The Reunion

It was 7:10 pm when my flight from London, England, touched base at the Toronto Pearson International Airport in Canada. I had just landed in my favorite city after being in the air for eight hours with roughly five hundred other strangers who had flown with me from the Heathrow Airport in London. Even though I was in a different continent, a different country, and in a different city, the queen that signed a bill in this country and made it the law was the same lady who lived in the Buckingham Palace in London. Canada, once a part of the mighty British Empire, followed some age-old traditions until today, even after achieving its independence. Even after 150 years of gaining freedom from the British rule, the effects of colonization were visible and reinforced in its traditions, language, and the systematic disenfranchisement and impoverished conditions of the Aboriginals. The reason these features crossed my mind was because I was born and brought up in India which was also a former British colony, and it was fascinating to see how the influence of a colonizing power affected a country’s culture on a macro and micro scale. Moreover, I had a penchant for understanding the power structures and the underlying reasons of why society evolves the way it does, and it was probably why I had chosen sociology as one of my majors in university. As I looked outside the plane’s window, the smell of familiarity seized me. It was bright outside, as the sun sets late in the summers. The city’s skyline looked as beautiful as ever, basking in its glory, unaltered in its tryst with the thousands of people who are in awe of it from the moment they arrive in Toronto. I sat impatiently on my seat waiting for the cabin crew to begin deplaning the passengers, because I couldn’t wait to be back to my stomping grounds. I had flown back for the annual reunion at the University of Toronto, which had been my home for four years, and I was stoked to meet my friends who had made it feel like home.

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I cleared customs, collected my luggage, and caught a cab outside the airport. ‘Where do you want to go, sir?’ asked the chauffeur.

I gave him the address of the Airbnb that I had booked near my university downtown. ‘It would cost you 55$, sir,’ he said. I was pleasantly surprised as I vividly remembered that the standard rate for a cab from the airport to downtown was 55$ even six years ago when I had come to Toronto for the first time in 2013 as a student. The driver asked me if he could play music in his car, to which I gave a passive nod, as I was lost in my thoughts about the chain of events that would unfold the next day. I would be meeting some of my most treasured people in the world. I couldn’t believe I was finally back in Toronto after two years, because it felt like convocation was yesterday and the whole ceremony played in my mind. I was distracted from my thoughts as the driver changed the track to Drake’s God’s Plan, which was the biggest hit from the artist’s album last year. As the car drove into downtown Toronto, I could feel the vibe of the city settling in as I was listening to Drake who coincidentally was also from Toronto and the semi-Torontonian in me felt very proud of his achievements of putting Toronto on the global map through not only music but also through his other endeavors that he constantly undertook to represent the city. If there was one god I believed in, it was the ‘6ix God’ – a terminology used to refer to Drake – and maybe it was some God’s plan that I was back for this long awaited reunion after taking a week’s leave from work, for which I had applied three months in advance.

I was welcomed warmly by my host Alyssa who was a tall thirty-year young Caucasian lady with blonde hair and a nose ring that gave her somewhat of a hipster look. She worked in homeless shelters as a social worker. She had a dog named Tequila, which piqued my interest, as I liked both dogs and alcohol.

‘This is your room. Feel free to eat or use anything that I have in the kitchen. Treat it like your own house,’ said Alyssa with a big smile on her face. ‘Knock on my door or shoot me a text if you need anything.’

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‘Thank you so much, Alyssa. I am pretty tired, as I have had a long flight and have an early start tomorrow. I reckon I will eat some food and go to bed. I have some home cooked Indian food with me. You could try some if you like,’ I said, offering to share my dinner with her.

‘I love curry. I have eaten dinner, but I can always make some space for your curry,’ she replied.

Living in the West had made me habituated to experiencing stereotypes or outright ignorance about my culture from the average White man (or in this case woman) who brushed the cuisine of a country as diverse as India down to curry. At this hour, I thought it would be pointless to get into a geography lesson about the richness, multiculturalism, and diversity of a country where the local cuisine, language, and dialect changed every 100 km. I couldn’t be less lackadaisical even if she was one of those people who believed India was worth visiting only if one wanted to see the Taj Mahal or snake charmers. The color of my skin has evoked subtler comments in the West by White folks who have complimented me for speaking fluent English. I have always returned those compliments with a tinge of innocence and sarcasm by saying that they spoke fluent English too.

‘I don’t have curry with me, Alyssa, I have a dish of potato and cauliflowers with some Indian bread (rotis). I am a good cook. You can trust me.’ To which, she coyly replied, ‘Sure.’

The next morning, I woke up at 8:40 am because I had to pack my bags for the weekend getaway that we had planned after the reunion event. The reunion event was a BBQ lunch organized by UofT1 at the front campus at King’s College Circle. After packing my bag, I had a jentacular cup of coffee with an avocado sandwich before going for a shower so that I could reach the campus by 10:30 am, two and a half hours before the event started. The reason I wanted to reach the campus much before the

 1 University of Toronto

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scheduled time was so that I could go down memory lane once again and cherish every spot on campus that I had a history with and be one with nature’s mesmerizing beauty that adorned one of the prettiest and biggest campuses situated in the heart of the city as busy as Toronto. Deep within, I was still pining after my bright university years as the eighteen-year-old who was excited to be living far away from the gaze of his parents, a time where you find yourself staring into the vast ocean of possibilities, looking forward to summer vacations that last four months, or ordering pitchers at the bar with your friends until the last call because the next day didn’t have a morning lecture. I wanted to escape the daily grind of adulthood, and the only way to flee the rut was to reminisce the good old days of university.

