Edited by Aahana Banerjee
Second, Third and Fourth Years of Ashoka University, Sonipat, were proud to say that they were perfectly fine, thank you very much.
There is a sense of genuine happiness as the common rooms crowded with friend groups whose assorted energy was just a pack of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavoured Beans, swapped stories and the latest gossip that even Rita Skeeter couldn’t dream of.
The gates flew wide open and a tall, wizened man with a long white beard (dyed apparently) walked in with his chin held high so that he didn’t trip over his own beard. Students stopped to stare at him. Not at his spectacles which were hanging precariously or his top hat which was fortunately out of fashion. But at the scrolls and scrolls and scrolls of ideas and plans that he was carrying.
Mr Orient Week knew very well that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his scrolls were expected. So, following his arrival, his ridiculous top hat was placed in the entrance for each of the new students to try it on and get sorted to their houses (It is determined by sheer luck but Mr Orient Week liked people talking about his top hat). The Residence Houses soon became cauldrons of noise and Quidditch brooms were used to clean the evenly spaced rooms (The university was against flying brooms much to everyone’s disappointment but Bludgers in the form of people lost in their head were okay 😃).
The senior year student threw a sharp, sideways glance at Mr Orient Week, “I suppose all the first years have really arrived, Orient?”
“It certainly seems so,” he said. “We have much to be excited for. Would you care for a Papad?
“A what?”
“A Papad. The fried dough at lunch. They’ve three spotlights to make them attractive this time. The feast opens later though.”
Mr Orient Week walked away leaving the senior year student confused. And he knew it was just the beginning of his schemes. Mr Orient Week got to his seat and crossed his legs, rather confidently, thought a first year wryly. He smiled and the twinkle in his eye was alarming (to some at least).
“Welcome!” he said. “Welcome to a new year at Ashoka! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Timings! Running! Confusion! Info Dump!” He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. The first years didn’t know whether to laugh or not.
The first thing that Mr Orient Week liked people to know about him: He is a vat of all information but what he didn’t understand was that people couldn’t remember everything he said immediately. When he arranged a meeting session, the first years had to figure out every room and race the stairs because the spells on the elevators of Residence Houses weren’t meant for speed. Mr Orient Week’s online schedule last year was just as tiring, says a second year on her way to class. He was just a man who loved his information but his secrets meant Sherlock Holmes had to be invited to just get around the University.
You see, Mr Orient Week won’t let anyone know the secret spot where it’s quiet and he can write his scrolls in peace. He won’t let you know the time when there are no Bludgers around in the Mess to hit your food tray. He won’t let you not have an easy four course first semester so that by second semester, you’ll be questioning your sanity. He won’t let you know the spell that makes Wifi stable or the spell that made your keys return back to you when misplaced (Percy Jackson had it better).
He’s a man of secrets and loves to announce it at the end of every year. He is dramatic, I think?
Secrets mean he also has open arms. He will hug you and teach you one spell Expelliarmus through one of his many Professors which is what you’ll use every year when Voldemort comes knocking with hard deadlines. Centers for every inquiry and prefects to let you know that they are there for support but sadly the owls are too busy to teach you the mail etiquette. Do you say hello? Or do you send an Howler to get the Wifi password? In a way, Mr Orient Week’s Chocolate Frogs are a comfort but they’re just a tad bit hard to catch. The Chocolate Frogs do help you out, in finding your place in the University at least.
Oh and Mr Orient Week is VERY enthusiastic. The senior years are just waiting for reality to creep and seep the energy out of all the VERY bright faces at breakfast. His idea of a university song was frowned upon so he loves colorful posters and organizing events that are more similar to the Gryffindor vs Slytherin match than eating carnivals (why do the senior years keep missing invites? getting invites? )
At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Mr Orient Week got to his feet again. The houses fell silent.
“Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.
“Monsoon semester does not mean rain as some of you might’ve discovered. ‘Mondays soon’ is what we will remember each week. And Winter is Coming” (plays GOT music)
“First years should note that music on the grounds and scream-talking near the stairs is forbidden after one in the morning to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.”
“I have also been asked to remind you all that no blocking the corridors between classes. Some of the students have five minutes to run from one tower to another.
“And finally, I must tell you that this year, only the first monsoon semester is painless to even the strongest of time management and outstanding students.”
First years laughed, but they were the only few who did.