Fabulista Reminisce: At the gathering.

It’s surprising how much time we allow to pass between ourselves before one realizes what one misses. And for the class, it was 13 years before they realized they’ve left it that long.

Under the wafts of pita bread and hummus, they drifted into conversations. Across dialogues that were peppered with, “Is that you…?” and “Aah, you’ve not changed a bit…!” topics meandered and skipped. It was as if the flow of time had stopped when they last parted ways and now the river continues from where it was the last time.

Honestly, everybody looked the same – the familiar fabulousness that was 13 years ago. But this time round, the passage of time had left a mark on everyone of them – that indelible mark of experience, they intangible air of confidence that eluded them when they were still in the late teens and early twenties. Now, they speak with an assertive candor; they walk with a steadier gait.

Time had left an indelible mark on them, but time had also been kind. It had drawn on their faces. Then, with an artist’s loving hand, smeared the chiseled marks to soften the lines, like a photographer’s fogged up lens. The years had cast a tungsten glow on their radiant countenance – an aura of unspoken grace.

As the cutleries’ clattering left for the pings of crockery with coffee, the casual conversations and shop talk ensued. The 13 years began to rear its reminiscing head, the recollections start – the sweet and the bitter, the laughter and the tears.

“How did we survive those years?”

“What are you doing now?”

“You’re married/with kids/how many?” (followed by cursory gasps and deer-in-headlights expression.)

They’re all doing fine/well.

Thank you for organizing, thank you for coming.

Thank you very much.