I entered the campus through St. Mary’s street right through Gate House, a student residence that is divided into two sections by a huge gate in the middle. The grey stone walls covered by ivy were a classic feature of the Neo-Gothic architectural style, and the residences at Victoria College (UofT was divided into seven different colleges, and every student was affiliated to one of the colleges unless you had an engineering major) had gargoyles, turrets, and battlements which added a Hogwarts feel to its ancient look. Gate House had been notoriously infamous for some of the most outlandish traditions, hosting crazy toga parties, and rituals like ‘stirring the chicken’ which involved underage drinking, partying, and sculpting a penis from snow. The walls were partially covered with green branches and leaves which have several benefits like controlling the pollution, reducing carbon dioxide levels, protecting the students from UV rays, and contributing to the natural beauty of the campus. The first thing I did upon returning back to campus was swoon over the lush green grass at the Victoria quad while the sun was shining brightly down and the atmosphere of campus life seduced me.

I lay down sideways on my back and observed my surroundings to notice how nothing had changed. A group of students was playing pass with the soccer ball, another student was sitting on the grass and reading a novel while a

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young couple who looked like they were in their first year were making out on the bench which had the bronze statue of Northrop Frye, the same bench which had featured in the movie Almost Adults. I could see myself in these students, as it wasn’t very long back when I was doing these same things. Except that the bench where I took my dates was down the steps from the Victoria quad, behind the EJ Pratt Library, as one could see a small artificial waterfall from that bench and that spot made a more picturesque setting for a romantic smooch.

I moved in the direction of Queen’s Park towards the Philosopher’s Walk which had been one of our favorite spots for intense group discussions. On my way, I crossed the Old Vic building which in my opinion was the most visually appealing building on campus embodying the best form of Richardsonian Romanesque architecture. The Philosopher’s Walk, as its name aptly implies, was a scenic leafy footpath used by most students and professors to commute from one end of the campus to the other while others used it to stroll, think, and contemplate. It was a quiet reprieve from the bustling campus life of downtown Toronto and right at its epicentre had an amphitheater which was barely used for plays but had a precious place in my heart, as this is where our friends’ group often met to unwind, rejuvenate, and reconnect with nature, as our well sequestered, urban living, binge-drinking and pizza-eating lifestyle needed some fresh air and natural light to sustain itself. After all, as university students, we knew that even the most processed of food products traces its root to something grown in soil. As urban dwellers, human beings have internalized their urban lifestyles to such an extent that many of us don’t realize that we have spent an entire day without touching the soil or watching a wild animal. An eminent author called Kahn coined a phrase called ‘environmental generational amnesia’ to describe this phenomenon where every generation creates a new explanation of what is environmentally natural based on how one is brought up.

I sat down on one of the benches of the Philosopher’s Walk to deconstruct my emotions, and this was the first time

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I was sitting there without my friends. The silence felt comforting as I heard the rustling of the leaves that quivered in the tepid breeze; the lush moist grass seemed to be oozing out its green as it was kempt and healthy. The stone pathway of the Philosopher’s Walk that people used to commute from Hoskin Avenue to Bloor Street had a rusty grey texture that shone brightly in the morning sun as a raccoon swiftly strode across it to hide in one of the bushes. There was no one around me other than an old couple who looked like they were in their sixties, sitting on an adjacent bench and quietly munching their hotdogs. They seemed like they had attended one of the alumni lecture events, as they both were carrying their nametags that were hanging from their necks. University of Toronto had many alumni events throughout the reunion week on all three of its campuses. The couple seemed to be contently enjoying their hotdogs after scavenging out a quiet refuge from the din of the city. I thought how different the campus must have been when they were students. Firstly, technology was not ubiquitous, and they didn’t have the luxury to take notes on their laptops, view missed lectures online, or find love on their phones. The university had evolved drastically with many new residences and departments focusing on innovation, engineering, and campus life. I wondered if they were university sweethearts and met while studying here, as universities are statistically one of the biggest marriage markets in the world. With the onslaught of technology, would I feel outdated on this campus when I turn their age and come back for a reunion? Or would I be a busy grandparent who no longer feels wistful about his college years and has stopped going for reunions?

I heard a distant clamor and saw a group of school children being guided by their teachers, just like a herd of cattle running amok is guided by its owners, who try to make them follow a particular path and discipline their movements. They had probably come on a school visit to either the Royal Ontario Museum or the Bata Shoe Museum, which was the largest shoe museum in the world, both of which were at a walking distance from the Philosopher’s Walk. In fact, the Bata Shoe Museum was

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situated right on campus. It was 11:30 am, and I had half an hour to myself before Andre and Sam reached the university. They were reaching an hour before the event started, as I had informed them that I would be arriving on campus early. I knew exactly the place I had to visit before they came, as both of them weren’t at all nostalgic about going to this place and, if anything, fretted at the thought of entering it. We had spent countless nights in that place and raked up bills of hundreds of dollars, sipping caffeine while pulling off all-night study sessions. In my final year of university, I had spent more time there than in my own room or lecture halls. This place was called the Robarts Library. Therefore, I decided to follow the herd of the two-legged cattle out of the Philosopher’s Walk.

