(MPVM | 24th January 2026)

I passed out of school in 2009.

I completed Engineering in 2013.

I started my career the same year.

I got married in 2017.

Seventeen years.

Seventeen years of becoming someone new – again and again.

From the hills of Doon

To the pink lanes of Jaipur,

From the lanes of Agra,

To the terrains of Bundelkhand,

From the lakes of Udaipur
To the smiles of Lucknow,

From the restless rush of Delhi

To the relentless traffic of Gurgaon

Different cities,
different cultures,
different roles,
different challenges,
different lives.

So much happened in these years after I left MPVM.

Yet, when I walked back through those familiar gates on 24th January, everything rewound in a single flash.

It wasn’t just nostalgia.

It was goosebumps.

It was that strange tightening in the chest.

It was legs shaking, hands trembling, and a lump in the throat that refused to become words.

I had come to invite my teachers for my brother’s upcoming wedding.

Fate had its own way of welcoming me – most of them were gathered in the school ground, helping students with their final rehearsals for Republic Day.

Time had passed, but not a single emotion had faded.

Near the staircase, Arya Ma’am caught me as I was hugging Indradev Bhaiya, who recognized me instantly – despite the years and the grey in my hair. She was our House In-charge and English teacher back then.

Boisakhi Ghosh Ma’am still remembers being my class teacher in 1-B.

Vinita Ma’am, with the same calm elegance, was guiding the choir for assembly – her smile unchanged.

Gopa Ma’am fondly recalled our mischiefs and even remembered the classroom number, the one beside the staff room.

Alpona Ma’am, now the Principal – still serious, still smiling – exactly the way she did it 2 decades back – teaching Geography as she once taught us about tidal waves and the journey of monsoon winds across India.

Walking into the Chemistry Lab sent the same shiver down my spine.
Divya Ma’am’s terror can still defeat even Shivagaami Devi’s aura from Baahubali.

Some faces were still part of the school’s heartbeat—
Shankar Bhaiya, the forever DJ, adjusting mics and sound.
Rajkumar Bhaiya, with his muffler wrapped around his face, rushing through corridors with the substitution register.

So much has changed in two decades.
Yet, those shades of blue on MPVM’s walls still feel the same.

They were never just walls and roofs.
They were the sky that fuelled our imagination,
the place that gave us wings,
the space that taught us to soar beyond boundaries.

There could have been no better way to begin 2026 than walking back to where it all began.

Still eleven months to go –
and I am already ready for many, many more memories to create.

MPVM, you will always be home.