REUNION

It was still twilight. The city skyline was showing up eerily in the haze of the darkening grays and the radiance of the halogens. Sujit was trudging down the stairway of his high-rise office. It had been a stressful Saturday. His self-esteem had taken a bleeding beating and he was feeling down, desolate and unwanted. His “first-class” education seemed to have lost its relevance in life. His evening agenda had a very special event - his school reunion - and he knew he would HAVE to make it.

Rajat had changed. His close buddies knew him by the all-too-familiar flamboyance. Skyrocketing businesses, 18 x 7 work weeks, weekend golf, late night parties … that was Rajat till Leena died. Five months ago. Two months of detected leukemia and she was gone, leaving behind their only child Rupak, 2 years and 3 months - a toddler in a city play school. Mothers making a beeline at the school gate every afternoon did not know Rajat. To them, he was the only parent of Rupak and he was never late by a single minute in either bringing the child to school in the morning or picking him up at the stroke of noon. To them, he was a doting adorable dad who never missed slinging the little backpack over the child’s shoulders and hanging the water bottle around his neck with fond tenderness. Rajat reached for his car keys. He had to attend the reunion.

Debu was pressing his best white shirt. The memories had faded with time. Debashis Dutt, all-India first in ICSE, all-India first in ISC XII, nine gold medals in MBBS … a CV that the world would gasp to believe. Life had played truant with Debu. He wasn’t a doctor the country would hold in awe. He wasn’t the surgeon the city papers would love to shoot for page one or page three. He was a lecturer of general medicine in a suburban medical college and had got his only son admitted in a nondescript local school. Debu was getting ready for the reunion.

It was past mid-evening when they met - Sujit, Rajat, Debu and so many more. Amar, Bishu, Rahul, Amit. They had all come. The school building looked just the way it used to be. The field was just as welcoming. The sight and smell were all so familiar. They hugged and they talked. Inane frivolities, grilling realities, achievements, failures … there was so much to share. Men in their late forties walked up the stairs to the school chapel. The entrance door had not changed. The large picture of the Lord on the cross above the hall gateway had not changed. The love, caring and compassion that oozed from every square inch of the spotless white walls had not changed. Life rolled back.

The 40’s melted into blossoming teens. The run up the stairs, the noisy banter, the crazy muddiness of rain-drenched soccer, the roar of the class teacher … all started coming back as if it was only yesterday. The hall came to life. The soft waft of the piano, the mellow violins, the saxophone, the clarinet, the scripture readings, the nervous solo hymns … every little sound reverberated across the empty evening chapel. The voice of the Principal … muffled, lost in the oblivion of dusty memory, a single word that used to refrain every morning, the start of every new day for so many years … “CHARACTER … CHARACTER … CHARACTER is everything. Build your character, boys. That alone would make life true and enriching …” A bell rang downstairs - this time, a real bell - a gong that they all knew and loved. The boys in their late forties jerked out of stupor. They scrambled down the stairs in a childish caper.

The reunion dinner had been laid. A grand gourmet spread. There were hundreds of faces spanning generations of pass-outs. There was an improvised dance floor and a live DJ. Sujit, Rajat, Debu – they laughed and cried. The track on the console had changed from “Seasons in the sun” to “Tum Hi Ho”. Rays of sunshine pierced the night sky. Rainbows shone through tears. Life, suddenly, had a whole new meaning - new dreams, new hope, new resolve – a realization of enormity far transcending the narrow crevices of pall and gloom and negativity. A new awakening had happened. The boys had a homecoming. When they left, they had forgotten to put back their masks and left behind their broken shells.

Soumya, January 2016