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.
