A Hostel Room…
Innovation class has just got over and I took the walk back to my room at a half run, partly because it’s been a while since I wrote and partly because it’s so cold in Etti now! My room’s inviting, warm, cozy and clean and the joy that gave me made me write. I love my room, it’s been witness to my unforgettable years at Business School and it’s seen me in infinite joy, in love, in despair, in shame, in victory, in gratitude and also in the solitary calm that it nowadays finds me in.
It’s not very different from the hundreds of others in campus, but the first day I walked to the second floor, where my warden told me my room was, I knew this was mine. He’d forgotten to tell me the number and I’d forgotten to ask, but I found it – it was the only room in which the room number was written upside down.
And so I it became home, F-319. And as our culture dictates, I keep home as clean as I possibly can, which is difficult, considering the frequency with which Deepak and Sanjay barge in and deposit themselves (and their shoes, and their dirt laden jeans!), but I manage, somehow. The view is breathtaking, my window opens to the enthralling view of Anamalai and it’s a daily morning ritual to wake up and look at the dreamy clouds surrounding the peak.
There’s a desk, that looks like it’s been made by the East India Company, but it’s still a desk; and it looks great with a tablecloth over it, so that’s cool. The steel cot is standard military issue, the kind my Dad must have got when he was posted in Kashmir, but with a bed, one of my Mom’s best bed sheets (you’ve no idea how much I’d to fight with her for it) and my best pillow, it makes for a great place to sit and read. My desk has the books I’m currently reading and right now, they reflect my sudden interest in Economics. My bed I keep clean, so that I can jump on it the second I feel like it. And I feel like that a lot.
In a corner there’s a small dustbin that Dad got me, but I use it to keep cricket balls and washed socks, coz’ I don’t believe in wasting paper that much. Then there’s the Almirah, the age of which I have tried to guess but failed. Let’s just say that Godrej would be proud to produce something as long lasting. My Jeans and Tees hang around the room, giving it the distinct air of being lived in. And then there’s the loft, where most of my books are on display. The loft is the best place for me to keep them, it gives me easy access as well as what we call in retail “top of shelf, top of mind”. Since I see my academic books there, I remember that they are there and have to be read as well. Right now, my loft also boasts the complete Twilight Saga (borrowed from a friend) and the incredibly hated-by-my-class Business Law textbook. My precious coffee mug resides there too.
There it is, Gautama Bhavanam, F Block, and Room no. 319. My home until about April next year, when this small space I call mine will become someone else’s. And he will be someone like me, a boy with dreams, with hopes, with his life ahead of him and this room will become part of his journey. He will bring with him his feelings, emotions, trials, tribulation, his joy, his tears, and F-319 will reflect his personality, much as today it reflects mine. They say home is where the heart is. Mine’s been here for some time.
And you thought it was just a hostel room.