When Victor rang up to tell me, that he would be coming to my town on a short holiday with his family, I was thrilled beyond measure.  Victor was my classmate in school and we had not met in the past 25 years. In fact I hadn’t even known about his whereabouts until recently.   It was only a few months ago that a couple of our classmates had got together and tracked down some of our batch mates. The internet technology had made it happen – it was really doing wonders - lost friends and lost relationships could now be revived and rekindled. It was possible to cut across time and distance and boundaries, and reconnect the past with the present.  So, here we were, sharing pictures and exchanging updates on our family, teachers etc. with earnestness, trying to make up for the lost time, forever conscious that we did not have a lifetime ahead of us. It was also heartening to know that, though in the intervening years we were unfortunate to lose 3 of our classmates to cruel fate, thankfully the rest of us were doing fine. Initially I was wary about reconnecting and renewing old ties after a gap of so many years, bringing to mind Thomas Moore’s eternal poem ‘The Light of Other days,’ particularly the following lines:

I remember all,

The friends so link’d together,

I’ve seen around me fall

Like leaves in wintry weather.

I feel like one

Who treads alone

Some banquet hall deserted

Whose lights are fled,

Whose garlands dead

And all but he departed.

This was the poem we had in school. Often I would identify with the protagonist and pity him for having to endure the pain of separation. So intense was my empathy with the poet, that my mind refused to renew old contacts and expose myself to the suffering of pain and loss.  It wasn’t the right mindset, I knew.  I needed to repeatedly convince myself that by keeping aloof, I would merely become an escapist..  . Didn’t Shakespeare say ‘a coward dies a thousand deaths...a soldier dies but once.’

Hence after some hesitation, I let myself go.  Or rather, I toed the line with the others. And I felt happy.  Happy indeed to pick up exactly where we had left 25 years ago, happy to belong, to be part of a clique.

After having checked into a hotel, Victor telephoned to ask whether it would be okay for them to come over to my house the same evening, because of their crammed itinerary from the next day onwards. I told him that he was most welcome and that I was eagerly looking forward to his visit with his family.  I gave him the direction to my house and then he handed over the phone to his lovely wife Maria, with whom I exchanged a few words. Their two teenaged daughters Jane and Rita also spoke.  “You wouldn’t recognize your classmate,” Maria teased, ‘he has gone all bald.” “I have your pictures with me; he hasn’t changed at all,” I said “except for the receding hairline” and then added gaily, “I am nonetheless the younger, having sprouted a whole bunch of grays right in the anterior,  all uncamouflaged.”  “Oh! Really!” she said and laughed.

 After Victor hung up, I allowed myself to go back in time and pictured Victor the way he was in school - a slightly built chap and very fair, in fact, the fairest in the class.  His ash-grey penetrating eyes, aquiline nose and impeccable manners were his other distinguishing features.  Ours was a co-ed class with fewer boys and more girls.  Our class teachers down the years were especially partial to the boys and called them their ‘adorned jewels,’ while we, girls were relegated to mere ‘imitation pieces.’ This was one reason why we declared the boys our sworn enemies. But, by the time we moved upwards to 8^th standard and were into our teens, the pairing game had begun. It was a harmless game with no real intentions.    A boy would be paired with a girl, sometimes for real reasons, but mostly for the heck of it. I had the distinction of being paired with Victor- my mind does not recollect why – I think there was no reason for it. Although we knew it was only in fun, still it was an awkward situation when the pair interacted with each other.  There would be some booing and all eyes would be looking at them. This happened to me too. I took precaution to be out of Victor’s way at all times. What if my parents came to hear of it and believed it to be true?  I could not fathom the consequences.  While I had no inhibition talking to the other boys of the class, I became extremely conscious and shy, whenever I tried to speak to Victor. But of course, I rarely ventured to speak to him.   I was also careful not to bump into him at any time- crossing the street and fleeing to the other side for safety whenever I saw anyone vaguely resembling him.

And now, here I was, all set and ready to meet the very same Victor, who, in a short while, would be visiting me with his charming wife and their two children.  I couldn’t help smiling.  Victor had made a success of his life, as all career oriented people do.  He was an engineer by profession, having lived in the U.S.A. and Europe for the most part and had only recently returned to India for good, to settle in Mumbai.  His success as well as the successes of some others of my classmates, was a reminder to me of how others had made better careers, were more widely traveled and were better off financially, while my life remained largely uneventful and dull except for the little wonders of every day life.

Presently, a car pulled up in front of our house and a dignified middle aged man with a tall stately frame came out.  As soon as he saw me, his ash gray eyes crinkled into a smile.  His wife was beautiful and the children elegant and delicate. After the usual pleasantries, Victor brought back the old days by introducing me to his wife as ‘his very first girl friend.’  And in an impish way he asked me whether my husband knew all about it. I told him that my husband was expected shortly and he could have the pleasure of telling it to him himself.

Soon we were talking animatedly, picking up the conversation from where we had left several decades ago. We galloped back and forth in time, randomly, talking about other students, teachers, parents, siblings, spouses and children.  There is one thing reassuring about childhood friends and old classmates –somehow they are there to stay –we can be frank and open to them without putting on a facade -it’s probably because this kind of a relationship is formed much before we turn into adults and start adopting a judgmental attitude.

Before long, my husband too joined in and expressed that he was envious of the camaraderie Victor and I shared. Maria fully agreed with him and Jane and Rita observed that after seeing us conversing, they wondered how it could be possible to slip back so easily to one’s childhood in one’s middle age. ‘As one gets older, one tends to go back to one’s childhood more often’ I said rather philosophically.  Then Rita said something and Maria produced a packet declaring that it was a present for me, carefully handpicked by her husband. The children too chorused that their father who generally loathed shopping had patiently laboured for an hour to select something unique for his ‘old girlfriend’. I laughed at the suggestion of ‘old’ and ‘girlfriend’, and told them that there was no truth in it at all.

 While I unwrapped the paper, I discovered that the gift was a saree and as I pulled the strings from the cardboard box, I could sense all eyes glued on me, waiting to read the expression that would come to my face.  And then, when the beautiful pink and green crepe saree came in full view, I could hardly believe my eyes.  ‘Exquisite’ I said, controlling my astonishment.  ‘I knew you would love it’ Victor said, triumphantly beaming to his wife and children.  ‘It would have been my choice too’ said a grinning Maria. ‘You are a wonderful family’ I observed, seeing the affection and trust they shared for each other.

We drove to a nearby restaurant for dinner.  After enjoying a heavy repast peppered with more jokes and anecdotes, the time had come to bid goodbye to each other, promising that we would meet again soon.

On returning home, I hurried to the bedroom and rummaged through my wardrobe to pull out the green and pink saree I had bought a month ago for Diwali. I compared the saree with the one gifted by Victor.  They were identical.  What a coincidence!!  And to think that  I too had taken a long time to make the selection, choosing from a collection of over a hundred sarees after much contemplation and indecision. 'Thank God,' I said, and braced myself, for having had the presence of mind to stop myself from blurting out that I carried a similar saree in my wardrobe.  I lauded myself for this.  Simple pleasures, but these go a long way!.