'It's been a long time since I came around, been a long time, but I'm back in town...'
Felt right to start off my return to bloggerhood with a Lady Gaga song. Well, a line from one of her songs, anyway.
If I'm not wrong (I know I'm not, because I checked. Hehe.), my last post was on the 6th of September, last year.
The past few months have been a wild, colourful blur, with some known, unknown and mysterious colours thrown in, to make a raucous cacophony of hues that had lit up my life in a shade I'd never seen before.
I have grown more in these 8 months, than I had in the 19 years before that. I have learnt about life, about people, and I continue to discover new things about myself with every passing day, with every passing moment.
Once you start living in a hostel, you realize that there were so many things that you took for granted, which you never realized before. You need to take care of your side of the room, and that doesn't only mean keeping it neat. You have to change the sheets and the pillowcases at regular intervals, you need to make sure the window sill is clean, you need to wash the bottles you drink from, regularly, you need to keep a count of your underwear, make sure none of the clothes you'd hung out to dry are missing, wash your shoes, and of course sweep and mop the floor with your roomies every other week.
You must've thought that I missed out on the most obvious thing you have to do once you start living without parents: your own laundry. Actually, I'm so disgustingly lazy, I give all my dirty laundry to the washerwoman who comes to the ladies' hostel 6 days a week. She and I share a good rapport, and every time I see her, happiness and relief burst inside me. She charges a really small fee every month, considering the amount of washing I give her every day, and hasn't yet complained about the underwear I give her to wash. That's right, I let a stranger wash my bra and panties.
Now, before you start judging me, let me list for you the other things we have to do on our own: keep our desk clean (mine is in a heinous condition right now), our cupboard orderly, and we have to do our own dishes! Isn't that the very limit?
Oh, one time, the washerwoman didn't turn up for an entire month, and I was compelled to do my own laundry twice. I made a mess of the entire process, and had it not been for my extremely helpful neighbour, Riddhi, none of my clothes would've had their original colour.
When she finally did show up, I was way too happy, way too relieved, to be angry with her, I greeted her with an overloaded bucket in one hand, the packet of detergent powder in the other and a big grin on my face.
Because we're still faltering young colts in a world of grim faced adults, we haven't yet managed to master the art of managing the money our parents send us. Thus our days go by in an endless cycle of 'Listen, from tomorrow, we won't eat out' to 'Oh crap, sambhar for dinner again!' to 'Shit, I blew up the 2k my dad sent me in a week!'
In a way, you can't blame us. The mouth-watering hostel food is the real culprit, here.
In college, you learn to let go of your inhibitions, let go of your irrational fears, you learn to stop listening to the little discouraging voice inside your head. You do it mainly because you've got no other choice, and also because you realize that once you learn to let go of all those things, you're actually free. You're ready to spread your wings, because other beautiful souls you call your friends are also ready to unfold theirs with you.
The past few months have been a wild, colourful blur, with some known, unknown and mysterious colours thrown in, to make a raucous cacophony of hues that had lit up my life in a shade I'd never seen before.
I have grown more in these 8 months, than I had in the 19 years before that. I have learnt about life, about people, and I continue to discover new things about myself with every passing day, with every passing moment.
Once you start living in a hostel, you realize that there were so many things that you took for granted, which you never realized before. You need to take care of your side of the room, and that doesn't only mean keeping it neat. You have to change the sheets and the pillowcases at regular intervals, you need to make sure the window sill is clean, you need to wash the bottles you drink from, regularly, you need to keep a count of your underwear, make sure none of the clothes you'd hung out to dry are missing, wash your shoes, and of course sweep and mop the floor with your roomies every other week.
You must've thought that I missed out on the most obvious thing you have to do once you start living without parents: your own laundry. Actually, I'm so disgustingly lazy, I give all my dirty laundry to the washerwoman who comes to the ladies' hostel 6 days a week. She and I share a good rapport, and every time I see her, happiness and relief burst inside me. She charges a really small fee every month, considering the amount of washing I give her every day, and hasn't yet complained about the underwear I give her to wash. That's right, I let a stranger wash my bra and panties.
Now, before you start judging me, let me list for you the other things we have to do on our own: keep our desk clean (mine is in a heinous condition right now), our cupboard orderly, and we have to do our own dishes! Isn't that the very limit?
Oh, one time, the washerwoman didn't turn up for an entire month, and I was compelled to do my own laundry twice. I made a mess of the entire process, and had it not been for my extremely helpful neighbour, Riddhi, none of my clothes would've had their original colour.
When she finally did show up, I was way too happy, way too relieved, to be angry with her, I greeted her with an overloaded bucket in one hand, the packet of detergent powder in the other and a big grin on my face.
Because we're still faltering young colts in a world of grim faced adults, we haven't yet managed to master the art of managing the money our parents send us. Thus our days go by in an endless cycle of 'Listen, from tomorrow, we won't eat out' to 'Oh crap, sambhar for dinner again!' to 'Shit, I blew up the 2k my dad sent me in a week!'
In a way, you can't blame us. The mouth-watering hostel food is the real culprit, here.
In college, you learn to let go of your inhibitions, let go of your irrational fears, you learn to stop listening to the little discouraging voice inside your head. You do it mainly because you've got no other choice, and also because you realize that once you learn to let go of all those things, you're actually free. You're ready to spread your wings, because other beautiful souls you call your friends are also ready to unfold theirs with you.
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