The Hello That Almost Didn’t Happen (But Thankfully Did)

Familiar Faces, Fading Memories, and a Lot of Gulab Jamuns

I’m back in Kochi after a few days in Dubai for my niece’s wedding, and the pictures have started rolling in… filtered, fabulous, and occasionally photobombed.

As I swipe through them, I’m reminded of the rare blessing it was: a big-hearted gathering of relatives and old friends, all under one glittering roof.

These chances are getting rare now. People are scattered across continents, caught in time zones and toddlers, and it takes something monumental… like a wedding or a major buffet… to get everyone in one place.

What made it even better was bumping into unexpected faces from my personal archives… people I had known long ago, mostly through family occasions, and had drifted away from, thanks to life’s efficient habit of rerouting everyone.

Now here’s where it got interesting.

At the reception, I’m in no way starved for conversation. I’m parked comfortably in a sea of family, discussing everything from wedding decor to vitamin D levels. And yet, my eyes scan the room.

There’s a gentleman in a beige blazer across the hall. I’m almost certain he knows me. Or once knew me. Kochi, mid-2000s, perhaps? But he’s doing a fine job of pretending I’m just a cleverly placed floral arrangement.

A little later, I spot another familiar silhouette near the dessert table… older now, his hair a shade of thoughtful grey, but still unmistakable. We’ve known each other since our childhood days. But again, no spark of recognition from his side.

Now, this isn’t me sulking over a samosa. I’m having a good time. But something about these near-misses tugs at a corner of the heart we usually keep folded away.

Could it be they truly don’t recognise me? Is this the price of changing shampoo brands too often?

But logic kicks in: it’s a wedding. People are distracted by flashbulbs, complex family trees, and the age-old dilemma… whether to try the biryani first or last.

Everyone’s trying to place names to faces, avoid eye contact with the videographer, and figure out if the person next to them is a guest or the wedding planner.

So I decide to go over.

First stop, Mr. Beige Blazer.

I smile. “Hello… it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

He looks up. The lightbulb flicks on. “Mohan! Of course! My God, how long has it been?”

He remembers everything… right down to a dinner conversation from 2009 that I must have erased to make room for passwords and Netflix recommendations.

But I nod along like a seasoned actor in a nostalgic drama. Smile? Check. Occasional “Oh yes, of course!”? Check. Internally, I’m scrambling to connect the dots, but I decide to go with it.

After all, it’s only fair. Just a few minutes ago, I was the one wondering why they didn’t remember me. Turns out, the universe has a wicked sense of symmetry.

Buoyed by that win, I move on to Gulab Jamun Guy. Again, same result. He’s thrilled, chatty, and so glad I came over.

And just as I’m thinking I’ve mastered the fine art of rekindling memory lanes, the tables turn.

A gentleman I vaguely recognise approaches me with a broad smile. “Mohan! So great to see you again!”

Now my brain kicks into survival mode. I squint, nod politely, and blurt out the most diplomatic line in the universe:
“It’s been so long! What a surprise!”
(The universal phrase that says “I have no idea who you are, but I don’t want to be rude.”)

Within seconds, he’s reminiscing about a function in Kottayam and our long chat over payasam. And somewhere midway, it clicks. Yes, yes! I remember now. He’d borrowed my charger. Might’ve been my chair too. I was just happy someone thought I looked like I had things worth borrowing.

We laugh. We catch up. And I’m left wondering again: what are we all so scared of?

Here’s what I think: it’s not arrogance or coldness. It’s just hesitation.

Most of us would rather blend into the crowd than risk waving at someone who turns out to be a waiter with excellent posture.

But when we take that one step, we often find warmth waiting on the other side.

People do remember. Or they want to.

They just need a tiny nudge… a smile, a “hello,” a mutual friend’s name casually dropped like breadcrumbs across the tablecloth.

And sometimes, yes, the nudge needs to come to you. And you better hope your mental Rolodex is still spinning.

What I’ve learned is this: It’s not about who remembers whom first. It’s about making the effort to connect. To smile despite the gap of years or the fog of memory. To reach across a crowded hall and turn a maybe into a moment.

Because life’s too short to wonder, “Should I have said hi?”

Say it.

And if you mess up the name, hey… that’s why God invented laughter.