I entered Robarts Library through its revolving doors, which was one of the forty-four libraries at the University of Toronto, but what made it unique was the fact that Robarts was the largest of them all. The University of Toronto has the third largest academic collection in North America after Harvard and Yale, and it took immense pride in the systematic organization and operations of all its libraries. The first floor of Robarts had a cluster of about 50 computers that were accessible to the current students and alumni. I could blindly navigate my way around this floor, as I had spent innumerable hours typing essays on these computers. Every monitor, keyboard, and mouse on this floor could recognize me by the touch of my fingers. I steadily made my way towards the escalator and went up to the first floor where the cafeteria and Starbucks was located. I felt delighted, but that delightfulness was mixed with a bit of spite on seeing the students eat their meals while they laughed with their friends or spoke on video call or listened to music on their phone while some Asian whizz kids were multi-tasking their food with complex math topics like integration. Even though I worked as a digital strategy and fintech analyst at JP Morgan in London and no longer had to live within a student budget, I longed for these student meals because they were shared with people whom I cared for and who cared for me. If I didn’t have the reunion lunch, I would have definitely bought myself a subway

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sandwich from the cafeteria or noodles from one of the many Chinese food trucks that were right outside the library on St. George Street. Nonetheless, I decided to queue up in a long serpentine line like my former days for the ever- reliable Starbucks that had kept us awake and full of energy through countless midterms and exams. Considering the weather outside, I decided to go for the tall iced caramel macchiato with whipped cream instead of my usual venti soy green tea latte. One of my courses at university called Sociology of Food had included a case study on Starbucks through the lens of cultural imperialism, which is a very important framework for analysis. I had learnt how Starbucks had especially conceived its complex terminology as it gave its customers a sense of importance while ordering coffee, which was not possible in a local café where one had to order a ‘medium green tea’. It also drew on its origins of America and the superiority of the Western culture and lifestyle to make significant inroads in Asia and Africa as well as in the minds of hundreds of students who come from these continents to study in the West.

When you have an Indian name that isn’t as simple as Raj, chances are that the Starbucks personnel in the West are not only going to misspell it but also embarrass you when they call out the most creative form of your misspelled name in front of strangers when the order was ready. Therefore, I always went with Dave instead of Devansh whenever I ordered a drink at Starbucks. After collecting my order, I went to examine the quiet study spaces to see if they had renovated or changed the furniture during the two years of my absence. Sipping my drink and looking at the students who would rather be enjoying their summers than taking extra credits in summer school, I thought how most of them would eventually be longing for this time when life hits them with a shovel and they will wish they had savored more of these carefree days. Hoping that my thoughts weren’t audible, I heard the sound of a text notification on my phone. It was 11:58 am, and I had just received a text from Andre which read:

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Sam and I have reached and are at the Fung. Where you at, nigga?

Fung was short for Howard Ferguson dining hall, which was located inside Morrison Hall, a residence hall at University College (one of the seven colleges). It is a huge dining hall that is finely paneled in wood with several long tables and wooden chairs, ideal for living out your Harry Potter fantasies or fantasies about studying in an institution that conflated modern thoughts with old interiors. Fung rang a lot of bells because we had eaten countless meals and held all possible kinds of conversations that ranged from intense, meaningless, and lighthearted to general chit chat inside it during our time at university. There was so much history, drama, effervescence, criticism, and gossip embedded in that room. The Fung was a short walk across the street from Robarts. I replied to Andre’s message:

I will be there in two minutes.

I was filled with excitement and enthusiasm as I entered Morrison Hall; adrenaline rushing through my veins as I briskly walked past its patrons with a confident smile on my face. The first one to spot me was Sam, and he stood up with zeal to walk towards me as I entered the Fung. Andre screamed, ‘My boy is finally back,’ as he turned his head and saw me after Sam had sprung out of his chair with great vigor. Sam shook my hands, and we hugged each other like brothers hug when they meet after a long time.

‘Devansh, I can’t believe you are actually back in Toronto,’ said Sam. ‘Man, you seem to be in good shape, been hitting the gym lately, eh?’

‘Yeah, you know how work life is, man. Sitting at the desk for eight hours a day. Need some physical activity going on to de-stress after a long day,’ I replied.

‘Are you sure that is the reason or have you found a new bird in London whom you want to impress?’ he said with a wry smile on his face.

‘You seem to have gained more than what I have lost,’ I said looking at his small beer belly. ‘Your millionaire lifestyle

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is getting to you, I guess. Remember? The rich man suffers from the gout,’ I quoted Shakespeare in the last sentence, though I doubt he got the reference. Sam was one of those millennial millionaires who had made his fortune in cryptocurrencies. Buying and selling Bitcoin at the right time had thrust him into the club of elites, and he spent his newly acquired wealth travelling and partying all over North America from the high-end hotels that resonated with opulence and luxury in Las Vegas to the sunny beach resorts in Cancun that had overflowing tapas bars. His Instagram, Facebook, and Snapchat stories were a testimony to the king- size life that he was leading. If I were sitting on a pile of cash like him, I would have had a pot-size belly by now. He was still doing better. The brands on his outfit complemented his luxury lifestyle. He was sporting a casual light pink crew top from Valentino with a pair of white jeans and high-top sneakers from Ylati, which is an expensive Italian brand. His outfit was supported with a belt from Hermes and Louis Vuitton sunglasses which looked slick for the summers.

On the contrary, Andre was wearing his regular Hollister full sleeve t-shirt with dark denim jeans and a pair of suede loafers that matched the color of his denims. Andre was six feet tall, slightly muscular, strong, and a light-skinned Black Canadian, who was born to Jamaican parents. The only person I knew who was capable of looking suave in any outfit was Andre. Even though he wasn’t wearing any flashy brands like Sam, he looked sharp and well-groomed. Andre shook my hands and said, ‘We missed you, man. It is so good to have you back. We have so much to catch up on. London! Your job and also the girl whom you told me about at your office. What was her name, Adrianna?’

‘London has been amazing, but I miss you guys a lot. The six o’clock pub rush in London is the best atmosphere ever when everyone gets out of their offices and rushes straight to the pub to grab a few pints. It seems like the whole city descends down to get wellied after a long day’s work with some pockets in central London like Soho, Shoreditch, and Leceister Square being the liveliest places on Earth’.

