Almost ten years after I left classrooms, blackboards and puppy love, I am off to school—to be a student for a day. This time, I’m driving there in my car and not the school bus. My thoughts are of the past: our fights over the window seat and chalk missiles flying out to hit bull’s eye (any hapless pedestrian with a slow gait), my first crush and the memories of growing up. But, before I know it, here we are. Bhartiya Vidya Bhavan, the same old gate. What hasn’t changed, I wonder.

Well, I still have to wear the uniform (my insistent, pestering copy editor made sure I did). It waits for me at the principal’s office. One look and the fashionista in me quails. The skirt is a poor version of what we called a ghaghra in my days (there I go). So, after thanking principal G S Negi, I dash to the uniform store and ask for a shorter size. This rule has not changed in all these years: the shorter you wear, the smarter you look. The uniform wale uncleji (as we fondly called him) takes one look at me and says, “Waist size 32.” Hello? I might have put on some flab in the last 10 years, but 32? “No way, give me a 28,” I shot back. And, yes, I did fit in.

So I troop in with the girls to Class XII A. I have never been in this class before. It’s closer to the toilet and far from the lover’s paradise (the bridge-like corridor that joins the primary and the senior section, where I met my first crush).

... contd.