His Name: A Story on Reunion | Thursday Tale No. 25

  Some names don’t disappear; they only stop being spoken aloud. Years pass, lives unfold, and yet certain corners of memory remain strangely untouched. 

  A school reunion is never just about meeting people again. It is about meeting the versions of ourselves we thought we had outgrown. 

His Name

Photograph by Mhayim Miam on Pexels.

  Ray sat on the wooden bench outside the rector’s office of St. Agnes Higher Secondary School with a list of 48 names in her hand. She ran her eyes through it in a sequence. “1. Aarya…2. Abishek…5. Chitra…13. Kartik… 30…Prabhu…”

  Reading the names created a montage of their smiles, frowns, voices, and their talents and vices. The recollection, reinforced by the earthy fragrance of the campus, made all the years that led up to 2003 seem like yesterday.

  She read on, until she reached the end of the list. “…45. Tanmay…46. Urmila…47. Varsha…48…” There, her eyes lingered longer at the blank space beside number 48, the space left vacant, somewhere hesitantly, somewhere hopefully for his name…the name she had once forcefully erased.

  But Ray had little time to reminisce, and just enough time to finalise the date, book the venue, send out all the invitations, and look after the logistical arrangement of the event. So she joined Sumitra and Nitesh, her best friends from the batch, who were sitting under the banyan tree, the tree under which they spent most of their school days about two decades ago.

  “Here is the list…” Ray announced, “…also, I have booked the quadrangle for the 7th. So now we can carry on with the other work.”

  “That’s great!” rejoiced Nitesh. “So what are we doing next?”

  “Getting their contact details…”

  Sumitra took the list from Ray; glancing at it she proposed, “Aarya is my Facebook friend,…skip…skip…skip…I am in good contact with Divya…”

  “Great then, we will first note down the details of the ones we are already in touch with. Then we can get the details of the rest through mutual connects,”

  “Yeap! Let’s get onto it! I'm so excited,” said Nitesh

  And in that manner, they made their way to the end of the list, with part luck, part misluck in acquiring their details.

  As if it were a sudden thought, Ray abruptly asked, “Do you know his name…the transfer kid…roll no. 48?”

  Trashcan!” remarked Nitesh teasingly, having already read Ray's expression, and being aware that it was not a sudden thought.

  “No, seriously.”

  “How would we know ma'am, were you the one who ensured he was forgotten? My, my, how far this lady can go!”

  “Nit, do you know, I can still show you how far I can go if you bring up your goofy self around me during the event management. So shut up, and be serious!” warned Ray.

  Nitesh, knowing Ray, couldn't tell if she was joking or not. But he knew that she was capable of great evil.

  Watching the exchange, Sumitra trying to pacify the tension said, “Was his name Yash? Because names are always arranged in alphabetical order.”

  “He was a transfer student, which means he is added to the end regardless of the order,” pointed Nitesh.

  Nitesh was generally brilliant, but chose to cover it with his unserious demeanour.

  “Ramesh?…Suresh?…Aditya?…Rahul, it could be Rahul…Prakash? These were all the common names, it would surely be one of these,” said Sumitra, genuinely trying to help.

  “No Sumi, I don't think so. Even if we know his name, we won't know his surname. How can we contact him for the reunion if we don't know anything about him? I feel bad…” vented Ray.

  Reading the regret in her words, Nitesh contained every comment of banter that bounced in his head.

  “We can maybe ask Mr. Lucas,… I mean your grandpa…he still might have good contact with the office here.”

  “I did. He ‘remembers that boy fondly, but doesn't remember his name’ it seems.”

  “Why don’t we call Muthu?” proposed Nitesh, and in a whisper he added, “the other outcast.”

  Rolling her eyes, Ray said, “Finally something useful from this chap…”

  “Hey, I was just trying to help.”

  Soon, a call was made and it was gathered that he was Muthu’s neighbour. His father was a clerk at the local bank. That their surname was something Arumugan or Arumugam. And that his parents would endearingly call him chella. And that he had spoken to him only few times, and that he did not remember his name. The only thing he had was a page on which an address in illegible handwriting was written and handed to his family by Mr. Arumugan or Arumugam when they left for Coimbatore during their board exam.

  The following week, alongside arranging the seating, designing the invites and posting it, trial tasting, the decoration, and all other planning, Ray also gave her all at tracing him. She flew to Coimbatore and traced down the address at Old No. 12, New No. 45, Lakshmi Street, Coimbatore-641004.

  Upon further enquiry, she understood that the place was demolished and built into a new, bright apartment. And that the owner of the property had passed away a few years ago, and no details of the previous tenants were available in any archive.

  Completely disheartened, Ray concentrated only on the planning and execution of the reunion, focusing on those who were present and going to be present on 7th April 2025.

  Soon, the evening of 7th April 2025 was over. Laughter, food, memories, stories had floated in the air, becoming one with the long standing tree. Half the batchmates were married, with children. Some had bagged their luck in marriage, while others were convincing themselves that they were in a fine marriage, some were divorced or single parents. Many had brought along their family and children. Ramu had become a lawyer, Kavita ran her own startup, Pandi was married to the MP’s daughter, Vimal was a single father, Sujata had twins, Ranjini was directing a short film, Meena was a housewife, and a lot other surprise progressions of life had befallen everyone of batch 2002. Untold stories were spoken through lingering eyes, a couple patched up after a decade, a rivalry ended, a new jealousy began, and on and on, it all ended well, like the last patch of scab falling off a newly cured skin.

  After the yellow bulbs were turned off, and the trashcans full of dirty plates were carried out, Ray sat on the chair, looked at her daughter, picking up a plastic bottle and dropping it in the bin. She had taught her that. She felt proud having raised a sensible child.

  Suddenly, a gush of vivid memories flashed in her mind: his face from the first time they had met. She was sitting on the tree with her friends when he, wearing a backpack like a school-kid, told her to pick up the chocolate wrapper she had dropped. Having had her ego triggered, she remembered name-calling him Trashcan. She remembered his face from the last time she had met him. It was a week before the board exam: it was their farewell. They had both gotten the same exam centre. He had approached her asking if they could travel together to the centre and split the cost. He wanted to befriend her and end the schooling year without rivalry. But to Ray, it had felt like audacity. Trashcan having the audacity… She remembered pushing him with his neatly ironed, brand new suit onto a heap of trash. She remembered him covered in grime, trying in vain to wipe it off his clothes. She remembered him giving her a wrapped box with “all the best” written on it; she remembered him placing the box at her feet. She remembered him wishing her luck, and leaving without taking the school souvenir, nor the refreshments or the class photograph. She remembered feeling so many things. She remembered, in the whirlpool of her emotions, wiping out his name and replacing it with TRASHCAN on every possible document, after all she was the granddaughter of the principal. She remembered seeing his empty seat all throughout the board exam. She remembered not seeing him during the result, nor the convocation, nor to get his TC. She remembered witnessing the spark of his eyes diminish right before he left.

She did not know why he did not turn up after that. What could have happened? Where would he be now? Did he become the environmentalist he said he would become? Would he be working in a corporate sector like her? Would he have a child as diligent as him? Would he have taken the exam at all?

- Mercy Rebonica