One by one, the last bit of dirty linen went in. On most other days, my thoughts would have already been captured by mom made curd rice. If on the rare days the thoughts did not travel this far, they would have been eagerly waiting for the next 356. Today, they refused to leave the room. The thoughts took the form of a lump in my throat.
Slowly, I locked the doors of my room. But the eyes were threatening to open up any instant. My legs led me to Subbu's room. My mouth murmured, "Yennada naaye, weekend yenna plan". Ears heard something, did not listen. Did not want to listen. I walked away. The mind did not. How could it?
The address of my home has not change. But, the address of my room has. This is MY room, MINE. This is the place where I found my solace, my identity. Where I could lock myself all alone an err, no not cry, but compose mails to sometimes troll, sometimes lol people. Where I could sometimes study, yeah sometimes! Where I could simply sit! Imagine doing THAT at home. Where I could find myself waiting for me, every afternoon, every evening, every night!
Indian kids across generations are threatened,"eat your food right or else you would be sent to hostel". Little did my mom know curd was served in abundance in the hostel. Perhaps, I will force my kid to a hostel. Because, It is only here you know how to talk to a person who has flunked his fourth re test! It is only here you know how to share happiness. Here, you know the art of running away from birthday bumps, even if it is not your birthday.
The transition from a non-hosteller to a hosteller does not happen on the day of joining the hostel. Takes a month. You know you are a hosteller when the formality of knocking your friend's door is invisible. Your phone becomes our phone. Huddled in a room together with the high and glorious aim of studying one day before examination and ending up cursing the teacher, only to come back to curse yourself and your friends. Asking your friend to wake you up knowing fully well he would be fast asleep. Knocking each door after coming back from home. Never feeling shy of letting an expletive from the mouth.
Sigh, the journey from home to college was long. From a boy to man. The journey from college to back home is longer.
Slowly, I locked the doors of my room. But the eyes were threatening to open up any instant. My legs led me to Subbu's room. My mouth murmured, "Yennada naaye, weekend yenna plan". Ears heard something, did not listen. Did not want to listen. I walked away. The mind did not. How could it?
The address of my home has not change. But, the address of my room has. This is MY room, MINE. This is the place where I found my solace, my identity. Where I could lock myself all alone an err, no not cry, but compose mails to sometimes troll, sometimes lol people. Where I could sometimes study, yeah sometimes! Where I could simply sit! Imagine doing THAT at home. Where I could find myself waiting for me, every afternoon, every evening, every night!
Indian kids across generations are threatened,"eat your food right or else you would be sent to hostel". Little did my mom know curd was served in abundance in the hostel. Perhaps, I will force my kid to a hostel. Because, It is only here you know how to talk to a person who has flunked his fourth re test! It is only here you know how to share happiness. Here, you know the art of running away from birthday bumps, even if it is not your birthday.
The transition from a non-hosteller to a hosteller does not happen on the day of joining the hostel. Takes a month. You know you are a hosteller when the formality of knocking your friend's door is invisible. Your phone becomes our phone. Huddled in a room together with the high and glorious aim of studying one day before examination and ending up cursing the teacher, only to come back to curse yourself and your friends. Asking your friend to wake you up knowing fully well he would be fast asleep. Knocking each door after coming back from home. Never feeling shy of letting an expletive from the mouth.
Sigh, the journey from home to college was long. From a boy to man. The journey from college to back home is longer.
