When I walked in I expected all my 15 years to come rushing back to me.

The canteen where we would share a donut because it cost Rs 8 (I mean Rs 4 is a lot of money) and then divide it right down the centre with technical precision.

The Chemistry lab where we would choke on the smell of sulphuric acid and the teacher saying “Now children, does that not smell like rotten eggs?” Honestly, how many of us know at the age of 13 how a rotten egg smells.

Or better still our English teacher, a proper nun at that, teaching us The Highwayman and blushing at every reference to ‘physical love’ as she would call it. And we, of course, making it more awkward for her by giggling hysterically.

The swimming pool where my coach hopelessly tried to get me to swim from age 5 to age 12 but in vain. For seven years my mother paid that coach every summer, but I stood my ground.

The famous ‘back gate’. The meeting point of new teen love. Being an all girls school, boys would usually send their honorable intentions through the girls friends. Little notes stating, ‘if you feel the way I do, I’ll see you at the back gate with a rose in my hand and my heart at your feet. (Can’t believe we losers fell for those lines). If you didn’t turn up, well, too bad for the boy. And if you are more vindictive you turn up with a bunch of giggling girls (We will roast in hell for inflicting such humiliation upon another human).

I can go on and on about school memories but I was stopped short two minutes into the drive way. This was not my school, though it bore the same name and address. The old colonial buildings with high ceilinged classrooms had vanished and large concrete structures with classroom going up section ‘K’ (we ended at section D) were constructed. The swimming was there, but all the tall ashoka trees around it had vanished. The chemistry lab was now a bookstore and the canteen was swank and large with a coupon system.

I felt out of place and everything felt strange. How can something change so much beyond recognition. At the corner of the building stood watchman uncle Jim, in his 60s now. He had caught us sneaking out of school on several occasions. He also caught us stealing gooseberries from the principal’s garden but would never rat on us.

I was over enjoyed. Some semblance of the past. He would call me baby Priya. I waved to him, he smiled. I walked up to him with a large smile. He looked unsure. I told him I was baby Priya who would steal gooseberries. He remembered and asked me how I was.

But I realised that he only pretended to remember just not to disappoint me, he was that kind of a watchman.

My school had moved on far before I did.

So how does it feel to walk back into your school again and what are the first memories that hit you?