Alumni

I was inside the old white-red rickety bus again, after a long time, the 'long' meant seven years. The bus ride from the last big town to the village which is almost occupied by a 200 acre school campus, was the same as I had felt it almost a decade before.

This time I was an alumni getting back to high school for a meet, I couldn't accept the fact that I had grown older, though I haven't much. I seemed to even remember the smell of the place as the bus crossed through the same green patches and little land marks.

There were times when I hated to get back to school, because that meant half an year of seniors mastering my every move, uniforms even through nights, the same menu all week long, not being able to visit my house and more importantly solitude as I made very little friends the first few years. But today there was longing, a kind of hollowness below my chest that wanted the school days back, my breath wasn't smooth as the bus drudged towards my school.

I pushed my face to the window of the bus, trying to see as much as possible through the little window; it was just like old times, only the once big hills and the once giant trees seemed to have grown smaller.

Vast playfields and trouser clad cadets with hockey sticks were the first things I saw of my school, well old school. Even the once majestic arch in front of the school was looking small. The hockey coach was as usual getting back from the fields he has been manning since, I don’t know when, the bald man was balder, but his impeccable English was intact. A few words with him, he had his expletives bag ready and I enjoyed it for may be the first time.

Nothing about the school had changed, seemed like it was like the way I had left it, untouched. We walked the distance I once marched all day long, to the Mess that catered almost a thousand people. We were almost ten from my batch now, large for a recent pass-out, though it was seven years since we passed out.

Ironically we were accommodated in the hostel that we had stayed at, during our first year at school; the vicinity had not changed in 15 years. That night I visited all the rooms that once was my home, I sat on the beds that I once slept upon, some strange small kid was sleeping on each one of them; I couldn't believe I would have been so small anytime in my life. Inside the cupboards of my last year room, was still the graffiti that I once made “Great men are great, because we are on our knees ". I smiled.

We must have slept for may be an hour, when the school was up and running- literally, it was the morning run that was a must for everyone, everyday and for all seven years. I decided to skip this part but my friends thought otherwise and got their shoes out and I slept for an hour more.

Bread, butter, boiled eggs and coffee, the breakfast was the same that Saturday and I did not understand why I hated it once. Khaki uniforms, maroon berets, polished black shoes and belts welcomed me to the huge assembly hall. I was wearing a formal white shirt and black pants, this time I envied the people in khakis. I occupied one of the last benches as was the custom while the older, greyer heads occupied the chairs in the front, some of them could have been almost my father's age.

The teachers paraded in soon to the stage, in long flowing black coats, each one of them reminding me of something or the other. Some very familiar faces were missing and some very unfamiliar faces were on the stage.

After the assembly, I walked the class rooms, I could not remember the benches I occupied in the years I started, but I identified some of them that came later by the caricatures and sculptures that I had left on them. In the midst of all this I met the man I owe so much; my English teacher and idol, he didn't remember my name, it hurt. He took me to the language lab, the one I remember had microphones, head sets and an audio cassette player; the lab now had computers on every table and sir was using 'Adobe flash MX' to teach.

It was lunch when I, at last met some one who called me by my name; it was the head waiter at the Mess. Through the buffet I met almost every teacher who taught me, not many remembered my name and ones who recognized me were the ones I had always been indifferent to, like my dance teacher.

The afternoon went past while I tried playing and only fumbled, entertainment lit up the evening stage while I danced amongst the audience, the night soon went and it was the Sunday morning, reminding me of the end of a beautiful weekend.

I was inside the old white-red rickety bus again; I held back my tears, it started to rain.