A Freshman’s Jolt; King Edward Chapter
BY: AMNA KHALIL
King Edward was like a dream, dreamt with the
full acknowledgement of it never being fulfilled ever. A few weeks into the
declaration of the result, I would find myself squashing my tongue between my
teeth again and again or pinching myself here and there. Watching how the
planets aligned and led me to the one thing I truly desired in life was indeed
amazing. Ecstatic, I watched all the KEMU videos on Youtube beforehand and
nearly memorized the popular kemtips off the blogspot. In short, I was already
in love with King Edward before even seeing it with my own eyes.
When I had to choose my subjects two years ago,
I sank down into the sofa and I pondered and pondered over the issue. All I
really wanted to do in life at that time was watch T.V .Four months into
pre-engineering, the thought of me lying on my death bed (yes! I am quite the
morbid person) hit me and made me think real hard about what would matter to me
then. What would matter enough to give me the real satisfaction of having done
something purposeful in life? Life? What could matter more in life than life
itself?
The sheer fragility of life. It was then that I
knew what I had to do , be there for people as they fought the fight between
life and death, hold their hand as they won or lost that fight in a quarter of
a second. As morose as it may sound, it did fascinate me. So did the fact that
overalls look totally hot. It was then that I decided it was either going to be
King Edward or nothing at all.
The real romance stirred up when I first set my
eyes on the Patiala block. Across the Neela Gunbad chowk, it stood. The
towering edifice of Patiala, a white stature of solitude, a virginal sanctuary
.A transient glance, a moment caught in time. I stared dumbstruck at what fate
had brought me to. Oh! I so couldn't wait to embark on this new journey.
Orientation day was fun. Walking down the mayo
road on the first day in our crisp overalls was the best feeling ever. The sun
to that morning had indeed come up after many a late caffeine infused nights.
We strutted along in our bright overalls, basking in the glory of our sweet
reincarnation from the ultimate thetas to doctors-to-be.
Everywhere in the auditorium, people were
recognizing the familiar faces of strangers across shoveling heads and shouting
out to them. Having moved into the hostel a night before, I had made about a
dozen new friends already so luckily I was spared the whole being-jam
packed-in-a-hall-with-three-hundred-new-faces ordeal. Moreover, thanks to Facebook,
we already knew half our class fellows and had made a million assumptions
beforehand.
After the batch photo was taken, I walked up the
stairs that separate Patiala from the real hustle bustle of the university and
I wondered how incredible it would be to get lost in such a place , to have my
name carved into the history of this majestic place. It was only later that I
realized, there wasn’t much space to get lost in.
Follow the road straight ahead the “zero point”,
and you enter the real life. Mayo, a sea of woe and demise, of white coats and
thin blankets that may or may not last the night. The Big Ben on top,
tick-tocking steadily. The seconds one has, till the last breath, put on plain
view. The overlooking cold corridors of the Bahawalpur block that would prepare
us for what lay waiting just across the road. Vulnerable forms on stretchers,
the distinctive stench of poverty and the fear of how much shall be expected
out of you and whether or not you shall be able to deliver. The white gate of the
university is the only thing that separates you from the responsibility that
awaits you.
Thou shall become so wholly daunted by the
splendor of the place that only a sudden wet plop on the shoulder shall stir
you out of your condition. Pigeon poop!!! The sopping identity of an entire
institution on your very own shoulder.
Heads can be classified two ways, wanna-do-it
ones and nah-I’ll-pass ones. Edwardian pigeons are indifferent to bad-hair days
though and may leave your tresses in a worst condition than they already were
on the day of the sub stage. However, they are more likely to bless you the one
day you actually made the effort to wear a clean, properly ironed overall. I
read somewhere that “The poop is not the poop, the pigeon is the poop”, and to
eradicate the problem, you need to conclude the root of the problem first. In
this case though, with all due sympathies to Nemo, I feel like neither the poop
nor the pigeon is the real poop. Pigeons are the life of K.E, reminiscent of a
time gone by. Like truck art, they adorn the slanting roofs of the labs. The
real poop in this whole scenario is that there’s no way to get a proxy marked
in Anatomy.
Dissection was what I dread the most about
medical. The dissection hall is as frightening as it ought to be, dead bodies
in a row, with the sunlight illuminating them through the punctures in the
roof. It’s as if the divine light from the afterlife is reaching out to the
cadavers. But when I saw our cadaver, a burn victim sprawled across the bed,
waiting to reveal its secrets to us; life bitch slapped me across the face and
jerked me out of my immature self. The crude veracity of life and what it would
reduce down to, one day, stared right at me from hollow jaundiced balls. Fish
oil capsules that carried a sea of secrets. It takes time to get accustomed to
the smell of formalin and for many days, all I saw in my nightmares was the
tranquil face, the distant glare.
