My feet are tucked cozily inside my blanket. There are no monsters under my bed. Rather, you’d find a bucket full of unwashed clothes, a discarded pair of shoes, and maybe even Gypsy sometimes. Gypsy is a stray dog that was sort of adopted by the boys in the dorm. Gypsy doesn’t understand the concept of adoption, so he still stays a stray. He’s like a day-scholar, but for food. He doesn’t stick around unless there’s something to eat. But yeah, definitely no monsters. It’s winter here, and sometimes your toes can fall off during winters and you wouldn’t know till morning.
Five minutes earlier, I was caught in a dilemma whether to shower or not. Such contemplations require careful considerations because there’ll be massive consequences. Having to shower would mean three things: Forgo the cozy warmth my blanket so willingly offers. Then brave the brunt of nature’s fury on the overhead water-tank as the heater decided to hibernate for the winter. And then go through the labyrinthine pile of clothes inside the cupboard to find a half decent shirt that doesn’t stink much.
My blanket’s love for me wins in the end, and with Lady Gaga in my playlist, I start playing ‘Staggering Beauty’, because there’s really nothing much to do. The keys feel sticky and sort of smell like oregano. I’m in the middle of beating my own stare-at-the-screen personal record when Gizmo suddenly walks in. Gizmo is my dorm mate. Of course, he’s the tech nerd. Of course, it’s a clichéd nickname. Live with it. Move on. Okay.
Gizmo announces that he’s going for a shower. I got nothing but admiration for him. This dude’s got nerves of steel.
My admiration is short lived though. Gizmo says he’ll also need to use my trimmer. Claims to be a tech nerd, but can’t get himself a frickin’ trimmer. However, the rules of a dorm life are alien to the socially-accepted norms, and so I walk up to my cupboard and delve my hands into the unholy mess. I turn around, hand over the trimmer to Gizmo and he walks off to the bathroom with a towel, whistling off to ‘Bad Romance’.
I take my gaze off of staggering beauty, and begin yet another contemplation. This time, it’s about how Gizmo is able to shower during winters. I suspect he has some sort of a secret superpower. I walk up to the bathroom and begin to test my aural powers. The shower is running, the trimmer is whirring, and Gizmo is whistling. Which to me sounded very weird. Must take some special kind of skill to whistle while you’re trimming. The shower stops, the trimmer is still whirring and Gizmo’s still whistling. Gizmo might be a tech freak, but he must be stupid if he’s trying a clean shave with the trimmer.
The whirring stops, and Gizmo walks out wrapped in a towel, still whistling. He hands over the trimmer, throws a passing thanks in my direction, and walks out to dry off. I notice that his beard still looks the same. It’s one of those “bleh” moments.
The trimmer looks clean though.
Photography By: Sumit Thakur