Connections And Reunions

All my life, I have had the experience of living in different cities, going to school in different cities, and making new friends. As time passed, either I relocated, or some friends did. We wrote letters, and we missed each other for a while and then, moved on with life.

As I grew older, I realized that there were so many memories, and so many people left behind. Some connections still existing, but passively. Some connections dissolved by the trick of time. I wanted all those memories to come back to me, and I wanted all those people to be a part of my life again. Those people with whom I probably went to elementary school with, played duck-duck-goose with, fought over food with, watched Scooby Doo every night at 8 pm with, talked about Enid Blyton's and Roald Dahl's books, played house with, cheated in class dictations with, twittered about like pixies with, laughed at the lamest of jokes with, played on the monkey bars and the slides with... Oh! The list just seems to go on.

I realized that no matter how naive I was, those days were still beautiful. They were beautiful, because we were all still unaware of what life would be like ahead. And that innocence was the best part of the friendship I shared with them.

Thanks to the advancing technology and the boon (or distraction) of social networking sites like Facebook, I set out to search for those friends, who at that time meant a lot to me. Because, they brought a smile to my face, they shared their lunches, they enjoyed the same cartoons, and read the same books. And of course, the gossips of how someone was being a bully, or how someone had been mean and hurtful.

And, I am thankful to my good memory, that I remembered the names and the last-names of all those I was hoping to reconnect with. And, I did get in touch with every single person who was an important person in my life, in the various cities I've lied in.

In December 2009, I met with four of my old classmates,after almost eight years, who I'd studied with when I was six till I was eight. Last December, I reunited with an old neighbor of mine. We lived opposite each other for just about a year, and knew each other for just exactly that long. When we met, we met after twelve years.

During both these reunions, I wondered how they looked (Facebook images are not always the best), how tall they'd grown, how different they were, and whether, I'd still be as happy to meet them now, as I was then. I had all sorts of apprehensions in my head, but when I met them all, all those worries ran away.

It was wonderful. I didn't want to leave them. Sure, they had changed. Well, of course, I did too. We were all grown up, and mature. But the most commendable thing was that even after all these years, we greeted each other with so much excitement and zest. We were really looking forward to seeing each other, and we were genuinely elated to. I could feel it in the embraces we exchanged, and in the smiles, that never left our faces.

Sure, for me, the connections had been revived, and the bonds had been reunited.

We still keep in touch, and we hope that the next meeting doesn't happen after eight or twelve years. And I can confidently say, that whenever that next meeting may be it will be as delightful, if not more.

Friends who Move Away

No more hearts,

No more memories

I don't fit into any pictures no more.

Of course,

You are not to blame,

It was ME who moved away.

Memories past,

Are held deep within

Newer ones

are Fewer made

Of course,

You are not to blame,

It was ME who moved away.

Phone calls, messages

Facebook, Skype

I guess all of us

Are through with that hype.

Of course,

You are not to blame,

It was ME who moved away.

Numerous trials

Hours, days and

Months of waiting,

Went all in vain...

Of course,

You are not to blame,

It was ME who moved away.

Familiarity

It was a welcoming evening. An evening she had been waiting for. This was one of the few chances that people get to revisit their good old days. She was hoping to meet those, who once upon a time she used to see almost every day for three years in a row. She was excited.

She soon walked into a familiar enclosure with the others in tow. She looked around to see some more familiarity. Not just in the faces, but in the walls, with the peeling cream and beige paint. In the set of staircases, which once had her, and all others present there rushing up and down; to and from; and in between classes. In the curtains, which were changed exactly once a year. In the iron rod railings, with rusted edges. In the red-carpeted little narrow stage, on which lay the rickety choir steps which witnessed a fresh lot of singers each year. Amongst all those voices, she also stood one among the many sopranos. But, all these imperfections didn’t seem to bother her. Instead, today, they gave her a sense of homeliness, a sense of complete perfection. She looked around again and again moving in circles, to take in the sight she had been longing to see. It was after a year, she felt this way. It was after a year she was visiting. It was after a year that the school made her feel what she felt. Her alma mater.

She had been in this little four-storeyed building for merely three years, but it had been enough to give her genuine happiness. It had given her values which she knew she’d always keep. It had given her courage to fight for herself. It had given her true friends, who she knew would stay. It had given her sense and sensibility. It had given her the faith to believe in herself. It had given her the strength to conquer, and to lead. It had given her too much to express. As she recollected her first few days and the last few days in the school, she felt tears well up in her eyes.

Just then one of her juniors came up to her and asked her for some photographs with some friends. Although she fought her tears from flowing and disrupting the photo-session, the smile she smiled was genuine. A kind of smile she smiled after a long time.

She wasn’t really fond of crowds, but the crowd consisting of her batch-mates, her juniors and her seniors comforted her. Even the presence of those-who-had-once-been-friends-but-weren’t-anymore didn’t disturb her. She felt nice about everything there. She interacted with her teachers, who seemed equally happy to meet her. She spoke to them with enthusiasm; obliged some more photo-taking sessions; moved about from one group to another interacting animatedly with a different set of friends and acquaintances each time. She giggled with tears of joy incessantly flowing out of her mascara-smeared dark brown eyes, as she and her friends recalled the lovely times they’d spent there. She was overwhelmed with emotion, and felt herself beaming with a calming sense of happiness. She was all smiles that evening. She was back to Familiarity, and back to School.