After my admission into the college, I was to wait for a month before the classes would begin. It was enough for everyone around me to rev up the speed of my rational thinking. I was politely told that I was about to undergo two long years of sexism filled life for my college was (still is) highly infamous for all the Roadside Romeos it proudly possessed. I have been a rather vicious feminist for as long as I can remember. I wasn’t really afraid for nothing is difficult for the one brave at heart. However, it was easier said than done.
Classes began and I was unfortunately the centre of attraction in my batch. The teachers liked me a lot (they still do) — which was (is) a good thing I suppose, but what bothered me was the unwanted attention it earned me, especially from the opposite sex. It led me to be alone almost all the time as more friends would have meant even more attention (no, thanks). Sadly, my best friend for two years had been self imposed isolation. In a nutshell, my experience with the opposite sex isn’t something I’d laugh about after a few years when I remember it, saying, “Oh, I miss those days so much!” Because honestly, I won’t. I have been leered at, misbehaved with and at times even emotionally harassed by them, which doesn’t especially change my insight about the whole not all men are equal thing. I know not all of them are same, however I don’t think I’ll take the chance with someone from the other sex I don’t already know nicely enough.
My college life, sans the boys, was not exactly bad. I personally feel I have learnt more in the few days at my college than I have learnt from my entire schooling. The teachers were more like good (and very wise) friends. They were at times our guides, sometimes strict disciplinarians and sometimes open books that never shied away from telling us about their own younger days.
The relationship I’ve had with my teachers here was much less complicated than what I had established with my teachers at school. The teachers at college were as supportive as teachers can get and as easy as it is to guess, they were amazingly well at teaching.
My batch consisted of more than six hundred students. At my school, that would have meant four different grades with four different sections. The numbers were overwhelming and the ‘variety’ of students was large in number too.
At first I didn’t really gel up that well with my classmates as they were a bit too different than me. But as time rolled by, I started liking them eventually. I haven’t been with them anything like I had with my friends at school but they were good enough — people I’d like to be in touch with even after I move ahead in my life.
People at college were from different places of the state, from very different types of households and with beliefs much different than mine. I’ve never worked in the kitchen — for one — unless for recreational purposes (I am not proud of that, I swear), let alone making a full meal someday. I kind of had the shock of my life when I heard one of my classmates saying that she liked coming to college because she would have to do the household chores had she been home. Last year my best friend from school had tried to make a cake and she practically ripped the whole kitchen (along with herself, of course) apart in the process that followed. The most pleasing thing about the whole experience, for me, was that I got to not only know but also closely see various human attitudes.
I can now proudly say that I have seen a part — a rather small part for that matter — of the real world as well.
My college was the most amazing learning experience of my life. I’ve had my own bitter sweet moments but I am pretty sure that whenever I’ll remember it, after a few years, it’ll bring a smile to my face.
image source: Los Angeles Times
The Secret Diary In My Attic 