The Day Schi

I belong to this very rare species of students in a largely residential college (if it were to be purely residential, we would never even have existed), fondly called Day Schi. Even after 6 totally disparate semesters, I have not quite been able to gauge, as to if the mathematics of this decision have quite worked out in my favour or not. I have always taken pride in the fact that I am a day schi. But, I still have always been profoundly attached to and become a part the hostel wings of the dearest of my friends. However, situations have often pinched me back to the ground realities...not without a feeling of agonizing bitterness that is...I'm still JUST a day schi. Over the years, its been an achievement in itself to have patiently explained to each one of my (curious/considerate) friends, every single time he/she demanded an explanation to my not being an hostelite. Yet, every single time that I did it, I couldn't help wondering how things have worked into this rather unconventional way. Well...Circumstances.
More than anything else, I (enviably) enjoy great home cooked food. And the fact that my Mom makes a great cook (that is, in addition to being a wonderful Mom) only makes people going green with envy turn purple. So, I have always made it a point to share my good fortune with the (less fortunate) lot. In the early years, it was a mighty easy job to invite a few people home for a grand dinner (not to be confused with its messy counterpart) every now and then. But with every passing year, as we began metamorphose into factions and started occupying entire wings, the proposition of a dinner has become more of an organisational challenge. The only options now are to either call the whole wing home for dinner (that's more than a dozen people) or just do nothing. For all practical purposes, the latter is the easier(or rather, the only) way out. So, an occasional offhand invitation for lunch and packets of tindi are a prudent way of keeping the critics in check. By saying all this, I'm not trying to brag but rather, trying to drive home the fact that an abundance of our species is a benefit for the junta at large.
Living in one's home comes with several privileges, often unnoticed, untill one starts living in a hostel. Plainly put, I dont have to bother about washing my clothes and getting them pressed, I have absolute privacy whenever there is need for any (it includes uninterrupted studying hours on days preceding the exams), I have the liberty to decide when to eat, when to bathe and the list goes on. But there are facets of hostel life which make all this trivial. Privacy jaaye bhaad mein, you have the company of friends in the blocks. Mess food sure sucks but then those chats over the dinner table are something I've always fancied. The birthday GPLs, the overnight movie marathons, the lengthy discussions over topics ranging from Hurley's Marriage to JohnD's wig are savoury experiences that bleach away caustic memories of waterless days, unpalatable meals and dark clammy powerless nights. I'm elated when I get to be a part of most of these. As for rest, shrug! All my luxuries ain't come for free..
We're almost there. Just over a year left before we'll be leaving behind this wonderfull place called Engg. college. Its a slightly different perspective from where I am, but an idyllic one all the same. Despite all the stresses and the strains of being in Tronix, some of which have driven me to the brink of despondency, its all been one cherishable experience, a once in a lifetime experience. I'm probably telling this a year too early, but there's one fact that will make me happier than anything else. No Regrets.