Historical Documents

A Cake for Mech71 by Bittoo

2K Meeting of the L-Year Olds (Sounds so much better in Roman numerals) by S.M. Pimputkar

[For those who did not attend, and as The another point-of-view for those who did, I scribbled down my recollections and impressions. So here goes…]

It all began with an innocuous, plain envelope. Inside was a (typically) cryptic note from “Harbinder Singh Gill” asking that if the envelope reached the addressee --- the weekend of June 3rd should be kept free. I replied by e-mail, and as immediate testimony to the power of electronic communication, for the next few weeks I was treated to a burgeoning set of e-mails, bearing names that were blurred from the haze of history – Mal, KC, …Mal’s e-mails in particular were a source of intrigue. I could not quite decide whether the typographical errors were a sign of incoherence brought on by excitement, or just idiosyncrasies of a defective keyboard. There was also a stream of messages from Gill, with varying content but with one constant – a plea not to address him by his college nickname in front of his family. The focus of the messages was a planned reunion.

After fiddling with my schedules, asking my daughters Pia and Tai whether they wanted to accompany me (they could not), Saturday, July 1, found Dorothy and myself wending our way towards Buffalo, New York. My musings were bitter-sweet. Is it better to let wonderful memories remain, or is it better to re-visit them, with the peril that the ravages of time may expose blotches and blemishes ?

We pulled up at an imposing pair of wooden doors. On ringing the bell, as if by magic, there materialized Gill, dapper in a crimson turban, eyes glinting wickedly. Looking like a benevolent, genie. As we entered, - a succession of old, familiar faces. “Old” mainly as in nostalgic. Oddly, not particularly evidencing the passage of time. Everyone, easily recognizable. Actually, no. Not everyone. When Julka came into view, I had to examine him plan, elevation, and side-view. No bell. It was only when he spoke that his identity was revealed.

Gill demonstrated more of his magical powers by pressing a cold bottle of dark beer into my hand, followed by a couple of Heinekens, followed by martinis, followed by cognac. Needless to say, my recollections of the evening got more and more amiable, but a trifle hazy too. Excellent kebabs and other hors d’oeuvres kept appearing (prepared by a catering firm – courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. Gill). Reminiscences and wit were a fitting accompaniment to the fine food. An outstanding dinner followed and then everyone repaired to the study wherein resided a computer. Gill’s son Jay flitted around with a videocamera, and a digital camera while I had an analog with a zoom lens. Every now and then flashes of light went off disconcertingly close, but everyone was good-natured about it.

To give a impression of what it was like: let the images speak for themselves. (Pictures are separate files on the CD – with filenames that may be chauvinistic but are descriptive). I apologize if the pictures do not do the subjects justice – the fault is mine.

Computer-based, oral communication was established with New Delhi, where we understood that a well-fed, and even better lubricated group had gathered. The delayed fragments of raspy conversation evoked nostalgia, poignant memories. The emotion of the Mech 71 group was palpable. After the intercontinental goodbyes had been said, with reluctance, each person unwillingly yielding the moment and shared history, the party broke up. Well, not so much “broke up” as parted - with the promise of meeting again the next day acting as a salve, a bridge of continuation.

We met for lunch the next day in a room reserved by Mr. and Mrs. Gill. After a hearty lunch, much time was given to recollections and memories. Surprisingly, with only modest embellishments. The spouses and offspring joined in, listening, occasionally bemused, enjoying. There were plans to make this an annual event, with more attendees. One general acknowledgment of thanks was rendered – to Mal who had the original idea and put much of it together, and to the Gills who so charmingly (I was referring to Mrs.) and hospitably (both) hosted the reunion.

That evening we had separate programs, mainly centering on visits to Niagara Falls. The next day the reunion was over. But not before some more life-long memories had been formed.