It was the 13th of August, 2013.
I left home for the first time in my life.
I was beginning a journey as an architecture student at MET, Moradabad.
And honestly, I was terrified.
I had chosen architecture against my father’s wish. But the funny thing about my father was that, even when he disagreed with us, he never forced us to live the life he had imagined for us. He gave us the freedom to choose.
He was, in many ways, way ahead of his time—especially for the place we came from, Powayan. Things have changed a lot there now, but back then, his way of thinking felt different.
And so, on that August morning, I left home carrying a strange mixture of excitement, fear, guilt, and a heart that was already beginning to miss everything I was leaving behind.
THE JOURNEY
After travelling all the way from my hometown, Powayan, to Moradabad, we finally reached the college.
I remember the entrance vividly.
There was a brown gate on the right-hand side. Beyond it was a landscape that, to my eyes, looked completely unfamiliar—maroon buildings, green trees, grey roads, and a few buildings painted light yellow.
There was a small, hut-shaped entry house where entries were being recorded.
My father stopped and asked the guard,
“Architecture Department kidhar hai?”
(English Translation – “Where is the Architecture Department ? “)
The guard bhaiya simply raised his hand and pointed towards the building at the other end of the lane.
I looked in that direction.
That building suddenly felt enormous.
Like a monster waiting at the end of the road that was going to swallow me whole.
Gathering whatever courage I had, I walked inside with my father and completed all the admission formalities.
Then I asked someone about the hostel.
And we started walking towards it.
I remember wishing that the lane would somehow become longer.
Just a little longer.
Because somewhere inside me, I was still hoping that something would happen—that maybe the hostel stay would somehow get cancelled, and I could just go back home.
But life doesn’t usually negotiate with you.
The hostel gate appeared.
And then it happened.
The gate closed behind my father with that unmistakable “cheenk” sound.
I still remember it.
That sound felt louder than it actually was.
Like the sound of a chapter closing.
THE GATE THAT FELT LIKE GOODBYE
That gate felt like goodbye.
For the first time in my life, I was going to live away from home.
Alone.
With strangers.
A part of me was excited.
But the child inside me was screaming,
Please, don’t leave me here.
After my room was allotted, my father looked at my mother and said,
“Let’s go home.”
And the moment I heard those words, I started crying.
My mother started crying too.
And there we were—holding each other and crying at the hostel gate like two characters from an overdramatic Indian television serial who had finally found each other after being separated for twenty years.
People around us were actually laughing.
Maybe for them, it was funny.
Maybe it was completely normal.
For me, it was one of the hardest moments of my life.
I didn’t know how to stay away from home.
I didn’t know how to sleep without my family nearby.
I didn’t know how to be an adult.
And, of course, one of my seniors later mocked me for crying that day.
At that time, I remember thinking,
I swear, if I wasn’t a junior…
But I was.
So I survived that with everything else.
I entered my hostel room and went completely blank.
It was basically a cleverly designed 10′ × 10′ partition of a 2BHK flat.
I barely noticed anything.
The room.
The bed.
The walls.
The people.
Nothing registered.
I just cried.
A lot.
Because no one tells you how loud silence becomes on your first day away from home.
4:00 AM
That night—or perhaps that morning—I woke up at 4:00 AM.
I took a bath, got ready, and offered puja to Maa Saraswati, Sai Baba, and Mahadev.
I needed them that day.
And somehow, they stayed with me throughout that entire journey.
My breakfast timing was 8:00 AM.
There was a window in my room that opened towards the temple of Maa Saraswati.
I sat there.
And looked at the temple.
For hours.
The temple had an octagonal central space where the statue of Maa Saraswati stood. Around it was a small square peripheral boundary, with large glass openings through which I could see glimpses of the statue.
I don’t know what I was thinking.
Maybe nothing.
Maybe everything.
I just kept looking.
Three hours passed without me realizing it.
And suddenly, it was 8:00 AM.
Time for breakfast.
On my way to the mess, there was a small metal bridge connecting two buildings.
I crossed it, had breakfast, came back, got ready for college, and prepared myself for the most terrifying thing yet.
My first day.
I don’t remember what I wore.
I don’t remember what I ate.
But I remember exactly how I felt.
AND THEN IT WAS TIME—MY FIRST DAY AT COLLEGE
The classroom was full of people from different places.
Different faces.
Different energies.
Some looked excited:
“Let’s make friends!”
Some looked completely lost:
“What the hell am I doing here?”
Some already seemed to know everything:
“Bro, I already know everything.”
And some were simply enjoying the beginning of what they believed would be the best years of their lives.
And then there was me.
Sitting quietly inside the classroom, thinking:
“God, B.Tech se toh bach gayi… ab yahan se kaise bachun?”
