8:55 am. The bus is just on time for the not so anxious students to be able to catch their classes in the first period. With only five minutes to spare, it would have been a wise idea to splash away the mandatory sleep residue gifted by the tiresome bus ride off one’s face.
However, one changes mind fast. Especially since the once clean and welcoming men’s room on the second floor is now almost always filled with semi-solid filth spread on and around the water basins and toilet fittings, as well as all across the floor. At times it’s dirtier than the men’s room near the first floor’s central courtyard, and with added features. A metallic, water filled pail sitting in the way, a clean, unused mop resting in a corner, and the owner of the two, Mr. Farigh Janitor, leaning against a wall, starring out of the window, incessantly making sweet, sugar topped cellfone love with his beloved, NOT DOING THE JOB THEY ARE PAID TO DO, and obviously oblivious to the genuine needs of the person who just entered!
Exit men’s room, still sleepy faced, only angrier, and TIP’s good old open air broom closet just next to the lecture theatre’s main door greets you with a nasty smile. Seems like a mouse trap has been added to the plethora of irrelevant items! Hurry hurry, off to the class. Don’t let this cheerful morning frustrate youself further. Too late. ‘Oh, hello, Finance Secretary. Going somewhere?’ My finance secretary pal, without any salaam or dua replies, ‘Yar I have to collect money for the annual dinner from every student of TIP. Kal paisey lay aana.’ Why the fudge? Don’t we already pay the TISF our share, as a compulsion, as mentioned in our fees challan under the title of ‘Others’? Yes we do. Now, even more, after the recent increase in our fees. Well, I am not paying you a cent, you hear that!