Evolution

Gone are the days when suitcases came only in dull greys and blacks.

Step into any airport or railway station today, and it’s a runway of rolling colour. Bold patterns, quirky designs, vibrant hues—our luggage has become a statement, not just a storage solution.

If you grew up in the ’80s, you’ll remember this: the family suitcase. Singular.
One trusty, sturdy companion for every trip—be it a wedding, vacation, or a quick dash to the hometown.
It was often a brown or navy VIP hard case, tough as nails and just as dependable.

Heading off to college in the ’90s? That called for a rite of passage: your very own suitcase.
A special one. A grown-up one.

And those suitcases? They weren’t just for packing—they doubled up as seats on crowded platforms.
The youngest always got dibs.

We marked our suitcases with our names, phone numbers, and full addresses—loud and proud, plastered across the surface.
To tell it apart from the crowd, we tied colourful ribbons to the handle.
A canvas cover made it last longer (and maybe hid the scratches from being loved a little too much).

That one suitcase knew every family holiday, every reunion, every train journey.

The suitcase was a person with their own identity!

At some point—quietly and quickly—the one-for-all suitcase became a thing of the past.

Now, we have occasion-based luggage:
Cabin bags for short hops. Overnighters. Check-in trolleys. Transit bags. Luggage for business. Luggage for vacations. Luggage just because.

And the colours? A spectrum!
Neon greens, sunny yellows, ocean blues—each one chosen, perhaps, to match the mood of the traveller or the destination.

Each family member now wheels their own suitcase.
Sometimes one person brings three—a matching set like the Three Bears from Goldilocks: Papa Bear, Mama Bear, Baby Bear.

Then came the designer era.
Stylish logos. Sleek silhouettes. Funky fonts.
Are they originals? Are they knock-offs? Who cares—they look fabulous. Dreams on Wheels

Mokobara makes you want to pack your bag and escape.
Samsonite is still the silent strong type—reliable, global, elite.
And Tumi? The moment you see one, you know the traveller means business.

Airports today aren’t just transit zones—they’re catwalks for carry-ons.
Trolleys tell stories.
Colourful suitcases spin by on carousels like moving art installations.
It’s fashion meets function. Wanderlust meets wishlist.

So next time you're at an airport, pause for a moment.
Don’t just check the departure board—check out the luggage.
It’s a whole world of colour, character, and stories waiting to be wheeled away.

A Bridge Between Then and Now

What does a reunion mean to you?

Is it about reminiscing the good old times—the laughter, the chaos, the friendships that shaped us?

Or is it about building new connections, forging fresh bonds with faces that once were familiar and now feel renewed?

For us, the batch of 1995, this year marked 30 years since we left college.

Thirty years since we stepped out into the world—but even more profoundly, 34 years since we first stepped into each other’s lives.

There’s something about returning to old places.

The past doesn’t just whisper—it hits you in waves.

And so it was, during the two unforgettable days we spent together.

Memories came rushing back:

·       The rundown buildings, still standing with quiet dignity.
·       The hostel corridors, echoing with the sounds of our youth.
·       The taste of familiar food, unchanged and comforting.
·       And of course, the telephone building—our lifeline to home, to parents, to everything we left behind.

The buildings that stood as a silent witness to our shared longing, our tears, and our excitement.

In those two days, we lived a little bit of everything.

We remembered.

We forgot.

We laughed.

We sang.

We reconnected.

We weren’t just looking back—we were also building something forward.

Friendships that paused, now playing again. New bonds formed in old familiarity.

There’s a special kind of magic in a reunion.

It doesn’t just bring back who we were.

It reminds us who we still are—and who we’re becoming.

Here’s to the batch of ’95.

To 34 years of connection.

To memories made, and those yet to be.

The Silence Between Visits

There was a time

I couldn't go a week without seeing you—

your absence, once unthinkable,

now stretches past a month.

Still alive.

Barely,

but still.

Is this what they call ageing wisely?

Learning to breathe

through the hollow?

To walk with the ache

like an old friend who won’t leave?

Or is this nirvana—

not peace, but numbness,

a silence that hums

just loud enough to keep me from screaming?

Maybe I’m just zombied—

heart slow,

steps steady,

eyes dry

from forgetting how to cry.

But I’m still here.

Not whole.

Not healed.

But here.