Once upon a time in a galaxy far far away, there lived a little girl. She was little. She grew up. She was not so little anymore. And like every other grown up, one day she had to leave home...
Well, we’ve all been there done that, haven’t we? And don’t scratch your head too much, I was merely talking about Little Miss Sunshine’s initiation into hostel life. Woe had befallen. Her beloved family, her precious friends and her oh so important home were all witness to her farewell blues. Her treasure trove was neatly tucked away. She was now an adult.
Enter day one. Complete pandemonium. Excitement was in the air and her nervous jittery self was, well, hopeful. It was after all, a new experience, one she had been looking forward to despite all her declarations of planning to start Chipko Movement at her house. Little was the ignorant mortal aware of the trial and errors that defined hostel life. Ragging as a concept existed merely in books, but Culturization was a different story. Community life had never felt so real and Dunking was definitely not a way of life before. Networking was the in thing, good ol’ friendship was taking a hike and mirrors spoke of untruths. The final nail in the coffin, you ask? Taking recourse to food had proved futile. The Horror!
Trudging on, the days slowly blurred. And realization finally hit. It wasn’t so bad. Terminations (and no usual dictionary meaning fits here) could crack a funny. 1 p.m. was the new dawn and 1 a.m. twilight. Partay no longer sounded lame and you had to be there to believe the transformation of a simple courtyard into a Cullen sparkling discotheque. A certain group dance opened up whole new vistas. YouTube knows what the heart speaketh of. The tee totaling State stood and stared.
You’d think that jumping from a given height was plain stupid but college fests begged to differ. Promotional videos beckoned and caution was thrown to the wind. Yoga at four in the morning suddenly sounded so much healthier. After all, there was something in the air that night and the stars were bright.
Kishore Kumar was cool again. As were Jitendra numbers. Dear old Mithun was of course evergreen and Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy legen-wait for it-dary. Gym was a stone throw away. Yet the said soul, try as she valiantly might, could only admire it from afar. Indolence, my friends, is vice.
Marketing jargon was the new buzzword and complete bewilderment, the state of existence. New routes were learnt and geography was made stronger. The Chocolate Room’s chocolate fondue was nothing short of God’s gift to mankind. All was good with the world.
No account of a hosteller’s life is complete however without the mention of *ahem* what we are really here for – yes, studies. As much as we’d love to see it take a backseat, education sadly, does count in this moronic little world. A night out with friends, lots of room shifting, a hot cuppa, mindless chatter and somehow fitting the assignments in between; the evolution was at long last complete.
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