Like any angst-ridden teenager, leaving home for college was indeed liberating. With a glorious sense of being emancipated, I packed my bag with an XXL army jacket, a pair of skinny jeans, a toothbrush and a mammoth-sized collection of books. My mother forewarned me of the homesickness I would experience once I stepped into my dorm. I ignored her pragmatic wisdom and reached Lahore via Daewoo. Imagine the joy of an American Pakistani kid like me, fascinated by the abundance of goats and buffaloes in rural Punjab, bursting with excitement about her academic future to a Daewoo hostess who was a little scared of my over-enthusiasm.

So I reached my hostel and met my warden. Now I may not acknowledge your observation yet but most Pakistani wardens usually expect their prospective residents to be promiscuous girls chewing bubblegum with their mouths open. Much to my warden’s surprise, not only did I show aversion to confectionary sweets but I also indulged in no flirting with the gatekeeper. After establishing an angelic impression, I was happily introduced to two other girls. One hailed from Sialkot while the other was an overtly-atavistic citizen of Gujranwala. I confused them by talking in my American accent and coarse Punjabi simultaneously. I even managed to offend the Sialkoti with a few crude jokes my relatives told me.

Long story short, I learned that there are types of roommates in local hostels. Here they are as I am, yet again, categorising another Pakistani assemblage.