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‘Lucky bastard. I want to live in Europe one day. You didn’t say anything about Adrianna though. Did you hit a homerun with her?’ (An American expression that meant whether I had slept with her or not.)

‘She is super hot, but I am not planning on fooling around now. Those days are behind me, mate. But I hear you have been hitting a lot of homeruns at your work and new gym.’

Andre glanced at Sam as soon as I said this, who coyly looked away with a slight grin on his face. He was guilty of ratting out Andre’s sexual conquests to me and, in the process, stealing the pride that Andre would have experienced had he narrated anecdotes from his promiscuous lifestyle to me. Sam was fully aware of the miniscule details that pertained to Andre’s life, as Andre was living in Sam’s penthouse apartment in downtown Toronto that Sam had bought last year. Even though Andre was drawing a handsome pay cheque as an investment banker, Sam insisted that he live with him, as his place had two bedrooms and he wanted a trusted cohost for the parties that he threw at his place. Sam had graduated from university a semester later than us, but the frat boy inside him that loved playing beer pong had not. Furthermore, Sam had outright refused taking even a single dollar in rent from Andre, even though Andre had been persistent in his efforts that Sam accept a meagre amount at least. Sam’s only condition was that Andre used his rent money on partying with him, to which Andre gladly agreed. Moreover, Scotiabank, where Andre worked, was a short distance from the penthouse, so the arrangement worked out well for both of them.

The three of us sat down at Fung and carried on our banter while I attempted to catch up with their lives in detail.

‘How are things at work?’ I asked Andre.

‘Just the usual. Long hours and lots of meetings.’

‘And for you, Sam?’ I asked vehemently even though I knew it was mostly play for him. Sam didn’t have and did

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not need a full-time job like us and was only managing his personal portfolio of cryptocurrencies. Yet, he earned way more than both of us combined. He had sold 500 Bitcoins at their peak price of 18,500$ to rake up a fortune worth 9 million dollars. Very few people would have the motivation to do a full-time job when they have made so much money at such a young age. Whenever asked about work, whether it was coursework at university or his investments in cryptocurrency, Sam had a patent answer that he gave everyone, ‘Work is unbelievable.’ The irony of his statement was that you never knew what to expect of it or what exactly he means. One could never know if things were going good or bad. We were always left confused whenever anyone of us asked him about his essays or assignments. Maybe that was his way of dealing with pressure. He never got tensed about the hardest of exams or the lengthiest of essays. He never talked business with or without pleasure. Considering the position he had reached, one needed to possess a calm mind as well as a sharp acumen for dealing with people, and he had both.

The BBQ lunch was about to start soon, so we headed out to King’s College Circle from the back exit of Morrison Hall to collect our nametags and food coupons, thereby crossing the beautiful quad of university college. We were in the queue waiting for our turns when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around only to receive the warmest and the longest hug I had received in a while.

‘You haven’t changed a bit. You looked so different when you had last spoken to me on Skype from London. I could notice your fade from a distance,’ said Sonia with a loud display of alacrity.

‘You shocked me. But I always missed your hugs in London. They were like morning coffee to me in university. There is something magical in them, you know? I felt so much more energetic the whole day after receiving them. Where is Nigel?’ I asked because they were supposed to come together. She pointed behind her. He was walking at a distance, waving his hand in our direction. I guess he

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dropped Sonia first and then went to park the car, which probably explained why he was strolling behind her.

Nigel and Sonia were total opposites when it came to dressing up for an occasion. Sonia was wearing a pink floral, backless maxi dress with a sexy plunging neckline, a thigh split, and Laela heels in black micro. Moreover, she had the perfect blend of foundation, natural mineral mascara, and lipstick that complemented her skin tone. She had brown skin and came from a mixed heritage, as her father was a Pakistani and her mother came from Saudi Arabia. On the contrary, Nigel was a Caucasian male with long blond hair which he kept tied. He was wearing a simple short-sleeve grey t-shirt with black pants and running shoes. Nigel had an athletic physique, as he had been playing American football from a young age and even represented our university at the varsity level. He was consistent with working out and practicing kickboxing as well.

We collected our nametags and lunch coupons and headed straight towards the food counters to avoid the long queues later. Lydia was the only one missing. She had informed Sonia that her train from Hamilton was leaving around noon, so she would be a bit late. Considering how expensive education at UofT is, I felt the university should hold more of these events. There was a wide array of food options at this BBQ luncheon. The first counter had choices between (vegetarian, chicken, and beef) burgers or hotdogs where one could then choose the toppings that ranged from red onions, pickles, sautéed mushrooms to lettuce and tomatoes. I chose the vegetarian burger and added some horse-radish mayo and ketchup in it. The next counter had boiled potatoes, coleslaw salad, roasted asparagus, cheese pasta, and an endless supply of soft drinks. The event was very well organized and King’s College Circle had tables and benches laid out for everyone to sit. There was even a temporary shelter constructed which housed round tables for more seating and an alumni photo booth with fancy props and juice counters. People of all ages, sizes, and races soon descended upon the beautiful front campus and the huge ground was full of cheer, fun, and frolic. An onlooker would

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reckon it to be a busy beehive. There were scenes of merriment, friends catching up, children lining up outside the ice cream trucks, and old and young members meeting their friends and batch mates after a long duration.

Andre and Sam had found us a table, and the rest of us were heading towards them with plates of food in our hands. We sat around the table with our food, and this brought back so many memories. Life on campus involved hundreds of breakfasts, lunches, and dinners with friends, because when a person is living in university dorms, friends play the role of family. All moments of joy, excitement, sorrow, and stress are shared with friends. They become your support system when you need someone to be around you physically. Parents can emotionally support you only to a certain extent, as they are far away and can’t partake in one’s daily struggles.

