AUTOGRAPH / TIME MACHINE

Yesterday I chanced upon my slam book from college yet again. My numerous excursions to this part of my world have always been short lived, basically for want of time. It would invariably be to find the exact date of a friend’s birthday. In my constant race against time, I could not afford a storage card dysfunction in my brain so I best left it to my slam book to keep the information intact. But this time I decided not to make it yet another excursion.

I read what every single girl had jotted down for me. Word by word. My best friends, my gang, the three I shared my front desk with, the girls in the row behind us, the last benchers… they were all there. Alive, fresh, charming. Just the way they have always been.

I had been nice to everyone but never the top contender for the best PR person award. But still, every single person, even those classmates I hardly knew, had had only good words to write. Reading their words was truly humbling. It takes a big heart to be so pleasant. My lesson for the day.

It was beautiful to travel all the way back, 9½ years since we all left college and went our separate ways. I met some of them on and off, phone some still, heard about some from the some I met, thought about some whenever I came upon a familiar smell or similar scene. But yesterday, I saw them all. The scenes played out in detail: I listened to the classes again, answered attendance call, laughed at the proxy, took notes, borrowed pen, ate lunch, watched Jo break the writing desk, filled the burette, dissected frogs and earthworms and cockroaches. I saw us rehearse dance, hunt costumes, get on stage, go on a picnic, laugh till Jo cried… I also saw Vidhu’s lab accident, the blood, the girls screaming, the rush to the hospital.

I have decided to find them. As many as I can. Meanwhile, if you chance upon this entry my dear friends, do drop in a line. Miss you all.