The first semester of architecture school was an art-filled breeze. In the week following our orientation program, we were given an overabundance of books and instruments that we would need to get through the next five years of archi-torture. It took us two excruciating trips to the hostel to transport everything—a humbling experience.
Stumbling through the food court on the way to the hostel with our newly acquired possessions, we received many sympathetic and awe-filled glances from first-year engineering students. That was the day I first noticed the disparity between the ‘Techies’ and the ‘Archies’. That was also the day I was introduced to what would become a prospective weapon of (my) destruction: the T-square.
The second semester, however, was an obstacle course of crazy proportions. Eating right and on time, doing chores like laundry and cleaning, building a social life (discovered later that that doesn’t exist for architecture students) were a few initial minor struggles that we were still getting used to.
Research says it takes about 21 days for one to get settled in a new space and get accustomed to it, don’t worry—was my father’s constant reassurance.
About two weeks into the second-semester experience, I had managed to gather my scattered bearings and had almost completely melted myself into the unforgiving mould that was architecture life. Most professors allowed us about a week to complete our assignments, giving us roughly one night per subject submission. Before I knew it, we were regularly staying up late into the night creating Architectural Design concepts and drafting BMC sheets.
At 01:00 am one such night, functioning on one chapati that I had for lunch and half a cup of coffee that evening, I was munching on a very questionable bag of chips for dinner. I was almost done with the assignment when I thought I’d take a shower before sleeping since the washroom stalls would be empty: a truly rare experience in hostels. When I got back, my roommate asked to refer to a BMC sheet that I’d already finished the night before.
Naturally, I reached out for my chart holder and started looking through it- didn’t find the sheet the first time so I looked again. It wasn’t there. Panic. Panic. Panic. The mere thought of having to redo that sheet was mortifying. You gotta do what you gotta do. Fighting tears, I unpacked my bag, unrolled a blank sheet, and started redrafting it.
Sharpening my pencil. Damn, I lost my sheet a day before submission. Margins. How could I be so careless? Title bar. But that’s impossible, I had the sheet in my hand when I left class-
I redrafted half of it and convinced myself I’ll skip lunch the next day to finish it. There was no way to know for sure at 03:00 am where I had left my sheet. So I calmed myself down, switched off the lights, and went to bed hoping to never relive this experience.
Hi Manaliiii! I had the worst day. I had to climb up eight floors to get to class because the stupid lift broke down.
What? Are you serious? That’s so bad!
I know… I’m so tired. Does the coffee suck today too?
Haha, is the sky still blue? Come sit, have half my coffee and we can go back to the hostel.
I jolted awake realizing where I had left the sheet- in the mess. I had placed it on an empty chair next to mine while chatting with my friend. I was ecstatic! Ahh, sweet closure.
The next morning, I woke up in high spirits. Despite my best efforts to hurry up, it was already 08:10 am.
Theoretically, that gave me just enough time to grab a quick bite, ask around for my lost sheet in the mess and run to my 08:45 am class. My roommates had already left for the mess. I quickly grabbed my bag and T- square and threw on my footwear (Osho slippers- comfortable but bad sole grip) and ran out the door. Most people had already left so the hostel block was deserted.
At this point in the story, it’s important to know that my room was on the second floor. Also, standing at five- foot- nothing, I was just a head and a half taller than my T- square. Also, I’m clumsy.
I had had a bad experience with the slippers before but there was no time to rethink trivial decisions now. As I confidently skipped a couple of steps on the second-last flight, I, yes, tripped on my T- square, my slippers’ soles gave away and I slipped. In a second, I was plummeting down face—forward on the flight of stairs—T-square and all.
At that moment, I had already imagined myself in a hospital ward with my mother standing next to me saying: I had told you to throw away those horrible slippers! Why don’t you ever listen to me! Luckily, I somehow just glided across the stairs and escaped without so much as a scratch and landed right in front of the reception, as my T- square flew in one direction and my bag in another. The shocked receptionist helped get my things together and asked if I was okay. I assured her I was fine, took a minute to regain my composure (Ha! T- square, you have met your match!), and left.
As I neared the mess, I realized they were closing. So, I ran inside to find my sheet. I looked for it everywhere, but it was nowhere to be found. I even asked the mess helpers, but no one had seen it. It was already 08:30 am and prior experiences had taught me that 10 minutes is not enough time to get to class. So, I decided to quit pursuit and rush. Disheartened but happy to be alive, I reached class as quickly as I could. Just as she saw me, my roommate sprinted to the door waving a rolled-up chart in her hand. Could that be:
Heeyyy! Look what I found in the mess! It’s your sheet! It’s alright and everything! I forgot to call and tell you that I found it!
Raj and Simran got nothing on my reunion with my BMC sheet that day.
