Skip to main content

Alumni Meet: Celebrating Love Beyond Achievements

Now, a month after returning from Jammu, I find myself missing everything I experienced during that visit — the warmth, the laughter, the sense of belonging that only comes from going back to where it all began.

I’ve attended most of these first-time alumni meets — from school through college. The excitement of those initial reunions is indescribable: meeting old friends, hugging your favorite teachers, walking through familiar hallways — the classrooms, the library, the canteen, the playground. It fills you with something deeply profound.

But often, the magic doesn’t last beyond that first meet. Over time, these gatherings can subtly shift into platforms for showcasing personal achievements. And let’s face it — some accomplishments are more “celebrated” than others. These are the people who grace the stage, the ones everyone wants to take selfies with.

That’s why my recent experience at an alumni meet — at the school where I studied from KG through Grade 8 — felt so refreshingly different. I was attending this alumni meet for the first time, after much coaxing by a committee member and my dear friend (and best friend), Shaiffali.

Yes, at this alumni meet, there were people who had made names for themselves in politics, media, medicine, and academia. But none of those titles entered the room with them — they were left at the door. We all walked in as equals, just as we were in school. We introduced ourselves not by our designations or accomplishments, but simply by our names and the years we had spent there.

Was that a conscious decision by the organizing committee? I don’t know. But what was clear was this: we had all gathered for one simple reason — love.

  • Love for the school that shaped us.
  • Love for the teachers who believed in us.
  • Love for the friends who laughed, cried, and grew with us.

When love is at the center, everything else — achievements, titles, success — takes a backseat. Back then, we had toppers and those who struggled. But that never defined our friendships.

Today, I can proudly say: I am an alumnus of St. Peter’s School.

A big salute to the organizing committee — and to Vinod Sir — who worked tirelessly behind the scenes to conduct the program in such a way that we celebrated shared memories over personal milestones.

I was more than happy to attend a few of the organizing committee meetings along with Shaiffali, and I realized just how much love our members have for the school.

Their work was selfless — invisible to most, but vital to all. If the alumni meet felt seamless and magical, it’s because our committee members quietly gave up their time and peace of mind to make it so.

Here’s to all the members of the Organizing Committee — you are the backbone of our reunion.



Nisha Kurian (O'Rodha)


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I ran from religion and sports, but they found me anyway

I’ve consciously kept away from two things my entire life — religion and sports (especially football and cricket). The unnecessary hype, the mass hysteria, the blind fanaticism — it just never made sense to me. When I was pregnant with my eldest, I was told I’d become a mother by August. Like any typical mother (fathers usually aren’t as invested in this part), I set off on an excited, determined hunt for a unique name — something rooted in Sanskrit, something that reflected my values, my philosophy, and the kind of person I hoped my child would grow to be. But life had other plans. In July — much earlier than expected — I was rushed to the emergency room, and my son was born almost a month ahead of schedule. By the time I fully regained my senses, my son had already been named — after St. Thomas. Why St. Thomas? How was this connected to my pregnancy, my delivery, or anything I stood for? I had never known the significance of July 3rd for Indian Christians until my son was b...

The Curios Case of a Little Virus

No rain. I was lying malnourished and sick. Finally, it started raining, and soon there was water everywhere. They say I am a pluviophile because I love rain so much. When rain first mixes with dry soil, the smell it gives off—no perfume can beat that. I would splash myself in the roadside rainwater, my excitement never fading. I would play in the rainwater, follow its flow wherever it led me, and stop only when I couldn’t move any further. One day, while hopping in the rainwater, I slipped into a well. I cried loudly, but no one heard or saw me. It was dark inside. I feared there might be deadly creatures in the water, but before I could look around, I heard a chug-chug-chug sound and was suddenly sucked through a narrow pipe into a water tank. Soon, whoosh! I was pushed through another pipe and landed in a water can. Someone shouted, “Babu, fill the mineral water can!” A man quickly picked me up and poured me into the can. From there, I could see a small, busy bus stand. P...