The Reunion

It was late evening at Lutyens Delhi and the traffic on the road was sparse. The mid-November chill was in the air. It was relatively quiet in the area, except in one of the palatial bungalows where a lot of merriment was happening. A motley group of around thirty people in their late fifties and early sixties seemed to be having a good time. The men outnumbered the ladies almost six to one and the minority group was sitting inside the house in the living room with old classic paintings on the walls and antique memorabilia kept thoughtfully on the sideboards and tables. The talk was centered around the grand Indian wedding recently concluded at Mumbai, about the clothes, the unending phEras tour and the amount of money spent in the celebrations that screamed of sheer ostentation. The ladies were wearing smart and elegant dresses, boots and leather jackets and had wine glasses in their hands. A few ash trays with stubs were also going around on the centre table along with some lovely finger foods like kebabs and puffs.  The conversation seemed lively and everyone had something to add to the story. People seemed happy. A couple of men folk, too, joined the conversation in between and added their two bits and then walked away.

The atmosphere in the verandah and open-air garden seemed livelier with the huge spread of wines and liquor on a table. There were also a few bottles of soft drinks for the nay havers. A few of the oldies were hanging around this table but the main group was all huddled together and laughing out loud. Some of them spoke about how they would drop their pencils and then go under the desk trying to pick it up but actually trying to peep at the legs of the pretty elocution teacher sitting in front on a raised platform wearing a tiny skirt. One of them dropped a bomb when he declared that he had many a time seen much beyond the long shapely legs and the others quickly pounced on him saying he was lying. But the chubby guy insisted and also went on to describe in great detail what he had seen and what others never did. It was a moment of instant glory for the man. Now began a session of one-upmanship where each was trying to talk about their school time experiences and moments of ecstasy with teachers, damsels and heartthrobs of old, each one better than the other. 

Seeing this group and listening to their conversation, it was all but evident that this was a reunion of an all-boys school where the only pretty ladies they laid their eyes were the good-looking young teachers and the tiffin time peeping across the bushes that separated their school from the all-girls schools. Boys who announced they had girlfriends were the heroes and worshipped by the rest who then enjoyed the lewd and juicy stories the heroes would create, leaving the awestruck audience to imagine life in a La La Land. Memories of childhood and the so-called trauma of not having mixed freely and in a friendly manner with girls in their young adolescent age seemed to have stuck to these oldies who refused to grow up even after so many years. But one thing was clear, that these men were buddies of old and their friendship as thick as the trunk of a mahogany tree. They all looked forward to this one day in a calendar year when they would descend from all over the globe and India to meet at one place for an evening which turned back their aging clocks by fifty years.

The party was at its peak when a lady, wearing a bright Kanjeevaram silk saree and a pashmina shawl draped on her, walked in. The chatter suddenly stopped and people were looking at each other, not knowing who this new entrant was. The host took courage and went up to ask…

Good evening Ma’am. I think you may have come to the wrong address. Let me help you find your way to the right house.

The lady smiled and said, I have come to the right place. I know it well. It was there on the invitation message. You must be Vinni…right?

Yes, I am Vinni. How come you know my name? I don’t think we have met before.

I know you and know all the others sitting there. I have seen all your pictures from school days to the many reunions you have had over the years. 

Then please come in and join the party and also solve this mystery about yourself. Happy to have one more lady in the group. There is enough food and drinks for you to feel at home.

The lady smiled and walked up to the cane chairs where all the men were seated. By now the ladies had also come out of the living room. They sensed something was wrong as there was no noise coming from outside. Possibly, they were worried their men had forgotten to take them home after drowning in the spirits. The sight looked almost like the childhood days when the madari would come, beat the dumroo and start the monkey dance while singing songs from Hindi films.

Hello everyone. I am Bela Bose, your friend Montu’s wife. 

Oh…that’s wonderful. But why isn’t Montu here? He never misses any of the reunions. Hope he is not behind the Chinese bars… Hong Kong is a changed place now.

The hostess stepped forward; You guys are such a discourteous lot. Didn’t your Irish brothers teach you how to behave with a lady… how could they? They themselves never had luck with ladies. 

Bela, welcome to our home. Please sit down and make yourself comfortable. I was also missing Montu because in this whole crowd of happy-go-lucky drinkers, he always preferred light Darjeeling tea and enjoyed it. Shall I also get you a cup of tea and something to eat?

Thank you so much. I do not blame these ‘boys’ for being so surprised to see me as no one has ever met me before. I came here today, for a promise I made to Montu. 

A few months ago, Montu had a terrible pain in his abdomen and was diagnosed with a tumour in his pancreas. The tumour had spread all over and the doctor, as a last resort, tried surgery. Montu did not come out of the OT. He breathed his last on the table. A few days before the surgery, he was in great pain and I was sitting beside him. He said that the school reunion, which he had never missed over the last twenty-five odd years, was coming up in two weeks. Since the planning for the get together usually happened many months in advance, he had confirmed that he would be definitely coming. He showed me the WhatsApp group messages with all of you writing about how much you all were looking forward to this year’s reunion which would mark forty years of leaving school. 

Montu had booked his tickets and stay almost two months ago and then things went from bad to worse with each passing day. He never wrote about his illness in the group or with any of you one on one even though he considered you all more than his own blood relations. That night he asked me that if something were to happen to him, I should not disclose it to anyone of you or else the reunion would be called off. Secondly, I was to keep the WA group chat alive and he asked me to keep posting a line or two confirming attendance and finally, I should go to Delhi, if he failed to make it. 

Bela had tears rolling down her cheeks as she finished speaking. Her voice too had choked. The silence in the house was eerie and understandably so. There were many who broke down listening to Bela. They all put their glasses down and one by one they walked across to her, hugging her, saying a few words or just kept their heads bowed in sadness and respect. The playful little French bulldog in the house could also make out the change of mood and quietly strolled to where Bela stood and put his head on his forelegs and lay on the floor without disturbing anyone. 

Bela wiped off her tears and then picked up one glass of wine from the centre-table and announced …I am sure Montu would be sad if the party sprit here were to be dampened by his life story. He was always smiling and laughing and I am sure each one of you knew him as much or even more than I knew him. He always played pranks and often got into trouble in school. He told me how he created ruckus in the classroom when the teacher was away and was made to stand out for three days. Then of course there were other instances where the teacher made him stand on the desk with shoes held in outstretched arms for playing mischief. So, for the spirit of Montu, I propose a toast to the Band of Brothers as you call yourself. Pick up your glasses and join me and wish your friend a happy afterlife. I am sure he must be watching us from up there and wanting us to celebrate our friendship and our annual reunion.

All in the house picked up their glasses and in unison shouted…. To Montu and To the Band of Brothers, forever and ever more!

यारों, दोस्ती बड़ी ही हसीन है

ये ना हो तो क्या फिर बोलो ये ज़िंदगी है?,

SS