I remember her wearing a red velvet coat with gold buttons when she was in first standard. Short, dusky and saucer-eyed, she had bobbed hair and a fringe right until she finished high school. Her sketches inevitably won prizes in inter-class competitions and were regularly displayed on the school walls. Drawing was second nature to my classmate GN. I would watch her fingers casually stroke a page of her notebook with a soft pencil and swiftly etch a profile of a beautiful woman. Thirty-five years later her name popped up the way names from the distant past do, through channels and at moments that catch you unawares. A sister-in-law of a sister-in-law said to me, “My colleague was in school with you.” She was none other than GN. And although she had a conventional job she had kept her artistic side alive by illustrating children’s storybooks. Some years later there was another surprise. One fine day the husband of my old friend here in Bengaluru, who was holidaying in his native state, called me to say, “My cousin wants to talk to you.” It was GN once again!
These are some of life’s minor, random discoveries that I believe are growing so infrequent they might even cease to happen. Do you really want me to tell you why? Digital technology, the new industrial revolution, whatever you may call it — it’s part and parcel of your existence. You know who is where, doing what, associated with whom, at all times. One of the stock phrases of casual conversation, “hey, do you remember” (followed by several minutes of arguing and head-scratching), is going to die out with my generation because everyone and everything is at your fingertips today. No surprises, no memories — what an appalling prospect! Today, a GN would automatically join the class networking group and get the status updates of all her mates, even of those she wasn’t particularly close to.
In my time zone, many a pleasant hour can be spent discussing common acquaintances one hasn’t heard from in ages. And one can bump into a voice from the past in the oddest of places. At the wedding reception of a former student I was standing in line, gift in hand, when a woman broke the queue to confront me. I could barely see her face in the soft outdoor lighting of the private club, but she had recognised me. Didn’t you study in so and so school in such and such town, she demanded to know. She was way younger than me, and as everyone knows, it is always the juniors who remember their seniors and not vice versa. Speaking of weddings, a friend had coaxed me into partaking of his niece’s maduve oota just so I could keep him company. One of the guests, the principal of the school where the bride had studied, turned out to be a schoolmate of mine.
But I should give credit where credit is due, so let me not write off technology, for although it may have reduced the number of serendipitous encounters, it can be pretty useful when you’re actively searching for a lost contact. I have observed that people’s urges to explore their hoary past usually come upon them when they enter the fifties. Could it be that they’re done with child rearing and have time to focus on themselves? Or is that they wish to relive their beginning because they sense they’re approaching the beginning of the end? Whatever be the reasons, the symptoms are similar. You start hearing the old roll call and recollecting names and/or faces. What happened to that pimply-faced boy who used to bring drumstick curry in his tiffin box every day? And that girl you shared a bench with in third standard but got a transfer certificate the following year? What, indeed, happened to your old flame? You instantly start trawling the Net and you may even be fortunate enough to fish out phone numbers.
A buddy in college, who had lent me many books, kind of dropped off the map after he got his first job in Bombay. A sudden memory of how the Hindi lecturer would mispronounce his name and send the whole class into titters motivated me to locate him through an online search. Several decades had passed and he was still in Mumbai, now heading a company, married with two kids. We had a whale of a time reminiscing on the phone. A “best friend” from school who had temporarily moved to Bengaluru from Chennai came across my name through this column just as she was about to move back. We spent two exciting, memorable days but I haven’t heard from her since.
Here’s the thing: when you bump into a voice from the past, after your initial mutual curiosity has been satisfied, you may or may not continue to be in touch. The renewed connection could be temporary or permanent, intermittent or consistent. It can sometimes disappoint you, making you wish you hadn’t reached out in the first place, for you find you no longer have anything in common. Eternal friends, however, are not slaves of time, and theirs are the ideal voices from the past, for however seldom they meet, it’s as if they’ve never been apart.
