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| Sunday, 15 August 2004 |
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The first week of University is a critical time for students - it is during this induction period that you discover (and immediately forget) where the library is, what bus route to take from halls to class and which students to copy your notes from. I was so excited about starting University that I couldn't sleep the night before. Thaththa insisted we leave early, in case we got lost. Sure enough, we did. Most Universities provide their freshers with directions. Oxford doesn't. They assume that if they tell you which college to aim for, you will get there. This might be because most of Oxford City is the university. Or perhaps it's an initiative test. It's a funny old place really. The University of Oxford made up of thirty odd colleges (where you live and play) and a number of subject faculties (where you work and... work some more). You apply to three colleges, if one of them accepts you, you are in. All your affiliations are with the college, not the university. This means, on the plus side, you get to know everyone in your college really well, on the minus side, there's no central student union. There is the famous Union Society, but that's a `private' society which you pay to join-I decided I could live without. I was accepted by St. Peter's College-small, relatively new and less imposing than some others. Introductions to college were provided by `College families'. Basically, someone in the year above volunteers to take you under their wing. They are your college `parent'. Others who have the same parent become your `siblings', your parents' sibling, become Aunts and Uncles and Well..you get the idea. Corny, perhaps, but it does help. Honestly. My `college mum' was a lively girl with bright pink hair. She showed us round college and told us who to avoid in the years above (the smelly bloke with the dodgy facial hair) and what food to avoid in dining hall (everything). Later in the day, we were shown where the lecture theatre and libraries were. The college had a subsidised bar, where people gathered most evenings. It could get rowdy at the weekends, during the week it was where people went to take a short break from their study. If, however, the rugby or rowing clubs were out partying, it was best to stay away. It was weird seeing my parents leave. In Colombo, I went to an all-girls school. When I moved to England at 16 and went to a mixed 6th form, I worked hard, rarely went out, and lived in the comfortable embrace of my family. Now suddenly, I was all on my own. Not just studying with boys, but living in the same building as them. I was worried, but not nearly as worried as my parents! The hall of residence I lived in was mixed. The bottom two floors had boys rooms and the top two had girls'. This set up worked well. Potential voyeurs got bored looking at boys and uninvited guests to the girls' floor were bounced out of the building by the lads. The intensity of college life meant that you got very close to people very quickly. Most of the guys I know, English or otherwise, were fiercely protective of their female friends and would happily walk a girl home and watch from the gate until she's safely in the door. Freedom was great, but with it came responsibility. You have to look after yourself when you are ill, for a start. The most useful things I had were a kettle, Samahan and Siddhalepa. Those and a good night's sleep tended to sort out most minor ailments. Then there was food. The only thing I could cook when I started Uni was an omelette (very versatile, I can tell you). College food soon drove me to learn more, much to Amma's amusement. I also used washing machines for the first time. It looks fairly easy: put in clothes, washing powder, money in the slot, press go. However, pitfalls await the unwary. If you mix white and coloured clothes, everything comes out grey. That year most of my clothes ended up tight (wool shrinks in the drier!) and an interesting shade of old chewing gum. Through the Sri Lankan network, my parents found me a Sri Lankan contact. I wrote to her via pigeon post (the internal post - delivered, not by pigeon, but by old men on bicycles). She came to visit, warned me never to trust any Sri Lankan and disappeared. I disregarded her and joined the Sri Lankan society. They were a jolly bunch who had the added bonus of knowing where to get Godhamba roti from (London, 90 minutes away by bus). College officially welcomed us with formal dinner. It was a chance for us to meet our tutor, a small (but quite scary) Scottish lady, and the others in our subject group. There were four of us reading biochemistry at St. Peter's that year. Among them was Dom, my 'college brother' who subsequently became my tutorial partner and lap partner and is still a good friend. The tables and benches of the dining hall were transformed with silver candlesticks and elaborate place settings. The meal, contrary to expectations, was delicious. Dom, who had been to posh school, tactfully helped me navigate the bewildering array of cutlery. Luckily, I was drinking orange juice, so I didn't have to figure out the wine glasses. After coffee, we were trying to politely abandon our tutor, when she said, "By the way, come and see me tomorrow at 4 and I'll give you your essay title for next week". And so it began.... Jeevani Mantotta, Courtesy Student Times. |
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