‘How is your Airbnb?’ Nigel asked me as he manducated his chicken burger. ‘This burger is so juicy and sumptuous,’ he added with the look of contentment in his eyes.

‘My accommodation is pretty comfortable, and the hostess seems like a nice lady. Also, I was lucky to find a reasonable place close to campus considering how expensive Toronto has become. The real estate market is only going to go up. It is a very good time to invest in the GTA. Tell me about the house you guys have booked for our weekend getaway. I haven’t got any pictures yet.’

Sonia replied, ‘I wanted our holiday villa to be kept a surprise. The pictures will spoil all the fun. You guys should see and judge our taste. Lydia and I took a lot of time to zero in on this one. All I can tell you for now is that it has a big swimming pool and the interiors are plush.’

‘Whether we like it or not, Nigel would definitely have to appreciate your taste,’ said Sam with a naughty smirk on his face. Nigel and Sonia were in a relationship, and Sam had always enjoyed taking an occasional stab at Nigel even in his former relationship by mocking how henpecked he was. Well, Sonia and Nigel were still our favorite interracial couple.

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‘Stop being a douche,’ replied Nigel.

‘He has a point though. That booty has you like...Damn! Hot girl, two o’clock,’ said Andre, pulling Nigel’s leg further.

All of us turned our heads in the northeast direction from where Andre was sitting since that is the direction where two o’clock would fall on a watch. He was correct. The prettiest girl in the reunion had finally arrived with a carryon luggage for our weekend retreat.

‘I am so sorry guys for being late. The best train that I could catch left at 12:30. The other train would have gotten me two hours early for this event. Devaaaaansh...’ she rushed to hug me. ‘How are you? It is so good to see you. You forgot me after going to London. You barely call or WhatsApp.’

‘You know how work is. Plus, I am in a different time zone. By the time I get done, you guys are still working here.’

‘Hello, Lydia. We exist too. You are seeing us after a long time as well, even though Hamilton is barely two hours away. The last time we met you was New Year’s. By the way Sonia, did you notice how Nigel’s head turned when I said hot girl at two o’clock?’ said Andre.

‘Yes, I did. Someone is in trouble, I guess,’ said Sonia, trying to join in on the fun.

For a moment I felt like I was dreaming. I had been envisioning this reunion for months, and now it felt like time had come to a stop. Other than Ryan, everyone was here. Even though my stomach was still half empty, my heart was finally full. This moment was priceless, and even a three- course meal at a Michelin-starred restaurant in Toronto could not compensate for this company.

‘There is very long queue for the food now. I will eat something at Maddy’s. Let me grab a pop from the ice boxes,’ said Lydia.

The Madison Avenue pub or Maddy’s as it was popularly known among the student population of Toronto is a mega pub that was built by connecting three Victorian

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mansions and was a five minute walk from campus. It was hugely popular with the locals for its convivial setting and weekly specials for students who are always broke. It comprised of several floors with six British style bars as well as darts and a pool table for people who get fiercely competitive after a few drinks. We had planned to go to the Madison to grab a few suds before heading to our weekend getaway home.

By the time Lydia returned with a coke, we had almost finished our meals. We decided to get some pictures at the photo booth inside the marquee before heading to Maddy’s. I took the cliché moustache photo prop while the others took boards which had some text written on them. Sam held the prop which read ‘Still a troublemaker’ while Andre sported the ‘When did we get so old?’ prop. Sonia held ‘We are still together’ and pointed it at Nigel. Lydia made an expression of guilt and slightly raised the prop of ‘Came for the gossip’. Nigel couldn’t find anything interesting to hold, so he just held Sonia by the waist. After collecting six copies of the picture, so that everyone gets to keep one, we headed towards the Madison pub.

The six of us entered the Madison and got a table upstairs on the patio. Emily, a server who had started working at Madison when we began university, instantly recognized us, as we were regulars and generously tipped her. She greeted us with a lot of enthusiasm and gusto, ‘Madison has not been the same without you guys. All of you have grown up now. Lydia, I still can’t forget the party at your sorority that you had invited me to. Guys, I am going to get you the menus even though I don’t think you all would need it. As my favorite customers, your first round will be on me,’ said Emily.

‘Thank you so much, Emily, we all appreciate your gesture,’ Lydia told her.

‘She is such a sweetheart,’ said Sonia after Emily had gone to get our drinks. ‘The best part about this place has been its excellent customer service. No wonder, in the

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neighborhood that has so vibrantly evolved over the years, the Madison continues to stay and make business.’

‘That is true. They have always had excellent deals for students too. At this time, we would get the appetizers at half price. Should we order what we always get?’ I asked.

‘Yes! I am craving their voodoo chicken fingers. Let us get two of those and one nachos supreme. That would be enough for the six of us. Since I will be driving the car after we are done here, I will just be having one beer,’ said Andre. Voodoo chicken fingers was the best-selling item at Maddy’s.

‘Me too. I am driving the other car, so I won’t be drinking at all. I will just have some food,’ said Sonia.

I was surprised to hear that Sonia was abstaining from liquor, as she could xertz beer quicker than any of us. Even though she came from a strict Muslim family, she had indulged in everything that her parents had always asked her to refrain from like drugs, alcohol, and premarital sex. She aptly embodied the saying ‘Halal on the streets, haram in the sheets’.

‘Okay. Let us order two pitchers of beer and one wine sangria. How about Molson and Bavarian? The Bavarian beer at Maddy’s is something that was on my to-do list in Toronto.’

‘I think our order is perfect. Just like the good old times,’ said Nigel.

By then, Emily had arrived with the first round of drinks and was ready to take our order. She repeated it just to make sure that she had it right.

