It was a cool day in London. Cool and overcast. Still our stalwarts came, from far and wide. Anu and Subhash Jayaswal were there early, quickly setting up their little stand at the entrance, with the guest list, name badges, a tin box for the money: The cost of the lunch was 23 pounds per person. This is a sum we must think about, because it is not easily affordable for many young Sanawarians, especially those with families, who must travel from far to come. But even so, the attendance was excellent.

First to arrive were the Old Timers, say those who passed out before 1950. Early they came, ladies and gents, well dressed, well groomed, the men nearly all wearing the school tie and some the school blazer (with discernible badge). There were warm embraces and happy banter. Many were friends from childhood and there were some brothers and sisters, both of whom had been at Sanawar. The Derek and Thomas Boddington and Pam and Beryl Rice were examples. So lucky a thing to have been at Sanawar with a brother or a sister. The room quickly filled with people and conversation, some in Hindi. The Boddington brothers and Robert Massingham speak fluent Hindi, and almost all the others had a few courtesies (and a few swear words) in Hindi to their credit. Who taught these prim English ladies these naughty swear words, one wonders (but one does not dare to ask). Judging by their smiles and their faces, they were all clearly very happy to be there.

After the Old Timers came the Middle Timers, say those who passed out before 1975, to keep the numbers easy. The usual suspects were present. The tall Kadan brothers, (mercifully not in brown jackets) were there early. Their conversation was erudite, with dates and place names of Indian history. Arvind Sikund was looking his usual goody - goody self, in blazer and flannels and school tie. Perhaps trying to play down his father's bollywood image (Pran Sikund was a great bollywood villain in the sixties). And Kamal Katoch was recognisable from afar, with his head held high, very high (once a headboy, always a headboy). And then there was your humble reporter, Harbans Nagpal, clean shaven, hair dyed, in pinstripe jumpsuit and bow tie, as befits a man from Paris. There was one unusual suspect present, in Renu Chahil, who came especially from Geneva. She came dressed in red, smiling and friendly, and brought with her names of other girls of her generation. Mira Badhwar was mentioned, in sorrow.

And then came the New Timers, the post 1975 batches. They were fresh faced, energetic, with all the good cheer of youth and the good manners of a recent education in Sanawar. These were busy, working people, some with children, taking precious rest time out to come to this Sanawer lunch. We salute and thank them all. They were all well dressed, the men often sporting stubble beards as is the fashion of the day, the ladies in bright colours. The brightest dressed was Richa, in Himalaya house yellow and Nimrita Butalia, Sanchit Dutta's wife, in purple. All of this added welcome colour to our gathering. Divya was all smiles herself as she made us smile for her camera.

After a short period for chit chat, Anu Mongia, our tireless secretary, called us all to order, welcomed us and asked Richa Ranawat to give us a report on the progress of the Sanawar team that was just then climbing mount Everest. There was applause for the Sanawarians, climbing so high, so young. Next spoke Mr George Browne, looking sharp and sprightly at 93. He brought greetings from another Sanawarian colleague of similar age, who was not well. Somebody should sit down with George and record his memories of the school in the 1920s and 30s. (the school routine, the food, the clothes, the teachers, the subjects taught, the books, Kasauli, Simla....). He is a living library.

Finally we were lucky to have once again as our Chief Guest the 7th grandson of our Founder, also called Sir Henry Lawrence. A more modest and approachable man would be difficult to find. He is a fine example to us: "the best school of all" should produce modest, quiet achievers like him. Looking quite bohemian in his salt and pepper beard, he told us of a new post he has been awarded as a physicist. We wish him luck and hope he can pull up science teaching at Sanawar to world levels.

Also present, as if in preparation to take over this sweet duty of being the descendent of the original Sir Henry Lawrence, was this Sir Henry's daughter, Isabelle. Dressed in a very sober black dress, below knee, she came specially from Cannes, leaving the film festival, to be with us. Although slim and beautiful and in the movie business, Isabelle works behind the cameras not in front of them. She is working on a project to make a film about the Lawrence schools. Those interested to help could get in touch with her through Anu.

And so with these introductions, we made our way into the long, well lit dining hall. A fine Indian lunch was served, with 4 starters, 8 main courses and 4 desserts. Your reporter and most people had a little of everything on offer. For a long while the conversation dimmed as the lunch was enjoyed, made even more tasty by the fellowship and warmth of the occasion. As the hunger subsided, the conversation revived. Many old memories were recalled, friends' names and news were exchanged, plans were made to visit the school again, soon, very soon.

At about 3 pm, we all stood up to sing the school song. The words came back to us like magic. The singing was in acceptable tune. And so we came to the end of our lunch, a slow end, because it was hard to pull away -- hard to pull away from the Bakery and Honoria Court and Peacestead and Barne Hall and Moti's Corner and Short Back and Monkey's Point -- from the flower-lined lanes and bright sunshine of Sanawar -- into the traffic and noise of London.