Popagandhi

I live in a country that’s 42 kilometres (26 miles) across. When I’m in a Bangladeshi village or a Meghalaya hilltribe and have to ‘explain’ my country to someone that’s what I tell them: my country is 42 kilometres from the easternmost to the westernmost; that always makes everyone laugh and I try to tell it in Bengali and Khasi versions too. Paul Tergat could run that distance in 2 hours, 4 minutes and 55 seconds and a bit. Or in the time it takes for me to say Singapore is 42 kilometres across in Bengali and Khasi.

That doesn’t stop me from going to live on campus. The thought of living amidst a block and a half of girls was a tempting proposition; not as tempting as the one about living in the centre of the city and walking distance from everything and everyone I care about.

I “look after” an apartment of 5 girls, all of them foreign students. Sounds like a piped dream for a kinda single girl, right? Yeah, I knew things couldn’t get that great for me. I know enough now, I think, about hostel life.

There are:

Skimpily dressed girls in next to nothing!
They’re called my house mates in their pajamas, occasionally in their underwear. Make that: 18 year old Chinese housemates in their pajamas, occasionally in their underwear. Enough said.

Plenty of wanton behaviour!
Hair: 6 girls, all of us with medium to long hair. That’s the hair equivalent of a rainforest. Or animals shedding. People — I’m not naming names, or nationalities — with long, black, locks of hair that grace the ground and stay there in locks each time they walk, shower, breathe. Who can’t be arsed to sweep up after themselves.

National cliques: There’s virtually no culture of locking the doors because our neighbours (make that: everyone) come in and out like this is fucking China. And then India the bloody bhenchod upstairs and downstairs needs a beating by a goonda or two. And the Singaporeans (all… 10 of us?) need a stiff drink at our neighbourhood bar, the Prince of Wales.

Unrecognizable bites when you wake up!
Leave your window open and you’re a moz-fest; leave them closed and it’s claustrophic in this little 6m by 1.5m box room.

Lots of loud unrecognizable howls in the middle of the night!
Something to the strains of Hindi, Mandarin, and Shanghainese, and much more Hindi.

When they told me I’d be living amidst a block and a half of girls — I should have asked them to be more specific. Luckily, I happen to be in the business of getting things done for myself: cleaning, washing up, cleaning, washing up, mopping the floor, cleaning, washing up, and finally trying to find some fun for myself, not necessarily all at the same time.