Alma Mater

It is the grand fiftieth reunion of the class of ‘74 .Fifty long years and the school still holds fond memories, after these many years, for its past students. Every brick and stone, every table and chair, every nook and cranny, had a tale to tell, a tale of a boarding school, of a bond made for life. It was many moons ago, these little girls and boys first arrived, some at a the tender age of 5 and 6 , to be tutored and fashioned in the traditions of the prestigious Lawrence Lovedale School.

For the reunion they came in twos and threes, most with their spouse, some alone . They came from far and wide, undeterred by deterrents or the vagaries of weather, to revisit the school they held close to their hearts, viewed with much pride. To revisit their childhood home , their childhood friends, some forgotten, some grown distant, and yet they come together, to where it all started, to celebrate what once was, and can never be again. A much awaited reunion like none other, a reunion planned with military precision, for nearly a year.

As the spouse of a batch member, I was included in this celebration. Starting early on a Wednesday morning, we went from Bangalore by car , a much looked forward to road trip . The journey was mostly uneventful, made easy with the new Bangalore – Mysore Expressway , and with scenic sights to feast on. The tree covered forests, the flora and the fauna, the occasional herd of deer, a peacock, and a stray elephant, to our delight, took away the tedium of the long ride.

As we approached the point, just before the climb , it was afternoon. The sky hung low, and there was a chill in the air. In the distance, stood the blue mountains, tall and indomitable, their brow darkened by clouds. They looked formidable, their stance unyielding, their demeanour unwelcoming, covered by a blue mist so thick, that seemed to corroborate its name, The Blue Mountains. There among the hills lay Ooty and Lovedale, with the many secrets left behind by those who once walked their wooded streets .

Trundling up in cars, the expensive and the not so, some self driven others with drivers, and I wondered if any gave a fleeting thought to the traumatic memory of their first arrival, these who were once little. Clinging tight to their parent’s hand, never wanting to let go, prised away from their mother’s arms, left to fend for themselves. For the first time, alone in their tiny beds surrounded by darkness and unfamiliarity, these little children wept in despair, and turned to each other for comfort, laying the foundation of a friendship for life .

Entering the city of Ooty , through a shower of wet rain, expecting a spoilt vacation, we were pleasantly surprised, to be greeted by sunshine on the other side, as if we had emerged through a curtain , into the land of Oz. The quaint streets , the old buildings, some still the same, others abandoned and in disrepair. The bustle, and the hustle of the crowded streets, so foreign to some, yet so dear and familiar, to those visiting their childhood.

After a three day revelry and various trips to the school, transported back in time, through Plays, Entertainment and PT displays, it was time to leave. The parade on the last day, with a March past by the old and the young, the past and the present, seemed to be a culmination of all that was hoped for . The ‘74 batch marched, enthusiastically, smartly dressed in the colours of their uniform. Yet the world saw, only grey haired men and women, shuffling along .

But watching them I knew, they were sixteen again, marching to the beat in their hearts, the beat that was once theirs, in a field where they belonged, in a parade where they were the star . And then I realised, a visit to our Alma Mater is like drinking from the Fountain of youth, to renew our broken spirit, to renew our weary self, to sip from the Elixir of life, to reignite our passions, to rekindle our dreams . We may all walk different paths, but when we gather at school, we are stripped off of our differences, our titles, to be children once again.