(English Translation – ” I managed to escape B.Tech……. Now, how do I escape this?” )
I had no idea that the place I was desperately trying to escape from would eventually become one of the most important chapters of my life.
I had no idea that the strangers sitting around me would slowly become friends.
That the classrooms would become familiar.
That the hostel would eventually feel less like a prison and more like home.
And I certainly had no idea that this ordinary-looking day would become a memory I would carry for the rest of my life.
THE INTRODUCTION ROUND — AND THE THREE LADIES
Then three ladies walked into the classroom.
And honestly?
OMG.
They each had their own aura.
I loved it instantly.
Santosh Ma’am—the HOD of the department.
Uparika Ma’am.
And Gunjan Ma’am.
They sat on chairs in front of the entire class, at the podium.
The introduction session began.
My heartbeat?
Uncountable.
One by one, students went forward.
People talked about their talents.
Someone danced.
Someone sang.
Someone talked about drawing.
Some were genuinely amazing.
And then—
My name.
My heart almost stopped.
I got up and walked towards the front, holding my heart with both hands.
Santosh Ma’am looked at me and asked,
“Why did you opt for architecture?”
This time, I decided to be honest.
Because I had already understood one important thing about Santosh Ma’am.
You cannot lie to her.
She somehow knows.
So I said,
“I came here as an escape from B.Tech.”
And there it was.
My brutally honest introduction.
Then she asked,
“Tell us your hobby.”
Blank.
Absolutely blank.
My mind was suddenly like an A4 sheet with nothing drawn on it.
While listening to everyone else’s introductions, however, I had realized something about myself.
I was—and still am—a huge fan of stories and poems.
So I said,
“I like reading.”
And then, perhaps because I had already survived the hardest part, I even recited my favourite comic poem from that time.
I’ll share that poem with you guys someday.
It’s really amazing.
And then—
It was over.
I walked back to my seat.
My heartbeat slowly returned to normal.
But that tiny introduction stayed with me.
Even after all these years.
THE LANE BACK TO THE HOSTEL
After the introductions, we were free.
We could explore the college or go back to the hostel.
I chose the hostel.
And I walked back alone.
That same lane.
The one that had looked like a monster a few hours earlier.
Only now, I was walking through it by myself.
I felt as if everyone was looking at me.
Maybe nobody was.
But that’s how it felt.
I walked the entire lane lost in my own thoughts.
I didn’t know it then, but somewhere between that college building and that hostel gate, something had changed.
I was still scared.
Still homesick.
Still that girl who wanted her parents to turn around and come back.
But I had entered college.
I had introduced myself.
I had survived my first day.
And perhaps, without realizing it, I had taken my first real step towards becoming the person I would eventually be.
That evening, I met a few of my batch mates in the hostel.
And yes, these are all the people from my department who live in the hostel with me.
Prachi.
Priyanshi.
Ayushi.
Pooja.
Nazma.
Adeel.
Yusra.
Pranjali.
Vishakha.
Shristi.
At that moment, they were just names.
Just a bunch of strangers who happened to be in the same hostel, in the same batch, at the same time.
I had absolutely no idea that this was Day 1 of a five-year story we would eventually frame together.
A story made of fights.
Laughter.
Tears.
Assignments.
Secrets.
Late-night conversations.
Maggi at 2 AM.
Stupid jokes.
Celebrations.
And countless memories that would one day become impossible to explain to anyone who wasn’t there.
After dinner, I called my parents.
Hearing their voices made the strange new world feel a little less strange.
And then I went to sleep.
Scared.
Homesick.
Still missing home.
Still wondering how I was going to survive this place.
But somewhere between the tears, the unfamiliar room, the temple outside my window, the strange faces in my classroom, and that hostel gate that had closed behind my father…
Something had changed.
For the first time in my life, I was completely on my own.
And strangely…
For the first time, I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
I didn’t know it then, but I had already crossed the hardest door.
The door between being someone’s daughter at home…
And becoming a little more of myself.
And somewhere inside that strange new place, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, my five-year story had quietly begun.
If I could go back to that 13-year-old version of me—standing at that hostel gate, crying and desperately wanting to go home—I would just hug her and say,
“Don’t worry. You are going to be okay.”
“In fact, you are going to have the time of your life.”
Because that scared little girl had no idea how beautiful the story ahead of her was going to be.
Dear Readers, now I want to know about you.
What was your first day at college like?
Were you excited, scared, homesick, and completely lost—or already ready to conquer the world?
Tell me your first-day story. I’d love to know what that day looked like for you.
#MyCollegeJourney #FirstDayAtCollege #CollegeMemories