‘Suds on a Friday afternoon at Maddy’s! Sonia, I will have your beer, since you aren’t drinking anything,’ chuckled Sam, to which Sonia gladly agreed.

I wouldn’t be bragging if I said that there were some of the heaviest male and female drinkers on our table in Toronto. The drinks and the food came. We drank and laughed and talked as the sun gradually lowered over the horizon. Three pitchers among four people is not something

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that even the students who occupied the tables around us would dare to order.

After his fifth or sixth glass, Sam drooled over the table and said, ‘I wish Ryan was here right now. He is missing out on everything. Let me Snapchat a groufie to him.’

Ryan was the only one who couldn’t make it to this reunion. He was busy with an article of clerkship in the United States, and it wasn’t possible for him to fly back. I knew for a fact that the picture that Sam was about to send him would result in him having more FOMO. I am sure he would regret not being able to make it. As soon as Sam mentioned Ryan, I sensed Lydia feeling a bit uneasy. Her face suddenly grew smaller, and she put her hand behind her neck as if to scratch it. As close friends, we all knew each other so well that I could easily tell that scratching her neck was a sign which meant Lydia wasn’t comfortable. Although the cause of this uneasiness was related to an incident that happened two years ago, Ryan and Lydia had barely spoken after that and had only shown the courtesy of wishing each other on birthdays (that too on Facebook). I was the only one whom Ryan had confided in. Lydia had expressed feelings for Ryan a month after the convocation and had wanted to date him, but Ryan could never reciprocate those feelings because he didn’t feel the same way about her after all these years of friendship. Also, he was leaving for law school to Yale and did not see himself dealing with a long- distance relationship.

‘How are things with you and Luke?’ I asked Lydia in order to change the topic and distract her from her current emotions.

‘We are going to live together once I move to Australia for work. My job at ABC News starts in September. Can’t wait to flaunt my bikini on the beaches there. We are getting a place near the beach.’

Lydia had gone to intern at the Australia Broadcasting Corporation in January and managed to secure a full-time job offer at the same company. During her stay in Sydney, she met a guy called Luke Rigo at one of the media events

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that Luke was organizing. Apparently, the bloke was pretty famous in the event management industry and had pictures with 50 Cent, Rihanna, and Shawn Mendes. I knew this, as I had stalked him online after Lydia had shared the news with me in March. I was happy for her. Also, she had escaped the harsh Canadian winters and was enjoying the warm Australian summers.

‘I need to take a leak. God! I have drank too much,’ said Nigel after his fifth drink.

I turned to Andre in my semi-drunk condition and put a 5$ bill on the table. ‘I bet you five bucks to get that brawd’s number who is standing by the bar,’ I said. When we were students, we played this game amongst ourselves where we would bet each other a dollar or two to talk to attractive women especially when we saw them in the library or a bar, as they were not in a rush then. This game served two primary purposes. One of them was to push each other to talk to attractive girls, because as freshmen we were nervous about approaching girls randomly. Secondly, it was a fun exercise for the whole group and a good way to improve our social skills. The only condition was that one couldn’t refuse the bet. The only thing that changed from our university days was probably the amount of money that I was ready to gamble, as I could easily afford losing five bucks now.

Andre was stoked for the challenge. He got up with an air of confidence and walked towards the girl with a smile and looked sharply at her, trying to find contact with her eyes.

‘Hi! I am Andre. Do you believe in magic?’ he asked the brawd.

‘No, I don’t,’ she replied.

‘What if I told you I could read your mind? I like to break people’s beliefs. If I fail to read your mind, I will buy you any drink in this bar, and if I read it correctly, you don’t have to give me anything,’ he said making her an offer that she would never refuse.

‘Sure. Let’s see what you got,’ she replied.

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‘Okay, think of any number between one and nine. Don’t tell me. Just type it on my phone without showing it to me. I will guess your number accurately,’ said Andre, taking out his huge iPhone 7 Plus from his pocket.

The girl took his phone and typed a digit into it. Sam and I already knew where this was going, as all of us had learnt this trick and used it a thousand times from the same book which was called The Game by Neil Strauss. Neil Straus is considered one of the greatest pick-up artists (PUA) in the world and very few people could claim to be better with women than he was. The trick of this game was that most people choose seven when they are asked to pick a random number between one and nine. The reason Andre used his phone for this trick was to confirm whether the girl actually chose seven or some other number by seeing which part of the screen she touched. If she touched the lower left side, it was a seven. In the rare case where she would have touched something on the right side it would be either a 3, 6, or 9. In this case, the girl had chosen a seven, and Andre could see her finger press something on the lower left side. However, just to double check and pretend that he was a good magician, he said, ‘Is your number between five and nine?’ while maintaining eye contact.

Sometimes, it is possible to mistake a four for a seven, as four is just above the seven on the keypad. If the girl had said no to Andre’s question, he would have gone with four.

She replied ‘Yes’ with a slight nod, looking down at the screen.

After pretending to read her mind for ten more seconds, Andre said, ‘The number you chose is seven.’

‘How! How did you do that? You have to tell me,’ she exclaimed in disbelief.

‘Only on one condition that you send me a good review on Instagram so that I can use it as a testimonial for the website I am going to create to promote myself as a magician,’ Andre said. The bastard was not creating any

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website nor was he a magician. He was slyly sliding into her DM by taking her Instagram account.

‘Here, take my phone. You can add yourself here,’ she said.

Andre made up a false explanation for the trick by saying that her eyes moved in the upper left direction which is the creative side of the brain. He told her that this narrowed his options down to a four or a seven, and he took a stab at seven when she said that her number was between five and nine. This left the girl in awe. He had already validated himself in her eyes, and he leveraged this to continue the conversation, flaunt another NLP trick, and take her phone number. After a while, he returned to our table with the look of victory in his eyes and grabbed the 5$ bill from the table where I had put it.

