Memoirs - My Hostel Days

I left that campus bordering the Yamuna river almost five years ago. I can still feel the pulse of that North Indian city at the confluence of the three holy rivers. It was my home for four long years. It was from an institution located close to this city that I completed my undergraduate education.

It was an unconventional place in many ways. The campus was almost cut off from the city because of the river. The Yamuna bridge, the only connection to the city, was always crowded and congested. The vehicles on the lower tier of the bridge trembled as the trains roared above them. The pollution was unbearable. The occasional breeze carried with it the stench of a city bursting at its seams.

A few minutes walk from this chaos led to the vast expanse that was my campus and home for a long time. The campus looked like was planted there from elsewhere. It was a complete contrast to what the city was. It was green with red brick buildings. Flowers bloomed at all times. The landscaping was perfect. One of my favourite past-times was sitting under the arches in the Administration Block and staring at all that life around me.

Despite the beautiful surroundings, the institution was a tough place. Most students believed that surving the Institute took a lot of effort and prayers. The climate was extreme. It was an alternation between freezing winters and sultry summers. The summers were especially rough with hot, gusty winds. The hostels did not have heaters or coolers. The drinking water had a hard, metallic taste. The food lacked variety and was bland. A third of the first year students got either malaria, jaundice, typhoid or a combination of these.

I went through a period of shock during my first months there. Then, there was a period of denial during which my subconsious failed to register that I was away from home. The final relief came while bonding with peers in the hostel and classes. There were students from all the states of India and from countries such as Bangladesh, Kenya, Rwanda and Burma. There was so much of variety of people in the Institute. We celebrated together all the festivals of the representative Indian states and countries.

There were three men's hostels, one international hostel and a women's hostel. The women's hostel had about three hundred girls. This was the most curious place in the Institute. This hostel had its own mini campus. There was a high wall around it with many security guards posted around the structure. The women's hostel resembled a fortress designed to keep the species of the opposite sex at bay (or to contain the female species).

It was a totally different regime inside the women's hostel. Believe it or not, this was an incredibly hard place to live in especially for the newcomers. The newcomers were paraded for many months and methodically scoffed at.

The warden was a coward who ignored the atrocities. I remember her asking me if I was facing any troubles during my first week in the hostel. Considering that I was dressed like a clown with oil dripping down my head, I was sure that she could infer something. Ofcourse, I said I was fine and had no complaints. She smiled dutifully at my deranged appearance.

The first year is the longest and the most painful. I must have shed enough tears for a life time during my first year. The following years were full of activity. The friends circle enlarged and there was always some festival going on in the campus. I learned to decieve and lie to suit any circumstances. My survival instincts sharpened and my confidence increased.

By the time I finished my course, I was a changed person. I went in to the Institute as a naive teenager. I came out as a cunning young lady. From my experiences in the Institute, I learned to cleverly mask my mischiefs. I went through the joys and troubles of independance. I learned to manage myself mostly through trial and error.

My time in the Institue was full of ups and downs. I remember my circle of friends and the events we organized together in the Institute. I have such fond memories of the late-night hostel events. It was something close to a bunch of females going insane throughout the night and into the wee hours. I remember travelling to waterfalls, picnic spots, field and industrial sites in our yellow Institute bus. I remember vividly the many fights in the hostel with rival student factions and especially with seniors. There was a lot of bottled-up rage and frustration in all of us.

My years in the Institute was a time of mixed emotions and experiences. I consider it to be both the best of times and worst of times. When I look back, living there for four years is something I cannot even imagine repeating. That life seems so mythical and unbelievable to me now just like that ancient city.