The unforgettable

Dr Fahim Chand | Monday October 13, 2025 06:00

Trees trade their bright greens for muted golds and rusts, and the air carries a new edge that hints at what’s coming. The hum of insects fades, the evenings arrive earlier, and gardens quietly surrender their last bursts of colour. There’s a calm that settles over everything, a quiet pause before the year turns again. Then, one morning, the breeze feels different, cool and certain. Fall has arrived. The carefree summer days, brimming with friends, laughter, and era-defining songs forever etched into our hippocampi, had slipped quietly into memory. It’s astonishing how swiftly three months can vanish; perhaps Einstein’s theory of relativity offers some consolation there.

That might make for an intriguing research project on some cold, rain-slicked evening. Still, while those golden, unhurried days will be missed, the season’s end brought its own rewards. After a summer of hard work, my bank account had finally found some substance.

Yet before I could map out a shopping spree for the latest Ralph Lauren or Lacoste creations, or even daydream about a winter escape to the sunlit revelry of Cancún, reality stepped in with a firm reminder: tuition first. The Mexico holidays, I decided, could remain my sister Sadia’s domain.

Her part-time modeling gigs funded her endless pursuit of sunlight, turquoise waves, and the sort of carefree warmth that, for now, I’d trade for a good education, and perhaps a well-cut coat to keep the harsh upcoming winter at bay. The holidays had offered a welcome reconnection, rekindling friendships with those scattered across other universities, while reminding me how much I missed the familiar faces from my own. By now, returning to campus had become an almost ritualized art form: each item folded, packed, and prioritized with the practiced efficiency of experience.

After farewells to my parents, I set off on the four-hour drive to London, Ontario, my academic home. A teasing hint of autumn lingered in the air, just cool enough to remind me summer was slipping away, yet warm enough to make the journey pleasant. Naturally, music was essential.

My playlist, compiled with the precision of a scientist and the passion of a disciple, leaned heavily into the glory of the British New Wave. If that term means nothing to you, consider it your next assignment, one that comes with guitars, synths, and a guaranteed education in rhythm and rebellion. The drive was smooth, the rhythm of multi-lane highways making the journey feel effortless.

Any trace of fatigue vanished the moment I reunited with friends, swapping summer tales as though no time had passed at all. Orientation Week had always been a highlight. Originally designed to ease freshmen into campus life before academia’s cold, relentless grip took hold, it had become just as important for us returning students, a bridge between carefree summer and disciplined routine. After a quick shower and donning our carefully chosen orientation attire, we made our way to the open field at the heart of campus. To one side, the ground sloped gently toward a quiet river, shaded by towering trees that had watched generations come and go.

On the others, the stately old buildings stood like guardians of knowledge, their windows glowing softly in the dusk. The night buzzed with anticipation, a hum of laughter and youthful electricity. Then, it started with that unmistakable thump, bass swaggering in with confidence, brass horns glinting with mischief.

Within moments, hesitation dissolved, arms lifted skyward, and strangers became a single, joyous chorus. Orientation had found its rhythm and we were all dancing inside it.

The song was YMCA, performed by none other than the Village People, one of the most instantly recognizable groups on the planet. Their spirited, high-energy performance transformed the night into something unforgettable. It’s remarkable how that song endures, instantly familiar across generations, complete with lyrics, its own choreography, and of course, unabashed joy.

But what makes a song catchy? You know me well enough to suspect there’s science behind it.

Researchers at Goldsmiths University set out to quantify that magic, identifying the world’s catchiest tunes. The winner? We Are the Champions by Queen. Second, no surprise, YMCA, my orientation anthem. Third, Wannabe by the Spice Girls. Remember them? Yes, even Victoria Beckham once held a microphone. Agree or not, music remains addictive, timeless, and the pulse by which our memories dance.