Take a deep breath...

Of course, you are already on a diet. Whether you are caught in a reflection of a store window or peering in a mirror in a room in Mumbai, the class of '73 is sucking in their stomachs, flexing their chins, and wondering if a dark three piece suit or a fancy, vertical-striped dress would help. We all gloomily know in our well-padded bones that no change in years registers as dramatically as an added fifteen pounds. No one that we've been able to track down has yet been reluctant to attend on account of this though some have had their doubts.

Some were skeptical about being able to pull this off - "aare yaar, no one will want to come so far and spend the money" or "I'll come if she comes" was the usual story. Some were in shock that we had tracked them down; some were struggling to remember all the names posted on the blog. Others - who shall remain anonymous - who aren't coming are trying to juggle the same balls we all have in the air - kids, jobs, spouses, daily grind, and reality. But hey, we haven't seen each other in 37 years this mela of almost 100 of our classmates together in one place is not going to happen again. Ever. And so I wouldn't miss our reunion for the world.

The diet probably won't work. At first the reunion seemed impossibly far away and plenty of time to go on a diet. When confronted with a slice of double chocolate cheesecake, you will have a hard time holding between you and the plate the picture of your high-school sweetheart. Maybe she or he has gotten plump, you think hopefully. As the weeks have suddenly shrink, and you don't, a kind of passive resistance sets in.

This is me, you tell yourself defensively. I've finally found myself. I know who I am. No problems of self-identity here. And I don't look bad either, especially not from this angle, if I stand with my shoulders back. If I don't get on the scale, you tell yourself, nobody will have to know. Maybe five years from now, for our next reunion. . . the moral is: diet, or don't diet.

Decide: what are you going to wear? This has nothing to do with the weather, hot or humid, or rainy. No, this has to do with image. What kind of person do you want your old classmates to think you have become? Glamorous in leather jeans and spaghetti-strap top? Domestic in madras wraparound skirt? Businesslike in dark blue that noone will notice? Funky in bright green sweater studded with rhinestones? Maybe what you wear will say something about who you have become. . . or will noone really care? Do you really care?

Wear a tie and chances are you'll take it off. Wear jeans and go barefoot and you may still hold on to those good old days. Wear a halter and you may have to hold on to it! The trick is to look comfortable, feel comfortable, something you can relax in just in case you get the jitters and sweat a lot.

Stay cool, collected, calm. Smile. A lot.

Pull out your high-school photos and memorize them. The class picture, the '73 "cock-house" shoot (it was Palmer House!) - all these help. The next best thing is to close your eyes, turn back the clock, remember those magic moments, and the faces that went them, and their names. It helped, especially in planning this reunion, and in beginning to track down people, creating a list of names. Amazingly, with your help, we actually a confirmed list of over one hundred names coming for the grand November weekend and over 140 names across the four classes! Now if we can just find them all . . . How will we recognize anyone? Will you remember the names? Staring at a picture of a familiar face long forgotten, I tried to recall how long we had known each other. There are several names and faces that I've known since first grade - over 40 years ago! Were we in the same class? Didn't we dance together at the social? Some names brought back blurred or buried memories. Long ago emotions sweep over me like dark waves from a hidden sea.

What will we talk about? Our lives. What had we done with them so far? What did we still hope to do? Maybe you need to decide what to tell about yourself. That means you have to know what is important. Not just bare facts. I'm a teacher, I'm a mom, I'm going back to school, I got divorced, I never married, I'm still searching, when I grow up I will. . . , my kids are in school. Yeah, right, and you also have to know how you feel about yourself and your life. Sooner or later, someone will ask you: so, are you happy? Well, life has been interesting, complex, hiccups here and there, diversions. . . life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans, na?

What surprises me about you, my friends, is how easy it is most times to talk to one another and connect and pick up from where we left off oh so long ago when life was simpler and sweeter and infinitely less complicated. After years of separation and silence and distance, we come together with intense curiosity, and probably talk less about careers than about changing relationships with lovers, spouses, children, parents. Who remembers whom. Where is so-and-so. What is happening in Mumbai? How life has taken us by the hand and led us there. Mostly we want to know how we all have struggled, together and apart, how we've survived, and what we've learned. At our reunion, we learn to summarize our lives.

So take photographs, lots of them - and bring your camera. You'll want to hold on to these photographs and memories. This is history - yours and mine. For some, it's the stuff that dreams are made of. Also bring pictures with you. This is not for the reason you think. You won't need to flash snapshots of your significant other or your home on the range though this helps. Sometimes you might need to glance at these pictures to remind yourself that you do have another life back home. A few hours into the reunion and you're caught up with former alliances, emotional entanglements, uncertain friendships, and I'm fifteen and vulnerable again. I wonder if I will ever hear from him or her again.

I worry if my friends are having a good time, is anyone feeling left out? You temporarily forget that any other place exists; all that matters is old friends, shared memories, lost opportunities, and the strangeness of parting again. In the bright sunshine, the years melt away.

When you return home, you can hardly remember you ever if you ever left in the first place. You lay down and rewind and rehearse and play back the movie, the soundtrack, the emotions. You can smell the old familiar smells, feel the old familiar pain, the tugging at the heartstrings. During the long seasons of growing up, we usually laid back and remembered, as we do now, best friends, first loves, broken hearts, and the others, who said what to whom, what they thought of you, what I secretly thought of them, what I am thinking of them now.

Maybe the only way really to prepare for your high-school reunion is to give yourself plenty of credit for the intervening years. Write your own report card, the kind you always deserved, with the grades: 5 for generally satisfied, E for extraordinary, I for improvement, B for the best that you could do, Inc for incomplete because it's not over yet. Keep this hidden in your mental pocket, next to your pictures, and then, when the reunion is over, hang on to your report card, smile at everyone, promise to keep in touch, and go home. Happy in the warm afterglow of friends and a new found treasure of memories.

-rm