The DSBians: The Band That Never Broke Up

Somewhere in the annals of WhatsApp history, nestled between endless "Good Morning" messages and forwarded jokes older than the internet itself, lies a group like no other—The DaSilva Boys, Class of 1975, now proudly calling ourselves DSBians. Unlike most school groups that fizzle out faster than New Year’s resolutions, we have defied time, distance, and the usual "Sorry, too busy" excuses to meet almost every mmonth

And this year, we celebrate a monumental milestone—the Golden Jubilee of our passing out. Fifty years! Half a century of camaraderie, chaos, and conversations that haven't aged a day.

What makes us unique? We are a multicultural mix of architects shaping skylines, sailors who have seen more seas than Sinbad, engineers who pretend they understand quantum physics, software engineers who keep rebooting their retirement plans, journalists who can still smell a scandal from a mile away, media mavens who know exactly which lighting makes them look younger, government employees who may or may not be working (it’s classified), educators who still inspire young minds, entrepreneurs who swear they retired but still can’t resist a business deal over chai, and—believe it or not—some of us are still giving postgraduate exams! It seems graduation is just a suggestion, not a deadline.

We have seen it all—blackboards turned into smartboards, telegrams replaced by texts, and hairlines replaced by polished foreheads. Speaking of hairlines, many of us have receding ones, expanding waistlines, and vital appendages that are hardly in use—but let’s not dwell on that. What we lack in youthful agility, we make up for in undying enthusiasm, loud laughter, and a dangerous level of nostalgia.

Yet, we remain undefeated by time, still assembling like a secret society in the homes of Raj, Sunil Sadekar, or at Sunil’s legendary holiday retreat in Pen, which, by now, has hosted more gatherings than a politician’s campaign office. And let’s not forget Harish Garware's Pune home and legendary generosity where laughter echoes through his grand lawns as we relive our youth with every sip, snack, and story.

But here’s what truly sets us apart—we don’t just meet as old school buddies. Our wives are an integral part of these gatherings. They aren’t just spectators; they are co-conspirators, the real glue holding this madness together. They have mastered the art of tolerating our exaggerated school-time stories, rolling their eyes at our repeated jokes, and ensuring that even when the beer and whiskey flows, some level of dignity is maintained.

And then, there’s the music. Almost everyone sings—some badly, some worse. Some bring guitars for singalongs, some enjoy karaoke, and some just sit on the Shivaji Park katta for an evening catch-up, watching the world go by while reminiscing about when we ran across those very grounds with more energy and fewer joint pains.

Politics? Some love it. Some love it a lot more. Heated debates erupt, tempers flare, and just when you think a war is about to break out, someone drops a joke, a meme, or a completely unrelated video of a talking parrot, and suddenly, all is well again.

And speaking of videos—the dash of risqué videos and images enlivens the WhatsApp group, though the reactions range from roaring laughter to disapproving silence to the classic, "Guys, let’s keep it clean!" which is conveniently ignored until the next such post.

Of course, not everyone is an active participant. Some are silent spectators, members who appear only for birthday, wedding anniversary, and festival greetings. They are the group’s equivalent of a government watchdog—present, observing, and intervening only on special occasions.

Naturally, over the years, groups within this group have formed—some bound by common interests, others by contra thoughts and principles. There are the business-minded, the politically opinionated, the ever-nostalgic, and those who are simply here for the food and fun. But no matter how divided we may seem, we always come together at crunch time. When one of us faces a personal crisis, a health issue, or just needs a friend, the entire DSBian brotherhood rallies like an army—strong, unwavering, and ready to stand by our own.

But even as we celebrate our present, we pause to remember those who are no longer with us. We miss our dear friends Ashok Kinger, Alhad Gor, and Sanjeev, whose laughter, wit, and warmth once lit up our gatherings. They may not be with us physically, but their spirit remains woven into the very fabric of our group.

Our WhatsApp group is where the real action happens. It’s a battlefield of nostalgia, with missiles of school-time pranks, grenades of embarrassing teenage photos, and the occasional nuclear detonation of an old crush’s wedding picture. Political debates flare up, only to be diffused by a well-timed joke or a meme nobody quite understands. Ask Pamya! 

Yet, no matter how much we mock each other, when it comes to real life—illness, loss, or just a tough day—we stand rock solid, because that’s what brothers do

So, while the world moves on with its deadlines and stress, we prove that some things, like incorrectness, juvenile humour, and lifelong friendships, never fade.

And if you think you’ve seen a school batch more committed than this, let’s be honest—you haven’t.

We are the DSBians. Fifty years later, we’re still here. And we’re not going anywhere.