Looking back, looking forward: ruminations on my special class reunion 2023

The preparation: Brisbane February-August 2023

Someone once said it takes a certain amount of guts to go to a class reunion. I could well relate to this as I considered an unexpected invitation received in February 2023 – most appropriately through Messenger – to attend a reunion of the 1975 Sociology Masters batch from the Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU).

The invitation came from a colleague, Biswarup Sen, now calling himself Bish, to whom I’d never been close. Bish advised he and his ex-JNUite friends living in New Delhi and nearby cities decided to organise this reunion before ‘the world was blown up’ or another pandemic hit.

Each member was tasked with tracking down others. Bish requested me to provide my WhatsApp number if I wished to join the 75 Reunion Group.

While I was flattered at being remembered after the long separation of 46 years, I hesitated to rush to book my ticket. I hadn’t quite forgotten the unpleasantly competitive peers who openly resented me topping the class. Had they mellowed in the 46 years we’d been apart?

I decided that if I didn’t go, I’d never never know, so I accepted the invitation, provided my contact details and was almost immediately added to the group.

A flurry of messages followed with a request to everyone to post photos of what we looked like in 1975 and what we looked like now. I found an old passport photo and a recent family photo which I duly posted.

There were also requests for photographs of memorable moments such as a field trip in 1976. No one had any as this was before everyone had a phone camera but we had vivid memories of high jinks we were happy to share. This included a group slipping out at night to drink the alcohol they’d sneaked in. The drinking was more open in the back seats on the journey back. I didn’t drink alcohol at that time but I was sitting next to a woman who had imbibed far more than she could handle. I could remember quite clearly how I hung on to her as she tried to climb out of the open window of the bus, hoping she wouldn’t spew on me. She didn’t and she thanked me the next day despite nursing a massive hangover.

I also received private messages from some of the others with photographs and videos about themselves and family. Some even phoned, expressing their excitement about reconnecting after so many years. One person generously offered me a place to stay. I have my own apartment in New Delhi, so I didn’t need this, but I was very touched by the offer. I was now beginning to feel it would be worth going.

I decided to do a bit of my own detective work to track down some students who’d been good friends and hadn’t yet joined the group. I couldn’t identify my first target through Facebook, but I found her husband’s Messenger link. He knew me since I’d attended their wedding and was happy to provide her direct phone number.

Next on my list was P.K. Mathur, a blind colleague. Someone had posted his number on WhatsApp but hadn’t been able to contact him. I said I’d do it, as I’d spent many hours reading out class notes which he typed out on his Braille typewriter. We also exchanged our views on politics and the ways of the world. I managed to get through and was very pleased to learn he’d done well, retiring as a Professor of Sociology from a prestigious university. I was even more flattered when he said if I could come all the way from Australia, he could come from Aligarh, which is only two hours by road from New Delhi. Like many middle-class Indians, he had his own chauffeur, so travel wouldn’t be a problem.

The last one on my list was Lima, a First Nations colleague from the distant state of Nagaland whose number was also provided by one of the organisers. He too said he’d come.

Reassured that there would be enough good friends attending I contacted my travel agent and booked my ticket. When I informed the group of my decision, several posted ‘Indrani, we’re coming because you are. You were the topper in the class and now you’re leading the move to attend.’

Hugely flattered by this unexpected vote of confidence, I accepted an invitation from the organisers to join the menu planning group.

It wasn’t all happiness and excitement. I had the sad task of informing the group one of our colleagues who had kept in touch with me had passed away just before COVID. I also learnt of two others who were no more.

Then it was time to board the plane and fly off.

***

In the midst of the action: New Delhi 19-26 August 2023

The monsoons weren’t quite over when I arrived in New Delhi. The weather was warm and humid though no more than Brisbane. However, the rains had ensured the trees were gloriously green and dust free.

As always, I relished the fact that I was now part of the crowd, rather than the one in the crowd as I am in Australia, distinguished by my physical appearance, accent and religious/ethnic origins (I’m from a Bengali speaking Hindu background). Added to this was anticipation of catching up with my wonderful tribe of besties whose zest for feeding and entertaining me has never abated. It didn’t matter if the reunion turned out to be unsuccessful, time with my besties was always time well spent

Lovely, the taxi driver whose nature matches his nickname, and has been driving me around for more than fifteen years picked me up at the Indira Gandhi airport and swiftly conveyed me home. It didn’t take long to settle in and catch up with friends as well as contact the organisers. We agreed to meet at the selected venue, the India International Centre (IIC) and organise a menu that catered to diverse dietary requirements.

