Edited by: Stuti Sharma
Breakfast at Ashoka greets two kinds of people on campus. On one hand, there are the austere Ashokans’ sporting shiny smiles that only come with finished readings, awake as soon as the bricks proudly glisten with hues of red under the sun, ready to face the day with a hearty breakfast at the mess. One can spot them with an unidentified glob of an elaborately named substance and a bowl of fruits, primed to talk about their coursework with great vigor with anyone who crosses their path.
The other brand is that of the Late Latif, rudely awoken by the cataclysmic sounds of their roommate’s alarm clock going off at least 5 times in the morning as they are forced to face the morning blues. This one can usually be seen scurrying to their 10 A.M. with either a fuel zone coffee in hand or a bowl brimming over with milk and cornflakes grabbed with great swiftness from the mess breakfast. This duality does however leave out the poor hunger-stricken ne’er-do-wells, who could not be bothered with their morning sustenance as they slowly slink off to class with hunched shoulders and eyes half mast.
After the ordeal that is breakfast, comes the mid-morning rush hour of people realizing that their energy has slowly been depleted by the 10 o’clock lecture as they seek fulfillment at the ever-open arms of the fuel zone. This eleventh hour is characterized by plates flying across the counter filled with sandwiches and rolls as people walk around with phones raised to the heavens, trying to catch a glimpse of the QR code to finally get their hands on a glass of sweet iced tea.
This hoard only grows like ivy spreading over the mess hall as lunchtime arises, and more ravenous students flitter into the cramped area filling the space with conversations that should never be eavesdropped upon. Here, one can share with full freedom, gossip about the one imbecile that is quintessential to every discussion session and that one professor that makes even the stoniest of friends swoon. To accompany these sessions of deliberation, one is required to steal with great tact a piece of papad from their friend’s plate to solidify the bond that comes with eating the classic mess masoor dal and sabzi combo for lunch.
For the perpetually hungry, there are of course evening snacks. From cookies to pastries to assorted fruits, snacktime is a meal that will always leave you wanting more. The tiny morsels spared to the peckish line of weary scholars are consumed in the lawns where the speakers croon indie pop and the evening air cools the overheated brains of the ever-meritorious students on campus. These short meals are accompanied by the usual groans and sighs about the essays and exams that never seem to leave one’s schedule, all complaints tied up with the promise of group study sessions that will never truly come to fruition.
The day then draws to a close with the great pomp and circumstance that comes with dinner. Bored after a day of mess lines and fuel zone sandwiches, one deliberates on which joint should the friend group traverse. This of course requires serious debate as dinner is no trivial subject. Advocates will bring forth their arguments, with some rallying for the cheap and sustainable TKS with its forever stable menu and proximity, while others will beg for a slice of Chicago pizza, wanting to indulge themselves after a tiresome day of walking to a total of one class. Much debate will happen in true Ashoka fashion, with hands raised in support of Doshai’s unforgettable drinks, or the comforting Thaali No. 4 at Dhaba as groups will walk around campus searching for a haven for their nightly philosophizing. Eventually, seats will be drawn and jokes will be cracked as the various campus delicacies are consumed with great chaos and revelry.
To draw an end to the day, one will find groups huddled together outside classroom ledges with laptops out and faces scrunched, as the workload of the day is finally realized and the panic for the weekly quiz that is sure to come for everyone’s necks finally sets in. With midnight snacks scavenged from dorm rooms thrown haphazardly across the space, one can relish in the crunching of chips and the gulping of fizzy coke acquired with great difficulty from the vending machines, against the soundtrack of nonsensical conversations that can only happen after 2 A.M with the friends that will always join one at the mess table no matter the menu.