Hostel California – Such a lovely place? A fictional story based on the experiences of hostel life. Is it the celebration of living like a free bird?
Here’s the scenario- You’ve just woken up to realize that another morning lecture has been conveniently missed.
You look at your cell phone to realize that you’ve probably missed the leftover breakfast as well.
Wake up a little bit more to realize that your antonym (studious roommate) has already left a long time ago, without waking you up (traitor).
Your bed is in such a state of disarray that you realize you’ve been sleeping on your Mini Drafter; which, oddly enough, is much more comfortable than your bed.
You stand up to stretch yourself but recoil in pain.
What was that horrible stench and where was it coming from?
You sniff around in curiosity and find nothing.
So your resume stretching your arms wide. And the stench returns, only this time it is a rude reminder of the fact that you haven’t had a bath since you came back home from the semester break (which was about 13 days back).
Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to indulge in the dangerous act of bathing under a slow, cold shower. Mission accepted.
The Challenging Part
Now comes the challenging part.
You take yourself to the stall of showers expecting nobody to be in dire need of a wash like you.
You walk in only to realize that there are more people in line for the showers than there are paparazzi near a red carpet.
And guess what?
All of them have long hair. All of them!
The kind of length that would put Rapunzel to shame.
The kind of hair that would require so many bottles of shampoo that your mind would explode trying to process that number.
So you give up on that and make your way back to the room again.
After maneuvering through many, many boxes of pizza (which were never thrown out, just stashed under the bed like prized possessions) you finally manage to find suitably clean clothes (come on, you don’t want the clothes to be too clean, that would make you smell worse).
Suddenly, as you look into the mirror, trying to straighten that mop that everybody else seems to call your hair, life looks at you in the eye.
You slowly drift back into those endless days of summer at home.
- your rebellious streak was mostly directed towards your parents and involved childish tantrum about the delicious food that your mother forced (it seemed forced at that point of time) down your throat.
- not eating anything for long hours would induce a heavy scolding from various women in the house.
- did not wonder how your clothes were washed and ironed and ready for you to ruin them again, mainly because you always assumed it was clockwork.
- you were asked exactly where you had been if you came back home after the streetlights were turned on.
You sit down and you wait for the feeling to pass, after all, it is only a momentary lump in the throat.
It is then that you realize, living in the hostel is like one long, endless pajama party (with little or no pillow fights and none of the other stereotypical things that some “videos” claim happen at a girl’s sleepover ).
Sometimes the party is at the crescendo, sometimes a little more than a pianissimo but a party all the same.
However, there are only so many days you can enjoy the celebration of living like a free bird before you demand the sanctuary of that cage which you call, Home.
Hope, you like the story of the Hostel California.
Do share your thoughts via the comments section below.