‘I may not be playing the game so often, but I haven’t forgotten it,’ said a rodomontading Andre. Meanwhile, Sonia had called for the cheque. We paid off the bill and tipped Emily generously before we drove off to our luxury villa in Richmond Hill only stopping at my Airbnb to collect my bag. Andre drove Sam’s SUV while Sonia, Lydia, and Nigel took the other car which Sonia was driving. Richmond Hill was an hour’s drive from downtown Toronto, so by the time we reached the house, it was already 9:15 pm.

Our house in Richmond Hill was a manifestation of ultra-rich luxury and modern architecture. The house was made completely of glass and stone and consisted of five bedrooms, five and a half baths, a swimming pool that had an adjacent cocktail bar, a cinema lounge, a huge kitchen, and a living room. The living room had a St. James’ solid Apalasian white oak table that had seating for eight with velvet chairs. The kitchen was slightly separate from the main living area and had an oversized sub-zero integrated refrigerator, custom designed cabinets, polished mercury black marble on the island, a six-burner gas cooktop, and even a distinct wine refrigerator. The bedrooms had vinyl flooring with a queen-size bed in every room (other than the master suite which had a king-size bed) that was padded with

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a cushiony leather background and a wooden chair in the shape of an arm that was made from a single big piece of wood. The bathroom had ivory white marble floors that were radiant, heated for the cold Canadian winters, and porcelain sinks that added a feeling of richness to the guest experience.

We decided it would be best if Nigel and Sonia took the master bedroom, as they would be sleeping together. The rest of us would get a room to ourselves.

‘Wow! I am in love with this house already. I can’t wait to dive into that pool tomorrow morning,’ I said.

‘Glad you liked our choice,’ said Sonia.

‘Since we are all exhausted, why don’t we go to bed soon and start the day early with a swim?’ said Lydia.

So we all decided to head to our rooms, change our clothes, and go to sleep. The following day all of us were in the swimming pool by 8:00 am. Sam had gotten up early to stock up the house with all the party paraphernalia that he purchased on his personal expense and was carrying it in his SUV car. Even after we all insisted, he refused to let us contribute any money towards his purchases, even though some of the alcohol was very expensive. He had bought everything that one needed to party under this roof. The alcohol ranged from Carbonadi vodka, Stroh rum from Austria, Chardonnay ice wine, twenty-five-year-old Bowmore scotch, a two-four (which is Canadian slang for 24 bottles or cans of beer), 20 grams of cannabis (which included some pre-rolled joints)to chocolate cigars that he had picked up from a Cuban shop on his recent trip to Miami and solo cups. Partying was serious business for Sam, and I could see that he had spent a lot. Ice wine, a very sweet wine which is widely popular and grown largely in Canada, is made through a very labor-intensive process. The bottle of Chardonnay ice wine alone cost Sam 1,000$.

Sam had made us all an orange Stroh cocktail before joining us in the pool with his own drink. Relaxing in the pool under the morning sun with a cocktail that had 80% alcohol in it was the perfect way to start a Saturday morning.

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Moreover, the blaring music on Nigel’s speakers added to the vibe of a pool party. The pool party transitioned into a beer pong game where Sam, Lydia, and I were in one team and Sonia, Nigel, and Andre in the other. We obviously won because Sam was so good at this game that he could score with his eyes closed. After four years of being a member of a fraternity at UofT and roughly 220,000 CAD later, he had championed the art of beer pong and making cocktails. Beer pong gradually gave way to slap cup, flip cup, and Cards Against Humanity, all of which involved drinking alcohol. We were beginning to get hungry by lunch time, so Andre ordered pizza from Papa John’s for all of us and poutine from Big Smoke Burger. We decided to eat our food in the cinema lounge while watching The Sound of Music that featured Julie Andrews in the lead role. By the time the movie finished, it was 3:00 pm.

‘It is time to get high now,’ said Sam, pulling out his packet containing marijuana, a grinder, and paper rolls.

‘This stuff is blessed, man. Don’t roll anything for me. I am going to smoke the pre-rolled Casablanca,’ I said. This was the first time I was smoking weed ever since it was made legal in Canada. It is a strange feeling when you don’t have to sneak away in a public park or make sure that the smoke goes outside the window of your college dormitory so that your neighboring students don’t complain. Now, it seems that half the fun of smoking it was in the secrecy that one had to maintain. However, since marijuana became legal, one could buy pre-rolled joints as well as be assured of the authenticity of the marijuana, which wasn’t possible when buying weed from a sketchy dealer on the street. Casablanca was the right fit for me. Not too strong but got the job done. The next few hours were spent under the influence of legal drugs as we had a good laugh discussing our adventures from the past. Sam was the only one who was smoking his chocolate cohibas, as he planned to smoke pot later.

At 7:00 pm., the boys left to sleep for two hours while the girls took a shower and started to dress up for the night. I had always wondered why girls took so much time to dress up before clubbing. As boys, we needed fifteen minutes for a

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shower and another fifteen to get ready. Eventually, I understood how society requires us all to play gender roles, and in the case of girls, it requires them to look pretty, apply make-up, do their hair, wear heels, etc. All of this systematically evolved over hundreds of years to restrict their movement and make them behave and think in a certain way with the goal to sustain a patriarchal society. Sam had also booked a party limousine and a VIP booth with bottle service at the Uniun night club in downtown Toronto. The party limousine arrived sharply at ten o’clock, and we were greeted professionally by a suited chauffeur who opened the door for us.

