Onward Lesbian Lovers!

The numbers tilted, even more unfavourably, given the wardens daily task list: man the reception, answer incessantly-ringing phones, deal with cooks, plumbers, electricians, bais and ensure that watchmen remained incorruptible to bottles of rum handed out as bribes by girls who missed hostel deadlines.

And if their list of woes was not long enough, they were constantly being taken to task. The reception desk was laden with ledgers 8212; neatly ruled sheets, with various sub-heads 8211;encouraging complaints. And we filled them diligently, with a litany of woes. Till whining was elevated to an art form.

From the shirt the cook wore, to the hideous flykill8217; machine installed in the dining hall 8212; we crunched into toast every morning and washed back congealed rice in the evening to the the Bzzzzzap sound of flies being fried 8212; we were happy being unhappy.

But one time, we were really given reason to rue our existence. All thanks to a certain minder8217;s keeper. We used to have a fairly high turnover of wardens with good reason, so, we were used to new faces, new rules and new attitudes.

Basically, we knew that wardens came and went but we controlled them. Until we bumped into Miss Priss let8217;s name her that, for convenience sake. From the day she walked in we knew we were headed for trouble. Unlike our wardens of yore old ladies in starched cotton sarees and faux pearls, she was large, wore transparent sarees and blouses and seemed to view everyone as a sex fiend. Her attitudematched her halo 8212; an aura around her that loudly proclaimed Moral Police.

Now, sex and the single girl is, in any case, a complicated issue. Sex and several single girls is even more complicated. Here we were, hot-blooded young ladies in close proximity with other hotbods. Galloping hormones, raging sexuality and shared space 8212; melting pot for lesbianism, or so thought Miss Priss. First she banned the girls from hanging out near the stairs. It seemed to her, the best way to discourage quot;unnaturalquot; closeness.

Then she announced that quot;all women were lesbians and all smokers were narcotics users I thought that only the Government of India used that word, the rest of the world says, drugs, joints, spliffs or ganja8217;.quot; Anyway, after that she took to spot checks 8212; in the middle of the night, she would knock on doors and attempt to catch girls inflagrante delicto. The only thing she stumbled upon were girls in conversation.

Then, she imposed a lights out8217; rule. By 11.00 pm all the girls were expected tobe in bed. Suddenly, a tubelight went off in her head and she revoked that rule 8212; after all, worse things could happen in the dark.

Saturdays were a peculiar hell for Miss Priss. Everyone was wandering about in various stages of undress, dropping their skirts 8212; for another change of clothes. When clothes weren8217;t coming off, we were always behaving like we wanted them to. We would come down for dinner holding hands or stand around in the corridors hugging and kissing. Plans were being made for illicit meetings after hours. And regular cigarettes were being deeply inhaled and declared a good vintage narcotic8217;. We lurched around Hostel, intoxicated on lesbian love and narcotics.

What made the torture worse was that Miss Priss could not always be on her stealth bomber rounds 8212; who would man the reception in her absence? Her job downstairs was also important. It helped her keep tabs on the girl8217;s social lives. So that she could fill in her Moral Police Black Book.

The entries were a little monotonousthough: quot;If a girl went out with a man, she was a slut. If a girl went out with other girls, they were all lesbians.quot; Life for Miss Priss was simple 8212; no shades of grey. Black and white did fine.

Nonita Kalra is features editor, The Indian Express.