The union of the bosom friends of National High School, Kolkata, batch 1984, after three decades. Swami, Vijay, Sanjay, Vikas, Mahesh, Vivekanand, author and Kripal.
Vivekanand Jha, Ranchi: A recollection of the historic reunion with my school buddies
‘Kothai hareyay gaelo Sonali dikay gaelo sae, aar sae nai,
Coffee Houser Adda sae, aar sae nai’
Moidul Dhakatay, nai tara aaj kono khabaray,
Goanese Disouja, ghumiyay achayjay aaj kobaray,
Kakay jano bhalo besay, aghat payayja sesay,
Pagala garatay achay Rama Ray,
Amalta bhukchay duranta canceray
Jeevan karayni takay khomahar’
( The above stanza of great Manna De song tells us about what the life is; how the gushing and resplendent life pales into the background and becomes lacklusture as the time passes; how the very assembly of the bosom friends, degenerates into nothingness as they all disintegrate with the onslaught of the brutal force of time which shows no mercy to the the emperor of emperors, as it simultaneously encircles every destitute in its ever lengthening shadowy tentacles; how the life has been so unpleasantly disposed towards some for the reason never been deciphered by the mortal human mind, except invariably attributing the reason to certain causation factor; how some lay peacefully buried, while others spending their lives in absolute seclusion, far removed from the such glorious moments when they all were in cloud nine, cheering every single moment with joy immeasurable, realising little that such glorious golden moments would soon fade into oblivion as the harsh facts of life would soon envelop them with their shadowy tentacles overwhelming them from all sides) JAB WE MET—-A HISTORIC REUNION WITH SCHOOL BOSOM FRIENDS AFTER THREE DECADES
Alas, childhoold days could be called back. Only recollection of those resplendent days are possible.–the joy becomes immeasurable when such recollection happens in the company of those with whom one has shared one’s invaluable childhood days.
As I left my home for a renedezvous with my bosom school friends, I was gripped with an excitement that I had never experienced in last three decades. We all had decided to have our rendezvous at our alma mater —National High School, Punditya Road, South Kolkata, wherefrom we all had matriculated in the year 1984. What would be the momentary reaction when I would behold my friends, had sent me reeling into certain deeper realms of inscrutable contemplation? While most of them would be able to recognise me, as my photograph was sent to our Whats app group, yet how many of them I would be able to recognise from their faces, was the question that seriously haunted me? Oh, my god, more than thirty years have passed before I had met them; in fact, an era has passed; many faces might have undergone such metamorphosis which would be difficult to identify now. I chose to walk through the same lanes that led to my school from my home–in fact, I used to trudge through the same route years after years while I studied there. A sense of nostalgia had once again enveloped me: ‘ Oh, god, even the routes have been facelifted’, i mused. As I crossed the Sisu Mangal hospital, it struck me that I was almost in the vicinity of my school. On my way to Punditya from the Sarat Bose road, I bowed my head with utter revereence to lord Shiva, a temple where, almost everyday, I would pour my outpourings of reverence for lord on my way to school. Little further down the road, as the very building of my school was visible, a sense of inner joy erupted from the inmost part: it was an euphoria that words can hardly describe, perhaps something like the celestial bliss entering every pore of my heart as I beheld the building of my school in all its grandeur. My eyes caught the glimpse of some people standing near the school gate: lo and behold, a closer look conveyed me that my bosm friends stood there. I could outright identify Vijay Bhagat, a guy who was my close partner in cricket and football. As I waved my hand, Vijay too reciprocated. We rushed to embrace each other in our arms. Others standing with him were Rakesh Lal and Mahesh. We emranced each other sequentially. The joy of meeting after three decades was apparent at each of our faces. As I took a closer look inside the school, it appeared to have changed a lot, with new structures having been built up, the school presented a modern look. Little later, we friends moved towards the hotel Swagath, which was hardly five hundred meters away from the school. Few more friends joined us there: Vikash, Sanjay Sachdeva, Kripal all of them arrived in quick intervals. However, the cynosure of all our eyes, Swaminathan, a vivacious guy, now having put on much of weight, arrived attired in Kurta Pyjama, looked distinctly different from all of us. As we all sat inside the hotel, the conversation started, with each one of us sharing their spent decades, Almost all have progressed with the passage of