It was spring in Toronto. The month was April. The year was 2019. The snow had nearly melted, and the temperatures were beginning to rise. A cooler air whiffed through the air in High Park, barely a ten-minute walk from Ramu’s modest two storey brick house on a quiet road in west village. The tulips were in bloom and the cherry blossoms were in their “pink perfection.” They would fall off like snowflakes soon. Ramu had just gotten off the conference call with his school friends from 1964. The sound of robins and woodpeckers in the background announced the turning over of seasons. A good omen, he thought. They had reconnected after fifty-five years. Seemed like an eon. Prabu had initiated the call. Because he was based in Vancouver, he had traced them by Google searches, Facebook, and family contacts in India. With changes in names, surnames, and adopted aliases, it was not easy. Vir would be tracked down in Michigan, Patel in Birmingham UK, Roop in Georgia, USA, and Vas in Hyderabad, India. And to his surprise Ramu in Toronto. He felt like a detective trying to locate the suspects while investigating a crime scene. These were the six partners in crime who had played, studied, explored, eaten, gone to movies, and gawked at girls together. They were inseparable. The conference call was arranged for noon in North America. It would be five o’clock in the evening for Patel in England. Nine-thirty that night for Vas in Hyderabad. Prabu would initiate the call from Vancouver at nine o’clock in the morning. The six of them would be speaking to each other after five decades. His wife Mohini was excited for him. This would cheer him up, she thought. He had had bypass surgery a couple of months back. It had come unexpectedly—the heart attack, that is. Five o’clock in the morning on October third, 2018, would be etched in the calendar. It would take its place among family birthdays and anniversaries. He wasn’t sure if he should share the news of his heart attack with his friends on the call. “Not a good icebreaker after fifty-five years,” he surmised. Moreover, he was feeling fine, thanks to the cardiac rehab. The idea of a reunion came to him in a moment of weakness. When he was overcome by a fear of dying. So much to catch up and so little time left. He then began to track them down. He finally located all six of them. He was thrilled. He hesitated before calling the first number. It was as if he was about to drop a coin in a slot The Reunion machine without knowing what to expect. Then he punched the numbers on his hand phone, one by one. “Hi, this is Prabu, is that Ramu?” “Yes, it’s me.” There was a slight pause. “Arrey Yar, radio silence from you since 1964!” He shifted the phone against his ear. These new flat phones were so uncomfortable. He missed the curved earpiece of the phones of his childhood. “Sorry I lost touch.” “Have you been in Toronto all along?” “Yes. I tried to contact you but didn’t have your number.” “Yes, it’s a shame. We have been in the same country. Is this convenient?” His wife appeared in the doorway, but he waved her away. “Yes, we are three hours ahead.” “I know. Must be cold.” “Well, it’s cloudy today, but the snow has melted away. Who else is joining us?” “The whole gang. Wait, there is someone joining.” “Hello, guys, this is Vas from Hyderabad.” “Oh my! Vas!” Prabu said. “It seems like ages! Lovely to hear your voice.” “Likewise,” said Vas. “What are you doing now?” “I retired from the Public Works Department as an Electrical Engineer.” “Any kids?” “Yes, two. Savitri and I are blessed. Arun is a doctor. Lives close by. Daughter Savita is in Bangalore.” “Any grandkids?” “Yes, Arun has a girl. Savita my daughter is married to a software engineer in Bangalore and has one son.” “Any news of Rashid and Kazmi?” “Haven’t heard from them in ages. Last I heard, they had returned from Haj.” “What did Rashid do?” “Food Scientist. Worked in the districts. Now retired.” “Where does he live now?” “Heard he is in Hyderabad, in a retirement home. Unfortunately, we have lost touch.” “How about his kids?” “Three. All in the USA, I heard.” “How about our other classmates?” “Some in Hyderabad. Some went to the Middle East. The rest are in U.K, Canada and the USA.” “So, what’s new in Hyderabad?” “Quite a lot. Everyone has become religious. Nobody leaves home without performing pooja in the morning. New temples have sprung up everywhere!” “Hmm, that’s interesting,” said Ramu. “Is that street side small Ganesh idol that we prayed at still there?” “Yes. They built a huge temple around it.” “Hang on, I hear someone.” “Hello guys, this is Patel from Birmingham.” The voice was warm and recognizable. He was the class clown who cracked everyone up with his impromptu jokes. “Hey this is Ramu. Your accent has changed. You sound British!” The Reunion Patel broke into his infectious laughter. “You are kidding me. My white friends tease that I speak