To my relief, there were no problems in any of us recognising each other. The chief organiser had already done most of the legwork, we just needed to discuss and finalise details. Then off to have a quick coffee and exchange gifts and memories.  I was happy to gift them my books and receive their creations, including books and fabrics they’d designed.

Before I knew it, the 26^th of August had arrived. Sanju, my friend’s housekeeper who also looks after my apartment, began my day by bringing me flowers and decorating the outside stairs with rose petals. Their heavenly scent set the mood for celebrations.

Sanju with flowers for me

Sanju’s decorations on the stairs outside my apartment

We’d been asked to ‘glam up’ as part of the celebration so we fronted up at the IIC that evening dressed in formal Indian or Western gear. Again, there were no issues of recognition, despite some visible gains in weight and losses of hair. Bish’s shiny bald pate was a far cry from the curly locks of his university days.

Our class of 1975 with some partners

I was delighted to find old rivalries had been shelved. A warm glow permeated the room as we greeted each other and news about our journeys through life. Of special interest to me was meeting up with one colleague who had spent several years in Pakistan where her husband had been the High Commissioner. Her glowing report rekindled memories of one of my great uncles who often told us how his Muslim students helped him escape from Pakistan to India after the brutal partition of the sub-continent and its bloody aftermath. She encouraged me to visit Pakistan once the current volatile situation simmered down, so I’ve added it to my bucket list.

There were many unexpected acts of generosity by the attendees. One picked up the tab for the drinks, another presented each of us with a red rose. I also received many invitations to visit colleagues at home or in their place of work.

The hours passed quickly. Soon it was time to depart with promises to keep in touch through WhatsApp and in person wherever possible.

In the days following, I was able to visit two of the colleagues who had been unable to attend. I was treated to the traditional Indian hospitality as we exchanged the books we’d published and our life journeys over the years.

I was also able to visit JNU where the School of Social Sciences from which I’d graduated and the hostels still nestled amongst Delhi’s verdant reserve forest. It was great to see the natural forest hadn’t been swallowed by the urban jungle.

In front of the School of Social Sciences, JNU

In front of one of the JNU hostels

Some of the older buildings were now occupied by a branch of the police, but they were quite welcoming and directed me to a café cum souvenir shop run by some of their retired staff. To my delight, I was able to pick up some handmade replicas of days gone by – a milkman’s bicycle with the milk cans hanging on each side and a miniature gramophone and drink some excellent coffee.

The rest of the stay was spent visiting favourite bookshops and catching up with other friends. All too soon it was time to return to Brisbane.

The rose gifted by one of my classmates

Postscript: Brisbane, November 2023

The reunion’s over but the WhatsApp group thrives, debating politics, exchanging news of travel and family, and sending wishes for the many festivals celebrated in India.

There’s more than talk. It was heartwarming to learn how some of the Delhi-based members rallied together to support a colleague who had a bypass surgery soon after the reunion. One provided home-cooked food to the friend’s family, others transport to the place of residence. Many of us followed and responded to the updates provided by his son. Happily, he is safe and well back in his own place in the central Indian state of Madhya Pradesh, and joining in the Watts App conversations.

This reunion was the first but won’t be the last won’t be the last. We’re making plans for mini reunions in the years to come. I look forward to these, as I now believe Robert Southey’s pronouncement ‘No distance of place or lapse of time can lessen the friendship of those who are thoroughly persuaded of each other’s worth’.[1] 

Jawaharlal Nehru University Logo: The symbol represents international academic ex-change and onwards search of knowledge for the betterment of humankind. The overlap-ping circular segments of the design denote global interaction, creating a flame emitting enlightenment, this flame emerges out of the traditional Indian ‘diya’ (lamp)-a source of Light, Understanding and Brotherhood. The design is also representative of the rose-bud closely associated with the name of Pt. Jawaharlal Nehru

This article was first published in SCOPE, the Magazine of the Fellowship of Australian Writers of Queensland, December 2023-January 2024.

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[1] Robert Southey, https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/robert_southey_389313