During the time I studied Wholesale Stationery Shop in Port Blair in the university, I lived in a hostel just across the road which belonged to a government aided institution meant for poor children named after a prominent social worker. It had a school within its premises, a hostel for the students who studied there and a dormitory for few college students. The rent and the meal charges were modest and so was the living. The dormitory was shared by six girls along with the caretaker who was almost deaf so didn't occur as an obstacle in the path of parties, celebrations and events which entitled us to scream at the top of our voices. There was a huge study hall and a dining space, both in want of repairs and reconstruction. Though everything looked so dismal, there was a coziness about the environment which metropolitan cities can rarely offer. Just outside the hostel there was a tram line on which moved the trams in their unusually slow speed alongside a fast-moving traffic. I used to sit on the stairs outside the hostel building and dream away while staring at the advertisements on the body of the tram cars.
The university campus was smaller than usually expected and had four to five buildings. In one such building at the rear end of the campus was my department. There were some classmates who became good friends of mine and could instil the illusion of belongingness to the unfamiliar circumstances. Most of the days, after the classes, we would go to a small canteen just beside our building and have hot tea and delicious samosa accompanied by long discussions, heated debates and lively chats on all possible topics under the sun.
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