Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.”
- Kevin Arnold.

When I first read about blogs/blogging – I thought what could be less interesting  about reading about someone’s life?  Fiction, to me, had always seemed more interesting than life.  (Confessions of a “bookmad” individual – to quote my son.)  I have since come across the pits – dull as ditchwater meandering treatises, but also, happily blogs of the prolific, well traveled Mark Moxon (though www.moxon.net is not, technically speaking, a blog) and India’s very own Mrs. Fife – wonderfully humorous turn of phrase (jeete raho beti!)

I also decided my schooldays were interesting enough fodder for a blog… memories from my years at Cathedral & John Connon, Bombay (sorry Mumbai – old habits die hard) – Std 2 to Std 6 (1972-1976) – any CATs reading this? – and then at the International School of Tanganyika (IST) – Grade 7 to Grade 11 (1977-1981).  Both schools have been catalysts - I owe a great deal of what I am – my personality, outlook, philosophy, call it what you may – to the influence of teachers there, as well as friends I made at both schools.  Unfortunately it has been over a quarter of a century since I’ve been in touch with them….

I’d been trawling the Net for familiar names and a month or so ago I got lucky.  I had tried a Norwegian study buddy’s name, Morten (from IST), got several matches but none that I could be certain of.  Then in a, if I may say so, brilliant piece of detective work (though jealous critics may call me devious) I  keyed in his kid sister’s name, and bingo! there she was, larger than life with photo ID to boot.  She forwarded my mail and …

The truth is, I sat on it for a month.  Why?  I wasn’t sure of the reception I’d receive after 26 years – and  I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep up a regular correspondence… but I finally did, mostly on impulse.

I have tracked down a couple of other close friends from IST, one in the UK and one in the US of A – Anna, you are not going to believe what hit you!  DuBois will have to make do with a phone call since I could only trace a telephone number with the means at my disposal…

The suspense builds up – will I get the cold shoulder – have I got the right number… ? Don’t go away, I’ll be right back with the most recent update of the breaking news…

While you wait, here’s a lovely poem called ‘Sometimes’ to think about – and remember …

Across the fields of yesterday
He sometimes comes to me,
A little lad just back from play—
The lad I used to be.

And yet he smiles so wistfully
Once he has crept within,
I wonder if he hopes to see
The man I might have been.

- Thomas S. Jones, Jr.