It was two months after the reunion. Gitanjali and I were in an Ooty restaurant, waiting for lunch to be served. Her engagement ring glinted in the sunlight as I thought about the momentous events of the past sixty days. The paternity test, of course, was negative. But Ganesan decided Jagadambika’s son deserved help and had managed to collect donations from the alumni. In a short time, a sizeable amount had accumulated in the fund, which was called the Jagadambika Seed Fund at my suggestion. I had managed to remember Gitanjali’s mobile number, and got in touch with her. She was the ice maiden at first, but thawed in a few days. In fact, it wouldn’t have mattered to her even if I was Senthil’s father, she had declared. Reports had reached me about Muthu and Poo; they were back together in America, and Ashwin and Jean had settled down in Kotagiri. The legal paperwork to regularize these living arrangements was in motion.
“You know, I now think Ganesan blew my cover just to ensure a full house for the awards function,” I said.
“I’m glad he did, else we wouldn’t be together now,” Gitanjali shot back.
When the soup came, Gitanjali looked at me and said, “What a reunion! One of a kind! You have to write it up, you know.”
“I’ll turn it into a book. It’ll be my hottest bestseller yet.”
“Don’t do that. Write it up as a story for the college reunion Facebook page. It’s their story, after all.”
And that’s precisely what I did.