English in gujarati.” Everyone chuckled. “What is your line of work?” asked Ramu. “Jewelry business. Same as my family in India.” “How are things?” “Can’t complain. Life is first class.” “Good to know that.” “Hello, Prabu this is Vir.” His voice was raspier than back then. “Hi, Vir. Great to hear your voice.” “Same here. So exciting.” “So, you are in Michigan? Ramu, Patel, and Vas are already on the line.” Three separate hellos followed in a chorus. “Yes, I am in Michigan. Sorry I called in a little late. Was on a call with a real estate agent.” “Oh really,” said Patel, curious. “Buying property?” “Yes, we are looking for a beachfront property in Florida. You know the winters are getting harder. Meena has a thyroid condition and I have arthritis. Can’t handle the cold.” “Sorry to hear that,” said Patel. “We are okay otherwise. No major health issues.” “Are you retired?” “Yes. Owned my own company. Now enjoying life.” The phone line clicked. “Hello, this is Roop.” A bolder voice replaced the timid one they knew. “Where are you now?” asked Vas. “I am in Georgia,” replied Roop. “That is in the south, right?” “That’s correct.” “Heard it is white Christian country.” “That’s right. They are very nice. It was a safe place to raise our children.” “Republicans, mainly?” “Over the years, yes. But demographics are changing.” “Trump supporters?” “Yes, I voted for him,” replied Roop. “Me too,” piped in Vir. Good on taxes and opposed to socialism.” “What’s your occupation, Roop?” Prabu asked. “Cardiologist. I retired last year.” “Oh I could do with your help,” Prabu reacted. “Sorry. Are you not well?” “Fine now. I had a bypass last winter.” “Sorry to hear that. Glad you are well now. Nice of you to arrange this call,” said Roop. “My pleasure. It is long overdue. All of us are retired and settled. Time to catch up.” “Any kids, Roop?” continued Prabu “Yes, Madhuri and I have two kids. Both doctors. Arun is in New York and Anoop lives in San Francisco.” “Married?” “Yes, Arun is married to Melanie. A white girl. Very nice. Loves Indian food. They have two kids.” “And?” “Oh Anoop is a bachelor, won’t commit. it’s his life anyway. Can’t tell them what to do. Not like our days.” “Agree. Is your wife Madhuri from Hyderabad?” The Reunion “No she is from Bombay. We met in Atlanta during residency. It was love at first sight.” “How romantic. What’s her speciality?” asked Patel. “She is a primary care physician,” repled Roop. There was a pause. Grabbing the moment in an enquiring tone, Prabu said, “I was wondering if we should have a reunion?” “That is an excellent idea,” Vir responded. “I can host you all. We live in the suburbs. We have six bedrooms with attached baths, a four car garage, pool with jacuzzi, sunroom, and a huge deck at the back. The property backs into the woods.” “Wow! Proud of you,” Prabu replied. “Nice of you to offer. We will take you up on it.” “Vas, is July convenient for you?” Vir inquired. “I think so. We have to find someone to keep an eye on our house.” “Where do you live now?” “Savitri and I live in our old family house in Hyderabad. Two bedrooms, quite spacious. We move into the living room and sofa bed when the kids visit together. Very cozy. T he grands love playing in the backyard.” “Yes, I remember your house,” said Roop. “I can still taste the upma your mom used to make.” “The good old days,” said Vas nostalgically. “How about meeting over the July fourth weekend?” interjected Vir. “That sounds good,” replied Prabu. “You may have to send sponsorship letters to Patel in U.K. and Vas in India for the American Visa. They are very strict since Trump became president.” “Sure thing,” Vir shot back. T hen Prabu noted down their addresses. “Prabu and Vas, you should visit me in Toronto first,” suggested Ramu. “We can drive together to Vir’s in Michigan for the reunion.” “I will need a letter for the Canadian visa as well,” said Vas. “No problem, Vas. I will send it,” reassured Ramu. “Okay, I am going to start an email thread,” announced Prabu. “I am going to call it The Reunion.” “Thanks, Prabu,” everyone chimed. And then they hung up. Prabu sat in his chair, motionless, trying to take a measure of the call. “So how did it go?” asked Mohini, walking in with his pills and a glass of water. “Good, I think,” he replied. As he downed them one by one with sips of water, he looked through the window. He could see the tree-lined street and the park close by. It was eerily quiet. The sun was forcing its way through the clouds. The silver-clad mountains in the distant horizon glistened from the rays of the sun. The conference call conjured up images from the past. Of childhood days, school, teachers, and the gang of six. It seemed oceans away in time and space. Like a black and white picture that had lost its gloss to time. A lifeless picture needing new energy and a frame. Two time zones that needed to be pieced together. The past with the present.