time. Swami, however, held a distinctive identity of having quslified into a Bharat Natyam dancer.He has chosen his family’s tradition of taking to Bharat Natam dance and consequnetly has graduated into an accomplished dance teacher with a lot of political connections, especially with Trinammol leaders. Vijay Bhagat too has evolved into an accomplished builder with a substantial links with the local Trinamool leaders. I was fascinated to hear their interesting tales of their proximity with local political bosses and how the government here in Kolkata operates. Mahesh, a suave guy, had shifted to business from service and has opened his own showroom of providing services at Bose pukur in Ballygunge, indeed appeared to me as a reserved guy, while not being reclusive, he was content listening more and interjecting llittle while Swami kept the party afire with his non- stop bouncers. We shared a recollection of the past incident that how we had lost a match at St. Lawrence school where he had hired few of his local elders who lashed out at us for missing the penalties. We–me, Vijay and Kripal –recalled our cricket match against one Aurobindo school where we had lost the game by few runs—How I and Vijay had opened the innings and both of us got out cheaply. Kripal had managed to make good runs. We rued over the death of one of our classmates, Jeetendra, a rotund size guy, who died due to heart attack years back. In the meantime, as we munched on the snacks, we feversihly discussed about our teachers—how Mr Roy, our Geography teacher, a short guy who would often command us wit a stick in his hand. We discussed about our Hindi teacher Choubey Sir, whose very sophisticated manners kept us in awe of him. How our physics teacher would teach us with funny pronounciation evoking laughter in all of us, and how our Mathematics teacher would discipline us so rigourously. By the time we had finished our plates, it was the time for my friends to satisfy their other other irrepressible urge—an insatiable appetite for drinks. I had already made it clear to them that I am a teetotaller and, therefore, while I would sit with them, i would not be giving them company. While they all drank, I sipped my cold drink. While all this bonhomie was in progress, the friends who missed the get together, frantically sought to be updated with the photographs at Whatsapp( John, Srini, Kapoor– all were excited about this get together and kept on asking for the deatails at every close intervals). Hence, we kept on obliging them with the series of photographs being continually posted to keep them updated about the goings -on. As the show came to an end, but not before another resolution was taken to fix our next rendezvous in the beginning of the next month at Swami’s terrace. Swami left us all in thrall with all his experience of tutoring his pupils on Bharat Natyam. In a bout of exaggeration, he left none from the purview of his pupilship, for right from Saurav Ganguly’s wife Dona to Abhishek Banerjee’s sister–all have been his students at some point in time. He further appraised us that he has his programs at different countries lined up: Switzerland, Italy and France in mocome. As we all friends separated, i and Mahesh started trudging together, I was deeply absorbed in my own psychological world, for the bliss that I experienced after several decades had no parallels. Meeting with one’s bosom friends and, that too, after several decades where each one has his own distinct tales to tell, creates an environment which is nothing short! of a reanctment and replay of the childhood days. The joy of sharing your own experience with your chuddy friends is an outpouring of a celestial joy that words have no power to describe. Only the bosom friends have no malice for each other; they are, in fact, the purest of companions one can ever imagine with whom one can open one’s heart. They indeed are the true friends with whom one can share one’s joy and sorrow without being conscious of being taunted or being undermined for one’s shortcomings or deficiencies. They are the one’s who, as a true friend, guide and philosopher enable one to overcome one’s deficiencies and can seek genuine advice for one’s betterment. Luckiest are thsoe whom providence bestows such golden opportunity for such a reunion with their best of friends from schooling days. Today, I realised how much richer have I become with such reunion of the best of my buddies and even looking forward to meeting others who I missed out meeting today. Meeting with one’s school buddies is akin to a union of the souls that crave for such occasion as this one where we all friends from National High School assembled to revisit our golden old times to recollect those glorious saga of our adolescent days which had somewhere slipped down the backyard of our memory, but had gushe dforth in torents once we all started digging from the memory of all golden adolescent days.