The limousine had leather seats, multiple panel TVs with USB ports, complimentary Wi-Fi, electric plugs, and a top-notch sound system. The interiors bedazzled with fiber optic lighting, mirrored ceilings, buttons to control the climate, and an inbuilt bar with glasses, ice chests, and stemware. We were carrying pizza and a bottle each of whiskey and ice wine with us to stay hydrated in the hour- long drive. Sam was smoking his weed while enjoying the city views from inside. This level of comfort and style could only be achieved in a limousine where everyone had enough space to themselves and we could still accommodate more people. We reached Uniun at 10:57 pm. Booking a VIP table with drinks allowed us to skip the queue, and we only had Sam to thank for that. The night was young and so were we. Looking at the crowd where people were flaunting their sexiest outfits and the cocktail waitresses were wearing short black mini-skirts while revealing their cleavage as much as they could made me feel how this city just gets younger with each passing day, until you start feeling too old to enjoy some of its nocturnal gems like Uniun. Well, at least today was not that day for me.

We danced and drank as the club started to pick up and the DJ dropped some crazy tunes that were popular among the locals. Gradually, as more alcohol flowed into our systems, we let loose and the group began to split. Sonia and Nigel were lost in each other’s eyes as they held each other on the dance floor and locked lips. Lydia started getting

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approached by random guys who gyrated around her, most of whom were Black men wearing bling. Andre approached a set of two girls and developed a great rapport with one of them. Sam, inebriated and high under the influence of marijuana, was trying to find an easy target for the night, as he was not in his senses to hold a decent conversation. Lydia, who had exceptional skills as a wingwoman, had gone to rescue Sam. A hot wingwoman like Lydia immediately put the whole girl gang’s defense system to rest. No wingman could do the job that she did. She helped Sam with a drunk girl that he was planning to approach. Lydia befriended the girl group and introduced Sam to his target. After fifteen minutes of getting comfortable with Lydia, the group started opening up to Sam. He eventually started grinding his crotch against his target’s ass which was cue for Lydia to leave, as her job was done.

Lydia came back to me and started twerking against me, as I was the most sober of the lot and was dancing by myself. As she twerked against me, I held her waist with both my hands in the most platonic way I could. The best part about our friendship was that we never got carried away. We could enjoy doing the dirtiest of dances without actually feeling any attraction or crossing the line. Lydia and I were now facing each other and dancing while I noticed Sam get a sloppy make out from the girl he was dancing with. I think she was too drunk to know what she was doing. Andre was playing his cards right, as he had already attracted the blonde to himself. She was giving him a lap dance in our private booth while he was motorboating her boobs. Andre had prurient cravings to validate himself by approaching women in bars and clubs.

At 3:00 am, all the lights of the club were switched on, and the music stopped. It was time to leave when I saw Sam walking back with a look of disappointment in his eyes. ‘Her friends cockblocked me. Damn those bitches. She had agreed to come back home with me when her friends came out of nowhere,’ he said. I doubted how consensual that agreement was. Her friends would not be able to cockblock Sam had she said yes in her senses. We left the club, and all

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of us were waiting in the limousine for Andre. He finally arrived with a stranger whom I recognized as the girl from the lap dance. She introduced herself as Clara and sat down with Andre while we offered her drinks out of courtesy. Most of us were exhausted on our ride back home except Andre and Clara who were passionately and physically esurient to know each other in the spacious limo. I wasn’t surprised about Andre’s behavior, but I expected the girl to show some restraint since she didn’t know any of us. Maybe she had never made out or got her boobs pressed in a party limousine before and was living one of her fantasies.

The next morning, I woke up at 11:00 am. Andre and Sam were already downstairs by the BBQ grill, preparing hotdogs for all of us. ‘Where is your nocturnal friend or is it too late to ask?’ I asked, assuming he had already gotten rid of her. ‘No, I think she is a really nice girl. We exchanged numbers before I booked an Uber for her. The only reason I didn’t want her to stay is because I thought she would be intruding on our reunion,’ said Andre. At this point, I looked at Nigel who was trying really hard to control his laughter while flipping his Polish sausage, because he knew what a snollygoster Andre was.

‘Oh! Come on guys. I am going to hit her up again and take her out on a date. What is so funny?’ said Andre.

‘And the next time I watch a porn video, I am actually going to believe that the plumber has come to the girl’s house with the intention of fixing the pipe in the washroom. Anyway, I am kind of hungover. I am going inside the pool,’ I retorted and went upstairs to fetch my swimming shorts.

In half an hour, I was joined by Sam, Lydia, and Sonia in the pool. Sam got the pack of beer from the fridge that we were consuming in the pool. The afternoon was spent munching hotdogs, drinking booze, and relaxing in the water while the music system played the latest collection of rap songs. It was 4:00 pm, and we had two hours to pack our stuff and bid adieu to the house before we went our separate ways. I was meeting all of them again for dinner on Friday before I flew back to London on Saturday. During the week,

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I had scheduled to meet Karan, Pukhraj, Vibhuti, and Nitya who were some of my Indian friends from university. I was sitting beside the pool and checking my email to see if I received any important updates from work when I got a message on my phone from Afifah that read:

Devansh, I need your help. Please meet me on Wednesday. It is very important, and I feel you are the only person who can help me now...

For a moment, I was staring at the screen without an iota of clue as to what this meant. I knew something was very offbeat. Afifah knew that I was in the city for a week, as I had come back for the reunion. I had casually messaged her while in London to know whether she was attending any alumni events. I pondered over the sudden nature and the urgent texture of the message that was sent without any context. Why would she send me such a message? What could I do for her that her family or friends in Toronto could not?

NOTE TO THE READER: At this point, you must be wondering who Afifah is. In order to find out, I will have to take you back to my freshman year where all this began before I tell you what happened after I received that text.