Stories

[swatkat]

Universities are filled with the oddest women. You'd think I'd be used to it, after having gone to an all-girls college in my undergraduate days (*sigh*) and running into women of all varieties and species, but *staying* with the aforementioned odd women in the same building is a different experience altogether. For example: the scary girl in 125, who happens to be my namesake and is currently in the news for having been involved in a giant brawl with her roommate, wherein they scratched each other in the face, pulled at each others hair and cursed each other in the most abusive language imaginable. And as if that wasn't enough, Scary Girl went and lodged a complaint with the police. And the warden. And then she stood in the corridor with a slip of paper in hand, and forced every passing individual to take a look at it. It was her roomie's suicide note - or rather, the note she had written when she had, once upon a time, thought of committing suicide; Scary Girl had very thoughfully made a photocopy of it and filed it away for future use. Later we learnt that they had once got along tolerably well, but Scary Girl had this habit of talking loudly on the phone with her husband, which irritated her roommate; Scary Girl, on the other hand, did not approve of her roommate's habit of intentionally dropping Scary Girl's cellphone - or its charger, or both - on the floor when Scary Girl wasn't in the room. Once Scary Girl saw me smiling to myself (I tend to do that. sometimes. shut up) - after that she always glares at me in a very menacing way, so if I'm ever murdered, you'll know who's responsible.

Even the most innocent-looking women can have the oddest histories. There's this girl, N., who I think is tolerably pretty and my friend Otpidus thinks is *really hawt* - so hawt that he insisted on sitting at a vantage position everyday in the dining hall so that he could stare at her face. But then we learnt about that time she had lynched another girl in public. Or the Sri Lankan girl (who, thankfully, stays in another hostel) who had danced really well in a cultural event - *later* we learnt that she is infamous in her hostel for having beaten up another girl for daring to *sing* in the corridor. According to the story, it went like this:

GIRL: *passes through the corridor, singing to herself*
MAD GIRL: Excuse me, why are you singing?
GIRL: I. Um. Because I'm happy?
MAD GIRL: Happy? I see. Could you please come to my room for a minute?
GIRL: I...
MAD GIRL: *grabs her by the hand and drags her to the room*
MAD GIRL: *beats her up*

Or the girl who was beaten up by other girls for stealing hot water in winter - this is in fact an old story, narrated to us by the Slasher Professor with much relish, but what this does show is that this beating other girls up is a tradition that has continued since time immemorial. There's also instances of girls beating *boys* up, though these are rare - a couple of years ago V. and S., two rather well known figures of the radical Left (I mean, really radical Left. I wouldn't be surprised if V. has handmade guns hidden in her room, and secretly dreams of blowing up the Parliament. The highlight of her political career is the time when she and a lot of other students had shown black flags to the Prime Minister, who was visiting - there was much chaos, and it ended in V. and co. being beaten up by the security people *and* their rivals from the radical Right, who were *waiting* for this opportunity) in campus, went and beat up a couple of *boys*, who had allegedly molested *another* boy who is a friend of V.'s and is also a well-known figure in the campus.

I lead such a paltry, unexciting life in comparison. But I think I'll stay where I am.

Comments

[author-by-night.livejournal.com]

The story about the singing girl is really sort of sad, because at the beginning she struck me as one of those free-spirited, innocent individuals. Yikes.

[jaybee65.livejournal.com]

You could make a novel of this, you know.

No such excitement in my school, I'm afraid. Oh, except for my first-year university roommate. Who went on the year after graduation to lure her boyfriend to some isolated place, where boyfriend #2 was waiting to bash his head in with a brick, and then the two of them dumped the body in a lake.

She was actually a perfectly pleasant roommate, although we had very little in common. I suppose her having dubbed a stuffed animal "Dr. Freud" and occasionally making it say to people in a goofy voice, "So, why do you hate your mother?" might have been a sign of things to come, but I was distracted by the fact that she shared homemade chocolate chip cookies (baked by yet another one of her boyfriends, and boy, he had a lucky escape!) with me on a regular basis.

So the moral is, um, give me cookies and I'll overlook Teh Crazeh? *g*

[(Anonymous)]

And call the novel 'Tough Girls'?

But your story wins. Srsly. *is still laughing*

[sk56.livejournal.com]

And I thought living next door to the gun dealer was a spooky thing.

Happy to be dull, that's me.