Every year, even through the pandemic, I have thought about going on a tropical beach vacation. Every time, I see myself wearing oversized glasses, sipping a martini, wearing the most scandalous bikini and posting selfies with my gorgeous friends. I am taller than I am and sport a gorgeous tan. I stay in a luxury resort, and yes, I am a character from Sex and the City.

On the other hand, if my imaginary vacation plan takes me to a hill station, I see myself walking around in my comfortable worn-out sports shoes and wearing a 20-year-old jacket. This me is quite like the real me. I travel with two pairs of jeans, several T-shirts, lots of sunblock, bright lipsticks, kajal — and a daughter lugging an overflowing old suitcase.

The sea is so much more demanding. It threatens to expose me as who I am now. But I hope to get to there — in my bikinis —someday.

It’s a lot of hard work. I will have to become size-zero, get a bunch of size-zero girlfriends, a small trolley bag that will magically hold my numerous outfits, a sunhat and a white floaty dress.

Till then, it’s going to be a nearby hill station, a room with a TV and I will sit on the verandah planning my ideal beach vacation.