were close. Winter vacations meant we could visit her, sit beside her while she knitted, and listen to her stories. My sister learnt to crochet from her, like most of my cousins. When she became very ill, my sister volunteered to care for her in the hospital. Had it not been for those winters spent together, she would have been alone in her final days, my sister would never have learned to crochet, and we would not have such fond memories of her.

As social beings, children need these connections to their extended families — connections that build ties with their history and tribe. Denying children this crucial bonding time, especially during their formative years, is a disservice to them. Recently, I asked a 7-year-old how many of his cousins he knew. His response? "None." I can proudly say that I knew my cousins' cousins. Sadly, many children today are growing up confined to their immediate families, with no opportunity to connect with their wider kin. I learned countless life lessons — not taught at school — from my aunts, uncles, and cousins during our vacations, and I taught them things too. This natural exchange of knowledge, skills, and stories is being lost with the discontinuation of winter vacations.
Albert Bandura’s Social Learning Theory emphasises that learning occurs best in a social context, often through observation or direct instruction. The best context for this learning is society itself. If the counterargument says that schools can provide such an environment to learn each of those skills, then it becomes imperative to remember that school is only a part of society and not the society itself. They are not a substitute for real-world social interactions. Schools, for all their structure, treat children as statistics rather than individuals. Even with the best efforts to reform, schools cannot replicate the depth of social learning that happens when children interact freely with their families and communities.

Furthermore, children need space and time to apply what they’ve learned. If they’ve developed leadership skills at school, they can practice them in a game of football in the village. If they've been taught not to litter, they can share that knowledge with their families. School may teach them facts, but it is during vacations, when they’re allowed to interact with their extended families and communities, that they apply those lessons in meaningful ways. As Émile Durkheim's Functionalism suggests, social institutions — like schools — play a role in maintaining societal order. The lack of civic sense in society today can, in part, be addressed by allowing children to spend time with their families during breaks, where they can be the messengers of good practices.

The rise of over-stimulation in children today is concerning. And this is undeniably happening right in our schools. With smart classrooms, the increasing reliance on screens, and the push for AI-based learning apps, children are constantly bombarded with information they don’t know how to process. They fill up their brains with yet newer information without letting it get bored. This lack of boredom has made it harder for children to focus and process information deeply. A vacation, especially a winter vacation, allows children to slow down, reflect, and become bored — and in that boredom, creativity, problem-solving, and self-discovery thrive.

Stephen and Rachel Kaplan’s Attention Restoration Theory, popularised in the late 1980s and early 1990s, advocates for time spent in nature to counter cognitive fatigue. Winter is the perfect season for this in our region. The cool weather, the quiet hibernation of animals, and the arrival of migratory birds all make it an ideal time for outdoor activities. National parks open to visitors, travel becomes comfortable, and even simple neighbourhood play brings relaxation and exercise — a perfect antidote to the classroom routines.

Winter vacations also provide much-needed breaks for stay-at-home parents, especially mothers, who are often the primary caretakers of children. These breaks allow them to reconnect with family and friends and pursue hobbies of their own, breaking the monotony of daily routines. The winter vacation, though often unacknowledged, was a meaningful cultural phenomenon that helped families bond, look beyond their daily routines, and rejuvenate is now vanishing into the statistics of productivity.

The months of Pausha and Magha, when temperatures drop below 20°C (sometimes even below 10°C), are the coldest in our region. Fog is common, and nature itself seems to slow down. Asking students to sit in chilly classrooms without heating facilities during this time is not only impractical but also cruel.

Let these students stay at home, play, gather around fires, meet cousins, feast on good food, and make lasting memories. Let them travel with their families, explore our state's national parks, learn social etiquette, and soak in the diverse dialects and cultures that define our heritage. Allow them to rest, refresh, and return to school after celebrating Magh Bihu and burning the mejis so that they may even end up building with all the free time. Most importantly, let them enjoy their childhood — before it's stolen away by the pressures of the modern world.

Also Read: The Storm And the Wind- Zubeen Garg and Shelley in the Poetics of Transformation