It was a sudden dawning - it was ten years since I had entered college for my undergraduation. Ten years! And an impelling urge seized me to visit the place where I had spent three very enjoyable years and which I am sure had something to do with the person that I am now.

I couldn't understand why I wanted to do it because I had always shied away from going to the place - I was not particularly close to any of the lecturers (though we, neither they nor I, have anything against each other) and they were the only ones I would know there now. I can only put it down to a realisation that time is passing by and I guess it takes a decade after your growing-up years to appreciate this.

So on a recent trip to Coimbatore, I went back. It was a curious feeling, as I walked through the gates and made my way up to the English Department halls. The first familiar face I saw was of one of the office peons. He must have been around 30 then; now he looked much the same except that he had greying hair. Before I could approach him and ask him if he remembered me, he saw me, inclined his head, smiled and went his way. For a moment, I was confused, then I realised that he had mistaken me for a third-year student (only final year students had the privilege of being known to and being acknowledged by the peons).

The first sign of change I noticed was the parking lot which now had a shade and far more two-wheelers and even a few cars. There was a sign near the entrance hall that pointed to the canteen in the direction opposite to where I knew it to be. Otherwise it was as if time stood still.

I climbed up the stairs and came to the classrooms on the first floor. There were some students sitting around and talking. They looked curiously at me. I tried to remember how we had reacted when a stranger came to the department. Somehow the classrooms failed to stir much feeling. True most of the time in college was spent there but it seems the other associations had a stronger hold on my heart. And these associations had to do with friends. The stairs held more memories than the classes - I remember running up to the class hurriedly, steaming hot bondas hidden behind us, as we heard the bell after the interval.

The places we had roamed inside the sprawling campus - the water tank and the canteen that were the famed meeting-places (we were among those who said "Hi" to at least 90% of the crowd there, and hence deemed popular), the dark, quiet and venerable library, the convent, the chapel, the auditorium, the language classrooms, the basketball ground - they were the same. The silent and almost hallowed corridors were the same. They were impersonal but we had made them ours. After all these years, the feeling was still there. I still belonged. I could come back here and feel at home. But I couldn't, of course. The three years were all we had had. I thought it was better that I had gone alone. If my friends had been with me, I am reasonably sure we would have all gone senti and teary.

Meeting the lecturers proved a bit anti-climactic. Some seemed genuinely happy to see me, some doubtful, some indifferent; some enquired about whether I had children and one wanted to see what kind of mangalsutra I was wearing. I was caught trying to balance my overwhelming feelings returning to the place after ten years and dealing with them who seemed to have no idea of how it felt. Did they ever try to go back to their colleges? May be I am being too dramatic.

I think people should do this exercise some time in their lives - go back to some place in the past and try to recapture the feelings. Though it could quite painful it can also be heart-warming. For those who haven't come to the "a decade has passed by" stage, enjoy! Though it's a cliché, I'll say it again - you'll never get this chance again.