It is tough to describe oneself. The last time I was asked to do so by our Language Lab teacher, all I could manage to write on one huge sheet of white paper was: " I am this blank page, and whatever it can be." Gutsy, you say. Almost the same review that my friends gave. But then again, I thought my courage would be appreciated. What I never thought, though, was that I would get the paper back saying the blank paper could fetch me either a 10 on 10 or a 0 on 10. The teacher obviously asked me to re-submit a fresh "about me". And this article is that redemption article of mine, which I hope gets me that 10 on 10 in Language Lab. But let it not be thought that I am that spineless guy who bowed down to write an article just for marks. Very truly speaking, I realised the reason of my existence only after my initial blank page fiasco.
If you are lucky enough in life, you experience that one event X which divides your life in two parts: Before X (BX) and After X(AX). It could well be that cute girl in school, that first crush, that first flunking in the exams, that live saving miracle, that first day in college, that first kiss: the possibilities are endless. But it seems Fate had some different plans for me: my X was my stay in Hall 7, or should I say the Homi Bhabha Hall of Residence. It was Hall 7 which made me realise the reason of my existence. I shall let you in on who I am, and why I am.
I am bloody Marco Polo, sans the funny hat of course. And I aint kidding. My search for water to brush my teeth in the morning is no less than Marco Polian. Marco Polo navigated on water, I navigate for water. I am a migratory bird. Just as they know that they have to fly north in the winters, so do I know that the nearby B wing bathroom will be out of water at 8:15 in the morning. I know I have to migrate to that A wing bathroom up north.
I am a freakin’ pill of Zofran, and that’s an anti-vomiting pill, in case you are wondering. Why, you ask? Cos I am expected not to puke after looking at the toilets in to whose gory details I won’t go. I am the nameless, bruised and beaten wife who is subjected to domestic violence because of all the bugs who bite me to give me the dreaded disease which people here call "Herpes”, leaving marks and bruises all over the body. I am the embarrassed Bill Clinton post the Monica Lewinsky scandal, when I find out on Wikipedia that Herpes is actually an STD and realise that the parental concern which I received on informing home about me getting Herpes was far from innocent concern, actually bordering on an unexpressed suspicion on their child's character.
I am that slimy bullfrog croaking out in the rain, with my "Herpes" marks all swollen up and covered with slimy ointment. I am a terror stricken "gaaonwaala" from Sholay's Ramgarh. They turned off their lights and closed their doors in fear of Gabbar, and I do the same in fear of insects.
I am the camel in the desert who is impervious to the heat outside cos of the power cuts. I am also the guy who is forced to break into the Electronics Department at 2:30 in the night to have the luxury of sitting under a working fan because of the night long power cuts in the boys' hostel. I am the salvation seeking Buddhist monk, walking around all over the hall and going to unimaginable places in search of my Airtel network.
I am Chinese, because my healthy diet consists of liberal helpings of insects in the rice. I am the Neanderthal Man in more than one way. I have developed an aversion to bathing like our ancestors, because of water shortage and increased occurrence of insect bites while taking bath. I am used to living with dogs and sporting a beard, because shaving is a luxury not affordable by all. I am Preity Zinta in the waterfall from the Liril ads cos I am forced to take bath in untreated natural water directly pouring from an open pipe which was supposed to be encased in a shower cap. This is probably because the contractor has removed most of the bath fittings and sold them to make some more profit, though the benevolence of the contractor is beyond doubt: he makes sure that atleast one tap is always intact in a bathroom.
I wouldn’t like to get into the architectural marvels the hall displays, the least of which is an outlet drain which actually opens into a corridor and causes occasional floods. And of course, I am Picasso, who appreciates the radical modern art depicted by the not-so-understandable structures in front of the hall. Lesser mortals assume it to be a wastage of space, material and eventually money, but I understand the ulterior "cubism" depicted therein. Finally at the end of the day I am the adjusting Indian citizen who has adapted to living with one more guy and other species of insects in a room fit for only one human.
Its understandable when you think I am being too many people and things, but believe me, at Hall 7 we are all kinda schizophrenic. I thank the administration for giving us this hopefully-once-in-a-lifetime experience.
