It’s Sunday afternoon, and I find myself at the swimming pool of a five-star hotel—a luxurious blue oasis surrounded by sunbeds, cocktail glasses, and an odd mix of human species, each with their own agenda.
The Cynic Upstairs settles in. “Let’s watch the drama unfold.”
Phase 1: The ‘Instagram Models’ & The Poolside Photoshoot
Two young women who haven’t touched water in years are busy conducting a high-fashion photoshoot at the shallow end.
One of them adjusts her sunglasses dramatically. “Hold the phone higher! No, no, from the top—like an aerial view.”
The other one pouts, flips her hair, then checks the photo.
“Ugh, my skin looks so bad in this lighting.”
The Cynic Upstairs smirks. “Yes, because the five-star sun is clearly to blame.”
A waiter arrives with two virgin mojitos, and they spend the next ten minutes arranging them for the perfect ‘chilling by the pool’ shot—after which they take one sip and abandon them.
“Swimming?” one of them asks.
“Ew, no. Chlorine is bad for my skin.”
The Cynic Upstairs sighs. “This is why the water remains calm.”
Phase 2: The Studs & The Biceps Parade
A group of four Indian men, early 30s, muscular, gym enthusiasts, stand at the deep end but refuse to actually swim.
They adjust their sunglasses. They fix their hair. They casually flex their arms while pretending not to flex.
One of them slowly removes his T-shirt, scanning the pool for reactions.
Another one adjusts his swim shorts like he’s in a Calvin Klein ad.
The Cynic Upstairs whispers, “They came to swim, but forgot to pack humility.”
They don’t enter the water, choosing instead to lean against the pool railing, hoping that a group of girls will notice their presence.
Spoiler: No one does.
Phase 3: The ‘Foreign Tourist in India’ Experience
A middle-aged European couple sits by the pool, sipping drinks and watching the scene unfold with the same fascination as people watching a nature documentary.
The husband murmurs, “Why is no one actually swimming?”
The wife shrugs, “I don’t know, but they are all very… aware of themselves.”
The Cynic Upstairs chuckles. “Welcome to the world of performance relaxation.”
They finally decide to enter the pool, splashing, laughing, and actually enjoying the water, confusing the Instagram models and intimidating the Indian studs, who now feel the need to ‘swim casually’ to avoid looking weak.
Phase 4: The Rich Family & The Water-Drowning Olympics
Enter a business tycoon dad, his designer-clad wife, and two hyperactive children.
The father, holding a phone and NOT swimming, gives precise managerial instructions from the sunbed.
“Beta, don’t splash too much.”
“No, no, don’t go too deep!”
“Arrey, why are you wetting your mother?”
The mother, who clearly did not sign up for this, sits at the edge of the pool, feet dipped, holding her handbag like it’s a newborn baby.
Meanwhile, the kids declare war on the water, cannonballing, shouting, and nearly drowning each other in an epic battle of chaos.
The Cynic Upstairs shakes his head. “The deep end is not as dangerous as these two.”
Phase 5: The ‘I Don’t Know Why I’m Here’ Single Guy
A lone Indian man in his 40s, wearing oversized swimming trunks, quietly wades through the shallow end.
He doesn’t look left. He doesn’t look right. He just moves aimlessly, like a lost soul in the pool of life.
He is not here for attention. He is not here for social media. He is just… existing. Wait, wait…. Is that me???
The Cynic Upstairs salutes him. “May your silent swim be as peaceful as your soul.”
Phase 6: The ‘We Are Here for a Wedding’ Aunties
Two middle-aged Indian aunties, clearly guests from a big fat wedding happening at the hotel, stand near the pool fully dressed in sarees and gold jewelry, sipping chai.
They are not here to swim. They are here to judge.
“Yeh ladkiyan toh bas photo kheech rahi hain.” (These girls are only taking photos.)
“Woh ladke dekh, bas body dikhane aaye hain.” (Look at those boys, only here to show off their bodies.)
“Bachche toh bas paagal ho gaye hain.” (The kids have gone mad.)
“Pata nahi aaj kal ke log pool mein aate kyun hain.” (I don’t know why people even come to the pool these days.)
The Cynic Upstairs nods. “Ah yes, the ancient art of observational disapproval.”
Phase 7: The Exit Strategy
As the sun sets and people start leaving, the photographers pack up, the studs towel off their imaginary sweat, and the tourists retreat to their rooms.
The pool is finally quiet.
I sit back, watching the last ripples fade, and The Cynic Upstairs speaks one final truth:
“A five-star pool is not a place for swimming. It is a stage where people come to perform their version of leisure.”
And with that, I finish my drink, leaving the pool behind—just another witness to the theater of Sunday indulgence.