Enveloped in euphoria, my husband said, “We’re going to Wellington again.” With that, a rush of memories and nostalgia washed over us. We had both walked the salubrious climes and winding paths of this mystical place three decades ago, though at slightly different times. My husband had taken up horse riding as a young lad, while I used to enjoy the pony rides everyday at 5 PM sharp. We had studied at the same school, Holy Innocents’ High School, and spent our days in the quiet corners of the sprawling Nilgiris and Golf View.
Abhinav’s parents did the 55th SC, while mine did the 51st SC. And we, as part of the mighty 80, embarked on this unforgettable journey with our son, Manshvir. As we make our way towards our next destination after Wellington, we carry with us not just a trove of cherished memories but also a precious cargo expecting to grow to a family of four.
As I reflect on our particularly lively tenures as children in Wellington, and later as Maj & Mrs., I realized how every experience here had sparked countless memories. From spontaneous picnics and brunches in the tea estates to small but tiny disasters, we had experienced it all.
One such memory stands out vividly. It was a bright and eventful day in Y2K when Abhinav, as part of the Children’s Squad at Mounted Gymkhana, was set to showcase his equestrian skills at the Ball in the Bucket Race. However, the majestic horses had other plans. At the signal to start, instead of completing the race, the horses bolted from the Gymkhana Club, taking the young riders with them. Chaos erupted as the horses galloped off the track, completely ignoring the course and heading straight for the stables. Parents watched in shock as the children clung on, helpless against the sheer force of the runaway horses. Abhinav, however, was one of the lucky ones. His horse, unlike the others, obeyed and came to a halt, sparing him the ordeal that the rest of his squad endured.
I had my own share of tales too. From witnessing a dreadful forest fire right across our Nilgiris residence to watching countless movie shoots at the Gymkhana Club, I was living my most thrilling life. And just like that, years later we came together at our little nest in Gorkha Hill and started our stories around spontaneous escapades, bonding with new friends, rekindling old memories and passions. Traversing through the corridors of DSSC and going forward as better versions of ourselves with Wellington playing an intrinsic role in shaping our identities.
Excellently portrayed. Speaks of the essence of belonging to an institution