Reading Time: 4 minutes
Ruchira takes a walk down the memory lane to give us snapshots of hostel life. An exclusive for Different Truths.
Ever since I was a little girl, I loved reading books and stories revolving around life in boarding schools. From Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre to Dickens’ David Copperfield and Nicholas Nickleby to the St Clare’s and Malory Towers series penned by the popular children’s author Enid Blyton, I devoured the titles avidly.
Finally, I got an opportunity to stay in a hostel, away from the family. This was after I finished school and my parents got me admitted into a prestigious women’s college in Chandigarh. I was thrilled by the idea of living on my own, without parental supervision and guidance, having to manage my studies, finances, and personal matters all by myself. Those days, back in the late ’80s, Chandigarh was a picturesque, verdant, sleepy little town, albeit with a fairly cosmopolitan population. My college and hostel premises were located close to the central business district, which made things convenient for us.
Hostel life was an eye-opener. To stay under the same roof with girls from divergent backgrounds, regions, race, faiths, and socio-economic strata were exciting. Discipline and punctuality were keynotes of our daily lives. Waking up early, patiently waiting for turns to use the washrooms, assembling in the dining hall for breakfast and then making a beeline to the college. After a hurried lunch, it was back to the remainder of classes. The afternoons were relatively comfortable. After tea and roll call, we were permitted to stroll within the premises, browse books amidst sprawling gardens, while watching the sunset.
As soon as darkness descended, we had to head indoors and get down to studies and homework. After dinner, it was back to studies once more. However, after the superintendent had finished with her nocturnal rounds, real nightlife would begin. Depending on whose birthday it was, or an occasion to celebrate, we would arrange for, and procure the necessary stuff in advance, during the day and smuggle it into our rooms.
As soon as darkness descended, we had to head indoors and get down to studies and homework. After dinner, it was back to studies once more. However, after the superintendent had finished with her nocturnal rounds, real nightlife would begin. Depending on whose birthday it was, or an occasion to celebrate, we would arrange for, and procure the necessary stuff in advance, during the day and smuggle it into our rooms. At the stroke of the midnight hour, we would tiptoe to the room earmarked for the rendezvous. There we feasted, whispered, giggled, joked, played music in low volume, so as not to reach the ears of the warden.
All the boarders looked forward to Saturdays; the mood was upswing and the atmosphere relaxed. Each one could have visitors. On Saturday evenings we were treated to old and not so old Bollywood flicks. On Sundays, we could go out for the entire day. Me and my movie freak buddies were regulars at the theatres that dotted the city centre. Not content with just one, we sometimes managed to squeeze in two flicks in a single day!
We had our share of mischief too. Between cronies, we smoked and drank occasionally, but never got sloshed enough to get caught. I have no qualms in admitting this.
We had our share of mischief too. Between cronies, we smoked and drank occasionally, but never got sloshed enough to get caught. I have no qualms in admitting this. I guess these habits are in vogue in college hostels even today, just as it was decades ago.
When boarders exhausted their four monthly outings, they resorted to an ingenious alternative. Our college campus bordered several private houses with medium/high common boundary walls. If someone wanted to escape, she would make her way to a remote corner of the campus, scale the walls, bolt through the courtyard of the house where she landed and out through the gates! The inmates of such houses were cooperative in the sense that they never brought such actions to the notice of the college authorities. Therefore, batches of students continued this practice year after year with impunity.
The food in the hostels was average, ordinary, not worth writing home about. Residing in a hostel taught me a valuable lesson. Me, who perpetually badgered my mother over food before I had left home, fell in line with my peers, gratefully eating whatever was served. This trend persisted when I was back home. Mother was astonished to see my transformation.
Hostel life had its seamier side too. One particular year, owing to the shortage of space I had to share a room with two girls instead of one. Worse, I had to share my cupboard with one of them! After a few months, things began to disappear. Someone pinched my lovely caftan with batik design in black and gold. Next to go were some cash, a woollen pullover and two Wing Sung fountain pens gifted by my father.
Hostel life had its seamier side too. One particular year, owing to the shortage of space I had to share a room with two girls instead of one. Worse, I had to share my cupboard with one of them! After a few months, things began to disappear. Someone pinched my lovely caftan with batik design in black and gold. Next to go were some cash, a woollen pullover and two Wing Sung fountain pens gifted by my father. I was downcast but had to grin and bear it since I had no concrete proof about whodunit. I only prayed, whoever had purloined my belongings, may it do her good.
Summing up, hostel life, whether in school or college, certainly do you a lot of good. It opens new vistas of life before you. One learns to live in a harmonious, though heterogeneous community. Above all, you get wondrous opportunities to forge bonds of friendship. Personally speaking, I consider myself blessed that many of my hostel roommates went on to ultimately become friends for life!
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