The reunion

Last week, I visited my school after about a year and a half for a small reunion the school had organised. This was the first time after the pandemic started that I was going to meet my friends outside of a Zoom call. The whole day, I wondered how the day was going to fit into the new reality that has been built for us, and did I even want it to fit in?

As my cab entered the narrow road—surrounded by brick walls on one side, and huge fields on the other—leading to the school, I let myself be soaked in the nostalgia that the steep twists of the road, the peacocks that unfurled their magnificent wings and danced in the fields, the farmers and their wives carrying pots of water, brought in waves. But once I reached inside, I realised that everything had changed.

The dirt paths that led to the school had been paved with red and grey stone tiles, the volleyball and basketball courts that used to be bare grounds with nets were now painted red and green, and marked with playing measurements, there were fences around plants, and flowers I couldn’t name peeked out from under them. Despite all of these changes, as soon as I stepped out of the cab, it was as if I had stepped right into my last year at the school. Each step I took brought forth fresh memories that I hadn’t realised I still had. I saw the tree I had hidden behind during a game of hide and seek and remembered with a wave of fresh glee how no one had been able to find me until I came out on my own. I walked up the stairs leading upto the school gate and remembered how during monsoons, I would dip my shoes in puddles and leave shoe-shaped imprints on each step. I still remembered the sound of the bell that rang to transport us from one subject into the next. It was as if I could almost feel the rough bark of the tree as I had giggled behind it, seeing my friends scrambling to find me, the coolness of the rainwater, and the metallic sound of the bell, jarring me through time.

But the nostalgia of the place was nothing compared to what it felt like to see the familiar faces of the people who were the only ones who could share this feeling with me. Given that most of us were vaccinated, we hugged each their welcome and those hugs squeezed out all of my frustration and anger at the world for being so crazy. We fell into the camaraderie that we shared so easily that it was hard to believe that we had been neglected by time in all those months we couldn’t meet. We met our teachers who still carried their wisdom and knowledge as an open well, and let us drink from it, just as they had when we were in school. They wished us luck for our future with an earnestness that I will forever be grateful for, as I will be for their unconditional blessings.

Afterwards, my friends and I roamed the school’s familiar hallways. We bounced half forgotten stories off of each other, checking to see if someone remembered what someone else had forgotten. We spoke so fast that it seemed as if our words were running after each other. Although, in our defence, we were trying to fit in years’ worth of memories in two hours. We pointed out the places we had been punished at, the art and crafts we had made that still hung on display, and marvelled at what was different. So much had changed, yet everything was still the same. We were ghosts in a museum we had helped create.

The entire visit was like reading the sequel to a good book, the plot had changed, but the characters were still the same. It is so difficult to remember what makes a person who they are once they become them. But it is moments like these that help me remind myself that no matter what I do and what I become, no matter how much I grow up, the places and people—especially the people—that helped me grow will always stay with me.