A few had wrinkled faces with missing teeth. Almost all of them wore spectacles. Bald heads mingled with grey ones. Some walked with a walking stick and some had hearing aids in their ears. Some coughed intermittently. Some were seen gulping down tablets handed over to them by their spouses. It was a get-together of students who had passed out of our college 47 years ago, accompanied by their wives. Those who were in service had already retired.
One of them was the station director of All India Radio and some others had held high positions in the government. Many had retired as bank managers. Some were farmers and some successful businessmen. Apart from me, a couple of their teachers residing in the city were invited to the meet in their alma mater. There was a flurry of feet-touching by the ex-scholars and their wives, though some had difficulty in bending. Some showed me group photographs in which both the students and teachers wore bell-bottom pants and had a hairstyle quite different from that of the present.
I could recognise only a couple of them whose features had not undergone much change. One came to me and asked if I recollected an English play enacted as a part of the annual social gathering. I remembered the event as very few plays in English were staged later. “My role was that of the hero and I got the first prize,” he said proudly. Wracking my brain, the rehearsals, renting of the costumes and the prize distribution by a minister slowly surfaced in my memory.
Looking at him closely, I recognised him as the student who had indeed acted as the leading character. We had an interesting time recollecting the small town of that time. The college was newly started and the lecture halls and practical laboratories were temporary sheds in a vast plot of land with numerous old trees. Legions of mosquitoes entered the lecture halls after four in the evening and one could hear the sound of mosquito-smashing from all around.
Cycles used to be the common mode of transport. Cars were absent on the campus while a couple of teachers had mopeds. The waiting period for a scooter used to be about 10 years. Since the get-together was held every year at different places I wondered how many of us would be left by the time the city’s turn came again.
SIVAN PILLAI Email: pillaikss@yahoo.in