Standing in the hostel corridor, I yelled at the top of my lungs, “Does somebody have a Crocin?” Pin drop silence. Not a single reply was forthcoming from the 60-odd preoccupied ladies who lived on my floor. A splitting headache demanded immediate respite; I decided to get more aggressive. I caught hold of the kindest-looking girl, pleaded for the tablet and actually got one promptly. And, as my pounding head began to relax under the ministrations of the tablet, I began to wonder if there was some similarity between the bystander's apathy (often seen on railway stations and pavements) and the disinterest sometimes displayed by girls living at working women's hostels. But I promptly shrugged off the thought as I realised that I was probably getting over-sensitive and cranky. And, on further introspection, I realised that the black hole I felt within me was just a sudden bout of homesickness. Actually, life in the hostel is a lot of fun and I enjoy it immensely. Of course, it mostly depends on what you make of it. Like, if your roommates have gone to see Hum Saath-Saath Hain and you really hate watching soppy filmi dramas, then you can either go along or think of something wonderfully exciting to do (and be left behind). Sometimes, when left in the lurch like this, I pretend to have a love affair with detergent and lose my lonely self in its bubbles and a huge pile of dirty clothes. One of the best parts about living independently is that no one cribs about how much you laze around on Sundays. No one attempts forcing vegetables down your throat at the dinner table. Or talks too much about nutrition and the like. In fact, if one has to waste food, it's sheer team work among us ungrateful (remember the speech about the starving millions?) hostelites. It's quite a thrill to get away from the observant nun who keeps watch over the left-overs bucket, strictly meant for food that cannot be eaten -- like bones and crab shells. Of course, our definition of what the bucket is to be used of varies widely and, in these games, it's the sly ones like us who win! Another wicked thing we do is escape the weekly prayer meeting. Of course, one has to show one's face once in a while, especially if one wants to continue living at the hostel. However, motivating oneself to attend a rather long session of prayers every week is a bit too much for some of us. And the effort to avoid it normally start around dinnertime, when the warden serves us our meal. While somebody feigns a migraine and clutches her head to get her point across, another grumbles loudly about her mean boss who expects her to carry work home every day and write lengthy reports. For the ones who are not creative enough to think of excuses, or lack the foresight to plan in advance, the bathrooms are always around. Once you are safely locked inside, you just keep splashing water loudly or sing on the top of your voice so you don't feel guilty when the intercom rings, announcing that "Prayers have begun in the hall." Another cheap thrill is trying to watch English movies/programmes over Hindi ones. Normally, Zee TV or Sony always wins over Star World. Which is why watching something like Ally McBeal or Dharma And Greg even once is like a dream come true. Some of us have formed a small union which comes vociferously alive when we have to watch a good film on Star Movies at night. Mostly, though, we have learnt the art of graceful compromise because even trying to negotiate is not worth the ugly stares that 45 pairs of eyes are capable of. Spring-cleaning comes once a month, and that's great fun too. It's announced on the notice board well in advance and you just can't escape it. Your room must look 'spring-cleaned' when the warden -- ours, in particular, is quite capable of motivating even the laziest hostelite into action -- inspects it. Although the unwritten rule is that you clean your room once a week, it's only when spring-cleaning weekend arrives that all bags and baggage are dumped in the corridors. Everyone grabs a broom and -- with mask on face if one has to battle some serious grime -- proclaims war on dust and germs. Sometimes we get so carried away that we even wash the walls. One weekend, we took pity on the grills of our solitary window and decided to restore them to their original colour. Breaking the stubborn dirt barrier was tough, but we were determined and continued attacking it with bucket after bucket of water. Until we heard screams of dismay, from our drenched warden at that. You see, we lived on the second floor! And, though we really like her, there was no way we could stop the devil in us. We increased the volume on our music system and waved at her happily, reinforcing the 'We can't hear you… We are cleaning our room...' charade. And, for good measure, doused her with a few more generous mugs of water. Needless to say, we received some constructive feedback on how rooms are ideally cleaned, with minimal damage to the outside environment, etc, but it was worth the splashing! People are always curious about the food you eat when they realise you live in a hostel. The food certainly does not taste like home food, but it's very nutritious. We get generous helpings of dal, salad, vegetables and dessert every day. We also devour fish and meat when the same is available. Second helpings are allowed and welcomed by the mess. So things are pretty good on that front. Besides, it's easier to diet on not-so-tasty food which, in itself, is quite a comforting thought. Especially when obesity is hereditary in one's family. What I like best about living in a hostel is the fact that one can never feel lost. Yes, you have little irritants like been woken up from a peaceful Sunday afternoon nap by laughter at decibels far higher than you can currently handle. But you shrug it off, as the benefits far outweigh these minor considerations. You have help while doing that delicate French manicure. You also become an expert on the art of applying mehndi, making exotic face packs, bleaching... as you have so many eager guinea pigs to work on. You get free advice on how to manage your relationships and how to starch your clothes. You have loads of moral support when you feel down and out. There are so many nice people to laugh and joke around with, and if you really need a shoulder to cry on, there are several. There certainly is no place like home, but if compelled to live somewhere else, one has some mighty fine alternatives. Cleona Lira has just about managed to convince the rest of rediff.com to move into a hostel!
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