Yes it is. It really is. And I am not going back there. I keep repeating this to myself time and again. Until the feeling sinks in. The whole of four years moved swiftly in the blink of an eye. And it gave a new me. A whole new, happy and relaxed me.
I still remember the very first moment the whole idea of a hostel stay sprung up in my mind. I always had a feeling to stay in a hostel for at least once in my lifetime. And it really happened.
First, a big thanks to my mother for suggesting applying to SASTRA. I dint give it a second thought since the day the admission procedure was announced. I was happy that I got to study a subject of my choice, will and wish-- "If Engineering, then only bio tech" was what I had planned. And on hearing facts like Bio tech was going to be an amalgam of chemistry and biology, my only passions since school, it made me happier. I looked forward to an experience with a wide variety of people from all places.
Getting back from counseling, setting things for the hostel stay, getting to know some one’s some body doing some thing there, phone calls, time management at home and waiting with all the excitement- it was fun from day 0.
And then moving into my allotted room for first year- an 8 in 1 room- was looking forward to having fun with 7 others. Initial days were nice. Every one was new to each other, people dint intrude much into the other one’s space, even the tasteless mess food seemed delicious in the company of people, it continued to do so until the end; and eating became an event to celebrate with noise and gossip in the mess in the days to come by.
“Ragging”, or rather bullying; scurrying up post dinner with lights turned off to pretend we were asleep; all to avoid those seniors banging up at the door in the name of bullying (They were supposed to be kind hearted- they never troubled the sleeping souls); the don’t-go-to-the-canteen-library-tifac core-alone –or-as-groups-of-girls advice being said n no of times by every senior who ragged us in the hostel (“Beware! Guys will rag you!”;-)); being “summoned” by those seniors for ragging sessions in their rooms, watching people smitten by home sickness all around me; looong talks with people at home, each living moment was new. It got newer. And then the anti ragging sessions, things getting serious, staff intervention, and finally some relief. We dint have to pretend as if we were asleep any more. The visitors’ weekends were full of parents in the hostel lawn- “You got tanned. You have lost weight. You look dull. Eat well. Study well. Pray every day”. Regular casual statements those parents normally issued.
Waking up “Early”. Rush hour to stand in the wash room queue. Again, fights there. Seniors intervention, sorry intrusion, at a place that was never theirs. Stares. Long stares. Hurried dressing up. Waking up the others. Some who took all the time in the world to dress themselves up. Some who dint bother to bathe and attend college classes. The ones that slept thro the first hours. And when bunking was an issue. LOL.
Slowly and steadily room mates got to know each other better. Eating at the canteen was bliss. Browsing was exciting. Good night came in at around 1 or 2 am. Random barging into neighboring rooms. Talking endlessly despite language barriers. Things were fine.
The first open holiday back home. Train journey. The Trichy halt that became customary in the trips that followed. Getting back to share experiences at “Home”. And not to forget innumerable birthday celebrations at the hostel- when getting older seemed significant. And ideas sprang up to celebrate some one’s birthday.
Slowly problems started creeping. Real faces were unveiled. Jealousy. Vengeance. Back biting. And that taught me lessons for life- Beyond a point, give each one their space. Knowing too much of a person really complicates things between you both.
Exams were, actually, not bad. No travel tension. Studying was much better than how it had been at home, at least for me.
The first year was good, actually. People spent the least time with their mobile phones, no time with their laptops because they never owned one, less time online, and lesser “commitments”, and finally there was enough socializing.
A lot of lessons came my way; I knew the real people, I realized how mean people could get, I also realized how nice people could be. And yeah, your room mates need not always love you, they need not talk to you, they have their priorities, they might group up together ignoring you, and they will use you as much as they can, its up to you to make sure you are not used much, and you will always be a matter of sarcasm to them- in short, you will be their object of making fun at. But, you must never change. This must never let you down. It’s just that they are unsocial. It’s not your fault.
Staying with people who hate you- can strengthen you for life, you know.
Second year, Entry into the department, not knowing any one much, accidental room mates again (Not again!), adjustments, again, adjustments. Enduring the same first year room experience. And all the show off around you. (Gosh when did she change so much! Does she even remember how she was in the first year? Huh!) New faces. New people.
Now it was lesser revelations about people. Because laptops, mobile phones and the like occupied centre stage.
Finally third year. Time to rejoice. My close friends were with me in the same section
(Must forget all the glitches, hiccups and problems that I encounter with the online room registration and online section registration each semester. And a big thanks to those who helped me then. Sigh!) A new room with four other juniors. Bliss. Realization- Room mates can love you. Room mates can socialize and share with you. Room mates can regard you. Rom mates will accept you for what you are. There was enough fun- experimenting with cooking. Food. Movies Music. And there was the space we never wished to enter in each others lives.
Finally final year. Responsibilities. Questions and question marks about the future. (They still remain unanswered). Feeling of leaving. Separation and its pangs. And what’s more, new friends, newer experiences. Placements. Project. And the pain of not getting the hostel block I wanted. That very block where 3 years went by- the busiest of all blocks. Where all my memories lay within those bricks. Rather all our memories. Where people kept moving by, making noise all the time, and it gave you a feeling of standing in the middle of Chennai’s busy Bazaars. Sigh
And the last semester. Sending off your friends. Bidding good bye. Controlling emotions. Crying back in the room. That jittery feeling that rekindled your memories when ever you went past their empty rooms. Slam books. It was never customary to write one. But still.
Sitting at home, although there is utterly delicious food, and uninterrupted Internet, I still miss the eating sessions, be it at the mess or the canteen or Canopy; the roll call hustle bustle, trips to home, studying, movies, music, the lawn, the chit chat sessions, times with day scholars during weekdays, gossip updates, the wi fi, cooking, weekends, late nights, later mornings, and above all, the random smiles and hi-byes across the corridors. And of course, all the lessons learnt. The list is always endless.
And finally vacating. With the hypothetical feeling that I am on a long holiday and will get back to that place to stay among 3000 others; and my mind not coming to the point that I am not getting back there. Never again. Sigh
