Reunion

Rishaav kept getting roped into attending his school reunion parties every year, in spite of not liking them much. They were the same boring re-runs identical to each other, with a bunch of middle-aged men and women forcibly trying to pull out old stories from their stash of fading memories. The more they forgot the actual facts, the further grew the heights of the fictitious addendum, to color the stories, just to make them narration worthy, fetching a few more belly laughs. It was an impossibly useless endeavor, one that held no charm for Rishaav.

But his neighbor and long-time school friend Akash always discovered a way to arm-twist him into saying yes. He understood Akash’s interest. He was the caterer of the food on all big school occasions—Sports day, foundation day, teacher’s day, even the annual school picnic. Though now he was a famous restaurateur in Kolkata, his profile featured in food magazines and blogs, he still provided catering for his school, that too at a discounted rate, for he liked being around people he grew up with. Rishaav looked at Akash flaunting his latest gem studded gold ring and an easy smile spread on his face accentuating the crow’s feet that was deepening with every passing year.

He is such a proud fool, thought Rishaav. But he liked him, for his big heart, for his loyalty towards the institution that gave him his first friends. Growing up, Akash was shorter than others in his class. He had a pinched face and always wore clothes too big for his thin torso. Now he had filled up, looked almost chubby. In spite of all the physical changes, one of his qualities remained the same. He could make friends fast both then and now.

But Rishaav was still the more popular boy in school. He was one of the all-rounders. Excellent in academics, tall and well-built at the age of fifteen, while others were gangly and awkward, eloquent and smooth, while others stuttered in front of girls. Yet, he could not tell the one girl he fancied, how much he was in love with her. That was years ago. It was she who had finally divulged her fondness for him and not the other way around. They saw each other for a year. Archies greetings cards were exchanged; Cadbury chocolates were gifted to each other on Valentine’s day and phone bills shot up in both households.

And one fine day it was over. She had cried and told him that they could not see each other anymore. Why he had asked crestfallen and she had said blandly that because her mother thought that she was too young. She had added with a sigh, and also because Bengali and Marwari cultures don’t gel.

Don’t gel, what do you mean? Are we ponds and nivea cream that we have to gel together! he had quipped a tad angrily, encouraging another bout of sniveling from her. It was that undecided, confusing age when you are in the last few years of school, when events just happen and you have no control over them. So, just like that, their mutual love disappeared one fine day, pointlessly. Rishaav shook his head. Perhaps it was the familiarity of being back in the school premises that brought back memories of incidents he didn’t think he would retain.

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