Autobiography of a Hostel Room

Autobiography of a Hostel Room
  Author: Rizwan Ahmed Memon

I am room number 18 of the Federal hostel at University of Sindh Jamshoro. I am quite wide and comfortable. I am every year allotted to four new students, so I have chance to meet different people each year. However, some students live in here for two years as well. I have two windows one on my front side and other one on my back side. My temperature is lower than the upstair rooms, since the sun doesn’t shine on me. Wind of Jamshoro town helps me remain cooler. I can’t really remember when I was built, but you can guess by this that University of Sindh was there even before the Independence of Pakistan. University of Sindh is the second oldest university of Asia.

That was my brief introduction. What should I tell you more about myself? Oh yes, I am cleaned every day except weekends by an old man. I call him “uncle”. I have never asked his name. However, he is a kind hard-worker employee; he’s been here for a long time. Let me also tell you about the students who come and live in me. Well, I become friends with them in a very short time. I cry for some students when they leave me, while for others I feel happy when they leave.

One such student named Rizwan Ahmed Memon, for whom I cried, lived in me in his second year of university. I knew he was a different guy. On his first day he cleaned me, this is what some students are not willing to do. In his first week, he was alone in the room, as no other roommate had showed up. Rizwan was a simple, silent, and hardworking student. Also, he was a sensitive person. In his loneliness, I had often seen tears falling down from his eyes. He used to miss his friends and family so. He hardly spent any time with his other roommates and classmates. He lived in his own world. He was in Computer Science doing his bachelor's degree. He had kept his computer beside my back side window where he spent several hours on his chair and table studying. He would open the window and watch the Peepal tree near me, which reminded him of his village trees. Rizwan would chat with that old uncle, who cleans the rooms, whenever he saw him. In his free time, he watched movies based on novels and history. In addition, he loved love stories, and watched many of them. He used to watch those movies when his other roommates were out. They used to go out for eating while he would just eat at the hostel canteen. While watching any love story he would cry. In his days of loneliness, I saw him writing short stories, essays and letters out of homesickness, emotions of loneliness and being away form his loved ones. From his writings it was obvious he had written some in past as well, but it was here when he published his first book on the Internet. 

Time with him flied. I remember the day when he left me. The new students came in and said, “From now on this will be our room.”  And they didn’t even give him the chance to say me good-bye. When he left me I felt as if it was just yesterday when he came in me. Even after leaving me, sometimes he visits me and stands in front of me or goes up on the roof where he spent his evenings to refresh the past memories. It is his last semester now, in four months he will graduate and will say good-bye to university forever. I always pray for him and wish him a happy life after university. Years will pass, and I will miss Rizwan very much.