Soon I discovered that physiology lectures are
the best place to unwind. When O-i-n-s and incessant calls of “dr.sahaaaab
“fail to interest me, I drift away into a deep slumber of my own rambling
thoughts. Many a times I catch myself pondering over the baffling train tracks
carved across my palms and wondering whether Allah would ever bestow the power
to save a life in these slabs of flesh? Mere meat?!? I don’t take notes much
but when I do, I look over at my writing and that’s the only evidence that I
might actually become a good doctor one day. Dirty scribbling, it really is the
sole consolation.
Sick of the roach-infested biryani of the hostel
cafeteria and famished to death , Al-Kareeem , to us, was like heaven. The size
of the place didn’t matter much , what mattered was the distinctive aroma of
freshly baked bread that embraced us all in a calorific hug. Kudos to AlKareem
for having kept us alive this long.
University gives us the chance to meet people
from so many different places, each and every one with a story to tell. It’s
just been two months and the shy smiles have sprung up into uninterrupted conversations
across the dissection hall beds, the flat military style haircuts have been
replaced by haywire chaos and chappals by gaudy boots. Transitions prove to be
extremely amusing to watch and gossip about in the barren lawns of the hostel.
Hostel, at first sight, was a nightmare .The
allotment was more like throwing your mattress on any piece of carpeted ground
you could find and claiming that space to be yours. I got my space in the
middle of the room, surrounded by a sea of mattresses. Thirteen girls in a
single room, with mattresses side to side, was no slumber party. Sadly on our
first night there, the rugby-sized rats gate-crashed as well and added to the
misery of cold showers and fungus.
On the first weekend we spent at the hostel,
while others set off to fortress we caught a rickshaw to the Mall. A scoop of
Movenpick and a large platter of panini sandwiches later, we were like
“Hey!!!!This feels like Lahore atlas!!!” Having spent all my childhood summers
at my Nano’s, Lahore was no alien, but discovering and rediscovering new places
unchaperoned and with crazy chaotic friends has its own allure.
I believe that once you get into K.E, it’s like
proof enough of your sanity so you have the official right to go insane.
Seriously going down the elevator the wrong way around, trying out all the
outfits one can find in a mall, hanging out from the sides of the rickshaw and
scaring people on the sidewalk sure is a hell lot of fun.
University years are the ones in which you make
friends that shall last your entire life. Friends that stay up the entire night
with you when its your sub stage and you haven’t done a single thing , the
laptop-waley friends that make you watch movies till four in the morning right
before the physiology test , the ultimate metal head friends who mock you for
that single Katy Perry song in your ipod and introduce you to the world of
“Children of Bodom” , friends who make you johar-joshanda when you are down
with flu , the thetas who kick you out of the dorm cause you wont study and
wont let them study either , the ones who paint your nails blue for you and the
ones that bring you tikriyan and sohan halwa . The ones who know shall always
have your back and will always lend you your cellphone when you need to place
an order at three in the morning. At times, these people seem to be the only
reason you endure all the difficulties hostel life brings along.
When lazy Sundays at the hostel get way too
boring, one sneaks out the backdoor to explore the heart of Lahore , Anarkali.
So did we.
Cheap thrills ,neon lights and Dolce and Gabbana
bags for 150PKR a piece , Anarkali is a wonder in itself. We set out to explore
the heart of Lahore in a huge group. Kasr-e-shereen k samosay , Guddu Fries ,
Riaz ka Faluda , we tried it all.(and thus spent the next day getting high on
Eno) .
So far, King Edward has been amazing. The
glamorous welcome party, Mayo k parathay , learning Turkish swear words and
fighting over overalls. The monotony does kick in at times and we all have our
weekly-crying-sessions in the wash room but the charisma of being a Kemcolian
wipes all the tears away. Something tells me that whatever happens, these
upcoming five years shall be the best years of my life. Inshallah.
2 comments
KE will be what you make it for yourself..:)Make it just about books and scores .. it will be hell.. Make it about life and friends.. indeed the 5 years will be the most splendid :)
ReplyDeletewhat a nice piece of writing! Do keep writing and enjoy your stay at KEMU :)
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