Recently, a friend of mine (henceforth to be referred to as ‘the Weatherman’) uploaded an old class group photo on to his Facebook account. Though not an extraordinary action by any means, the response it attracted was something which the Weatherman, despite his uncanny ability to forcast nonexistent showers, probably did not foresee.
It was nothing earth shattering, just a photo that attracted a lot of comments, but it was the memories that accompanied them that made it all worthwhile.
Flashing back to around five years ago, everyone in the photo reflected upon times gone by. Back then our minds were still clouded by formulae and theorems, but gazing upon our younger selves with a clearer head, the little memories resurfaced. There were so many things that made us happy then, spinning tops that doubled as lame excuses to ‘Beyblades’, badly organized jam sessions where the drummer used a wooden bench and the DJ (also known as ‘The White Man’) turned a notebook on the table. At least that one notebook escaped becoming a dusty souvenir of our academic exploits at the White Man’s house! And then there was the Little Kid, who used to beat the life out of the White Man if he so much as looked at a girl, the avid gamer, who somehow managed (and does to this day) score marks for tests as well.
Those were the days we dreamt, we dreamt of fantastic fire breathing monsters that fight other monsters, we dreamt of watching these monsters on TV after getting home, we dreamt of emulating the heroes of many a movie and asking a girl out (which usually ended up as a comedy sequence).
That was us, glazy eyed, staring off into space, or playing hand cricket under the table while the wonders of Pythagoras and Newton went to waste before our unseeing eyes.
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| The place where it all unfolded.. |
Time passed, and we sort of grew up. The once mridangam playing table thumper is today a drummer, spending much time gazing upon the photo contemplating about the sudden growth of hair under his nose. The White Man remains the White Man, and probably always will be, because that’s why everyone loves him. The Little Kid has grown up into the Big Kid, and is now tolerant of the female species, even appreciative, to a certain degree!
There are so many others too, and a fully fledged ode to those days would require a tome to be written. Though no less important, the tales of Leg Breaker, Smiling Snair and many others remain to be told.
Coming back to the present, there isn’t much to be said. But I’d like to say thank you to all those silly idiots, who were there throughout and still are, for being the best friends ever.
