I decided to go to my college’s alumni meet. Messaged my old pals but no one said yes. Some were in town but not interested. Others were out of town and still not interested. It’s been almost four years since I have been out of college. Even longer if we consider the final year which was lost to COVID. I don’t know why but I felt like going. A change from my past self who was the first to say no to every new plan. It's something I've been deliberate about lately - to err on the side of action.
Anyway, the day arrived. I wasn’t really expecting anything big. I was just curious how would it feel. It’s a place I have been in and out almost everyday for years and now I no longer think about it. Perhaps it was for the better that I was heading alone. The silence makes it easy to notice, to witness what the passage of time has done to a place - and to yourself.
Dressed in white, I took the grey Metro to the yellow Kashmere Gate. But this time - not to change lines but to disembark. My body remembered the exit path. I reached the staircase and it felt long. Mind interfered with its worries that we might be going wrong but I let the instinct take over. It's something I've been deliberate about lately - to trust my gut more. As I reached the end of the stairs, a lanky fellow with sunburnt skin was eyeing me. Then a familiar sound broke the silence, “College?”. I said yes. To confirm, I was about to say the old name but then I remembered it was re-christened.
My choice of transport was a dusty old yellow-green three-wheeler. Five people were huddled into the small machine, luckily I did not have to sit beside the driver with half of my body hanging in the air. Sitting in the air-conditioned metro with legs spread wide, I was reminiscing about this Schrödinger's experiment. Anchored by your hand, your life hangs in balance as you swing in and out. Recalling how we used to do it in the old days, I wanted to experience it again but as soon as I saw it, I hurriedly grabbed the back seat.
The pilgrimage to my past began. It whizzed past the usual scenery of dusk and drudgery. The air smelt like urine, the road was bumpy and my eyes started to collect dirt. It felt like nothing had changed until we reached near college - there were big new flyovers over our heads. More dirt in the eyes and the aroma turned metallic. I spotted the small left turn into the ghetto. And we were onto Zero Pusta Road. There, it was - red and grey blocks of magnificence, surrounded by small huts of mud and corrugated iron. College!
Like an old uncle I was wondering how much the auto fare had jumped from my time and it was full 100%. My fellow auto-mates looked like freshers with their chatter of internships and placements. As, I entered the gates - I could see kids dressed in vibrant colours. I felt out of place. The Auto driver said that you seem like a guy who has come here after a long time. The grey steaks reflected in the side mirror did not help either.
The quest to find familiar faces began. Surely, there must be someone. A big white tent was put up in the football ground. I saw a sea of humans partaking in the delicacies. It was a total Bhandara. One look at the food stalls and I decided against trying to get in. It was too much. Also, there is this awkwardness in eating alone. Especially when everyone around you is in a group. I just took the water bottle.
When I was just about to leave - I finally saw a few familiar faces. Two first-bencher girls from my batch. I had an intuition they would be here. I glanced their way and looked away. I think they also noticed my presence. I thought of starting a conversation but I never did in class so why now? Then I saw a few more batch-mates from my years interspersed in the sea of juniors. It started to sink in. I was going to be alone in this meet.
I decided to go around the college - drifting through the corridors like an unseen specter. The new students passed through me, their present colliding with my past in these weathered halls. In the amphitheater, I was a phantom watching the past version of myself studying on the steps, the echoes of my friends’ voices still lingering in the air. The empty hallway whispered with fragments of our curses and frustrations. Even the guard stared at me suspiciously as if he wasn't quite sure whether I was really there.
In a classic middle-class move, I decided I should eat at least something before leaving. I headed for the tent again. There was an even bigger crowd. Sigh. I planted myself on nearby stairs and stared at the sky. The dusk was settling over the campus like a farewell. The air was a bit chilly. I did not belong here. But it was not in a bad sense. I had graduated and I never really fitted in the first place. And so I decided to leave early. The timeline of my college life had always been marked by early exits. So why should the meet be any different? Yet something had shifted. Back then, leaving early felt like an escape; today it felt like acceptance.
Not so lucky on the journey back - I had to sit in the front seat. The auto rattled down Zero Pusta Road, each jolt shaking loose another memory. Behind me, the red and grey blocks faded into the growing dark, neither fully remembered nor fully forgotten. Some goodbyes are never really finished, just abandoned mid-sentence...