India, Oct. 1 -- The other day, while walking past my school, I was taken over by a wave of nostalgia, the kind that barges in with muddy boots and an old photo album, demanding to be seen. With surprising clarity, it struck me that it's been 50 years, a full half-century, since I stepped out of those familiar gates as a freshly minted graduate. Fifty years! Enough time for cities to change, technology to leapfrog, and for my knees to start complaining every time I stand up. I paused at the gate, eyes half-closed, as if trying to tune into a frequency from the past. Sure enough, memories began unspooling. The first scene was of a thin lad, pedalling furiously on my mother's faithful "lady's bicycle". It wasn't the gallant steed of a schoolboy's fantasies, but it got me where I needed to go, albeit with occasional protests from the chain. The old block of the school building, stoic and dignified, seemed to be aging more gracefully than I am, while the rest has changed significantly. As I stood there, faces began to flash before me, classmates from five decades ago. To my surprise, I could recall nearly 40 names, each face bringing with it a wave of memories. That is the magic of school friendships. They were formed not on status or ambition, but over shared jokes and the occasional mass punishment for collective noise. I remember the entire class being made to stand outside the principal's office for hours for some innocent mischief, like a caricature of a teacher. On occasion, they even summoned our parents. The bonds formed over chalk dust and PT drills have somehow weathered the storms of adulthood. How could I forget the schoolyard romances? Or what passed for them back then? Love meant scribbling initials at the back of notebooks, accompanied by the occasional crooked heart. Letters were composed with trembling hands, brimming with poetry and courage, and almost always left undelivered. There was a refreshing honesty in those years. We spoke plainly, argued loudly, and forgave quickly. A fight during recess was forgotten by lunch, and a borrowed pen could forge lifelong alliances. Back then, we couldn't wait to grow up, to escape school uniforms and discover college life with its wide-open freedom. As Lata Mangeshkar's song from the film Junglee so beautifully describes our feelings at the time: "Jaa jaa jaa mere bachpan, Kahi jaa ke chhup nadan/ Ye safar hai ab mushkil, Aane ko hai tufaan." And when the time came, we got scattered in all directions, chasing dreams with the boundless energy and optimism only youth can muster. Today, 50 years later, I find myself yearning for just one more ordinary day in that old classroom. To sit once more with those same noisy, hopeful faces. Funny how life works. We rush to leave childhood behind only to spend our later years trying to find our way back to its warmth. As I stood outside the school that day, I realised something simple yet profound: The past isn't just where we've been. It's the quiet companion that walks with us, shaping who we are. The old school bell, now silent, was a powerful and constant reminder that a chapter had ended. I smiled a quiet, knowing smile and continued my walk, leaving the ghosts of my past behind. Not forgotten, but put in their rightful place, a cherished memory....