A reunion made in heaven

 A reunion made in heaven

 

 

One often reads articles about reunions that go sour, with the writers meeting up with old colleagues, some of who ranked among best friends in the days of yore, after donkeys years to find that everyone had changed for the worse.

 

There are graphic description of smart, youthful appearances and happy-go-lucky personalities of the friends they once knew in marked comparison to the disasters before them, who seem to be looking and behaving like they have landed from outer space.

 

Invariably, the writers suddenly discover they have nothing in common with the motley lot that form part of a much-awaited reunion, and end up wondering what they had ever seen in one another that had made them inseparable in the good old days. And they vow never to make the mistake of catching up again.

 

But in spite of such horror stories, reunions keep taking place. Perhaps, one doesn’t want to learn from other peoples’ mistakes, or maybe it is a case of wishful thinking on the parts of those, still wanting to try their luck with meeting up with old friends and acquaintances.

 

Aware of all the pitfalls that could well befall us, we had decided to organize a mini reunion one August, some ten years ago, of friends from the university that we were once very close to, some of whom hadn’t met one another for over 20 years. As it turned out, we found that we not only didn’t regret the reunion even for a minute, we actually lived to cherish the day.

 

The idea had dawned on us when Amna probably the craziest of us, who always spoke first and thought later showed up from the US after two decades and got in touch with me.

 

She was on a flying visit, but was due to arrive again in a couple of months for her brothers’ weddings, at which point she was willing to extend her stay if we could round up the gang. I promised to let her know by email, and then set to work.

 

With ten of us targeted for the reunion — the eleventh, Hanan, we had all lost contact with and had no clue where she was — and eight of us based in Karachi  it was admittedly not a marathon task to get in touch with most, although we had not exactly done a great job with keeping up over the years.

 

However, contacting Kamal, the only member of our group other than Amna who was not Karachi-based, proved to be a real challenge. He had been one of the founding members of our gang of ‘baloneys' as we used to call ourselves and had agreed to meet up whenever we would hold a reunion, although at that time we had planned on scheduling it just a few years later. Now, 20 years down the road, no one seemed to know where he was, although there was some talk of him being in Islamabad.

 

Then, suddenly one day we saw him on TV, as a reporter for CNN based in Afghanistan. The voice was unmistakable, although the beard was deceptive enough. From CNN to mutual friends in Abu Dhabi, everyone was tapped into to get hold of his contact until, almost like a telepathic response, he called up himself, after getting my number from a fellow-journalist.

 

So, it was decided that we would spend the day at the French Beach, at a friends hut, and catch up with everyones’ lives. It had been 23 years since any of us had seen Kamal, who had left after the first semester, and at least two decades since most had seen Zubair – the rough one in the group that included Rainie, Farhat and Amna.

 

Annie was another person that hardly any of us were in touch with, but although she eventually did not make it to the reunion, she did come over to meet some of the group members gathered at my place, prior to the picnic.

 

Having made arrangements for a friend’s van to collect us from my house, the eight of us excluding Zubair, who promised to meet us directly as his home is enroute to the beach, a fact that I kept concealed from the rest – as a surprise – clambered on to the van, some of us admittedly, with misgivings.

 

The three that were probably the most at ease in one another’s company were Waleed, Jawed (fondly called Chitta by all his friends, who has also made his mark as a model and TV actor) and Dadi (for some reason no one ever refers to him by his first name), as they had remained more-or-less in touch.

 

Waleed handled the wheels and in true truck-driver fashion – who would believe he has become a lawyer – took charge of the road, while Dadi and Chitta broke the ice by cracking jokes all the way.

 

By the time we arrived at the hut, we had definitely become relaxed except perhaps Kamal, who didn’t really know the three that had become the life of the drive, as they had joined the group after he had left the university.

 

However, the hut, if one dares to call it that, was exactly what was required to instantly soar everyone’s spirits, for the five-star layout of the place took the group completely by surprise.

 

Sumptuous and plentiful food always being the most important ingredient of a successful picnic, the girls had taken the responsibility of arranging for the gastronomical needs of the entire group.

 

While gorging on the spread, we caught up on what had happened in each others lives and took photographs. Some of us had led more exciting lives than others, and as we slid into a comfortable banter possible only among old friends, sharing experiences and recounting fascinating anecdotes, the loud sound of an engine broke our tranquility.

 

My even louder squeal, when I rushed out and spotted Zubair brought everyone out, giving way to greater excitement and shock as we took stock of the one person from the group who had physically changed drastically over the years. Mercifully, though, we discovered him to be as crazy as ever.

 

Amidst tales of five happy marriages, and three unfortunate divorces, we bridged the years between us as we all took a stroll on the beach and also put the strength of poor, misguided camels to the test.

 

The return van journey back home was like a trip down memory lane for we sang and yes, Chitta even danced, all the way back, just as we used to on our field trips. It had been such a carefree, fun day that Farhat, always the quietest and most serious in the group, had to concede that she had never enjoyed herself so much.

 

But what is far more significant is that our reunion didn’t just end with a day of fun and frolic. It marked the beginning of successive get-togethers with our families, and it also became the turning point in the lives of two members of the group that were single.

 

Waleed and Rainie discovered each other after two decades at the picnic and clicked instantly. As a tribute to the reunion, the wedding date was fixed for the same time the following year – exactly one year after the event. It seems like some re-unions are made in heaven, after all.