God said, “Let there be light.” And there was light. Then he made everything else and then just so that he could have some fun at my expense he said, “Let there be dirt.” I believe that when he created dirt, filth, grease and sweat he was thinking of me. He put me in Pune in this shit place that some people call hostel 3. Had there been no dirt and filth I would not have needed to bathe. I wouldn’t even have to feel so icky before going to the bathroom. The very thought of the dirty bathroom prevents me to take a bath resulting in getting dirtier myself. If I put it in other words then I really compete with the bathroom to see which one can get dirtier…

My days here are going on pretty monotonously. Sometimes life becomes a baritone but that is still a monotone. Like, a few days back I went back to Kolkata for just four days. I went there so that my dad’s expenses are reduced. I went flying and I returned flying, by Kingfisher Airlines. How did I save expenses? My family wanted to come over to Pune during the Pujas. Told them not to miss the pujas and hence I went. I got my laptop from Kolkata. It’s a chic little thing. I get to listen to music now. Before that I used to feel smothered here.

I cannot stress enough how bored I was the first one and a half months. Even then I was a really chilled out cool fellow. I didn’t give a damn about anybody, didn’t care what other people thought about me. The seniors liked me for that and a few of my peer advised me to study and not take things so lightly. One guy especially, gave me a long lecture trying to explain that we Bengali fellows are superior people here with superior intelligence. He said that even I should study and keep the good name of the Bengalis. I gave a damn. Then the exams came and till now we got only one paper evaluated and I got close to the top marks while that Bengali fellow got quite less. I was sadistic and he was really really sad. Over that he was pretty astonished at my performance.

One fne Sunday morning, I remember, a few of my friends and I went outside the University for breakfast. It was quite early in the morning around 9 am. After eating, we quite suddenly decided to check out the movie ‘Chak De India’. The rush of adrenaline made me quite excited about it and it made me forget about other things. You know, other things like what I was wearing then. I was wearing just a T-shirt and a pair of shorts…just a t-shirt and a pair of shorts……ONLY………In my defense, it gives me freedom of motion and also there is good ventilation. The movie was good.

When I was going back to kolkata last weekend, I had booked an auto-rickshaw to come over to the hostel in the early morning and take me to the airport. While I was on my way, I felt pretty blank. I wasn’t thinking about anything. I know I should have felt elated. Then when I reached kolkata I was blank yet again. I came out of the airport, I discovered that there is no Idea coverage in kolkata, so all my outgoing and incoming calls were barred. I got pissed off. Then I leave the airport to see there is no car waiting for me to receive me. I am furious! I find a public telephone booth, look into my wallet and I have fresh hundred buck notes and not a single coin. I am about to explode. I go to the nearest shop, I throw a hundred buck note at the face of the shopkeeper and with a voice fit for Frankenstein which I never knew my vocal cord could produce, I said, “Give me change and give me coins to call!” He did not utter a sound and complied. I called home and discovered my driver was busy sleeping in the car at the airport parking lot. I exploded full force on him. Poor guy…

When I reached home, I melted. Those few days cannot be forgotten. I was pampered. “What do you want to eat?” “I want to eat this” and “I want to eat that” was pretty much the sum of all conversations between me and my mother. Those golden days I spent with people who are very dear to me. I love them all.

There was this day I realized that I can be a good shayar. That day I went to one of the many canteens in this University with three guys who were all Marathi. Suddenly they started discussing how good and nutritious Marathi food is. I couldn’t stand it as I had already been tortured for over a month by Marathi food. I started telling them that Marathi food is all shit and that Bengali food is the best. Also that Bengalis are the foodies of India. They started bitching about Bengali food, even though they hadn’t ever eaten our food. They said only one thing, “Bengali khana nonveg ke ilava kuch hai kya?” It was then that I said something that flowed out. I didn’t need to think about it. I said,”Andhe kya jaane roshni kya hoti hai… andhe kya jaane roshni kya hoti hai, arre tum Marathi loge bhi kya jaane mas-machchi kya hoti hai.” I was awed at my own capability.

With that let me divulge certain things about Marathi people. They are, in a few words, what Bengalis are not. Bengalis have a set of priorities. Bengalis are ardent foodies. They love good food. They spend money for food. They love to eat and they love to invite people over for dinner. Bengali men feel proud if their wives are good cooks. For Bengalis everything comes next. They need money, house, clothes, car and all other things. But behind all that they have one thing in their subconscious; they want to eat comfortably. Marathis on the other hand have food as the last priority. They show off a lot. They want a house, car, clothes and everything. Then comes food in their priority list because they need the energy to be able to show off. Marathi women are another story. When on the road they go around like dacoits. They have a cloth covering the face with only the eyes exposed. They say it is a measure against the dust, pollution and the sun. Well, what would they do if they are made to go to Kolkata? There the sun is way fiercer, the dust clings to the body because of the sweat. The pollution is probably the highest in Kolkata. They would die.

I have often told people that if I ever marry, I will marry a Bengali girl. I never knew exactly why I said that. Here I know exactly why. Bengali girls have a sense of everything. They know how to dress, how to present themselves, and a lot other things. It is completely because of their food habits. They eat well. Hence they have good skin quality and they have a certain shine that is unique to Bengalis. It is here that I can often recognize correctly a Bengali girl, even without hearing her talk. The Marathi girls have no sense of style or presentation. There are two types of girls here. One type are the ones who are the homely sorts. They wear salwar-kameez or jeans and tops, you know, the normal womanly clothing. Over that they have their heads covered. Even if they wear sleeveless they have it on. What’s the bloody use? They other types are the rebels. They have tattoos almost everywhere. Arm, belly or even deep into the cleavage are where they have them, and they wear clothing to show off their tattoos. The tattoo is usually a scorpion. They have piercings too. But none of them have the quintessential feature, they glow, the shine. They are very, what should I say, “kaat kaat” is the word. Here I don’t even feel like checking out girls. But I’m not gay.

I often stay in my room alone. My room is quite small, and the good thing is that I live alone in it. There are two windows and the bed is kept just against the wall overlooked by the windows, a setup very much like the setup of my room back home in Kolkata. I used to sleep there with the windows on my left. At home the sun used to come in at a certain angle and then my mother used to wake me up. I never could wake up to the alarm. These days I sleep in my hostel room with the windows on my left. The sun comes into the room. That is when my sleep used to become light. I get a feeling that my mother will wake me up and then I will leave the bed. I wait, then after sometime I open my eyes and think I am in my room. It takes me some time to realize that I am in Pune. I feel very weird during that travel from Kolkata to Pune. It takes around one second to reach. I get very sad then. These days I sleep facing the other side so that the windows are on my right. That feeling comes lesser. I miss my home.