I want to trap time. I know it can't be done. Still.

Its the kind of evening that makes me want to run down the three floors of my hostel room with my gang to our tea spot. Go for a single cup, but end up drinking gallons of it over crazy, long, controversial, crazier conversations. I want to bump into classmates. Expand the circle of talk till its just us.

Feel the chill and complain about it. Complain about the lack of hot water and hotter meals. Beckon the department store uncle and tell him that his Maggi is our survival tool. That without him our stomach's would be crying.

I want to make fun of the walkers while my own paunch grows in size with the junk consumed. I want to buy little bars of chocolates for my mates and feel their smile warm me up.

Lets run down that lane with our jingle. We were always juvenile. There's nothing to be ashamed of. Shame is something we left outside those walls. Cause within them laid freedom in a sense that will never be known elsewhere.

We are scattered, but there is a bond that unites us now. And will forever. Some are still experiencing the freedom. I envy them. I ask them to enjoy it more. On my behalf.

I want to raise my hand in class and spoil the rest of the prof's lecture. Debate till he/she turns red. Till we exchange winks and divert the boring topic into a needless argument that'll tickle our ribs for long.

I want to read out my paper in class and defend it. Ask for a break cause the eye lids have embarrassingly started sticking to one another. Yes. I want to read the soft-board and yell at atrocities teachers commit on students. I want to sit in a corner of the seminar room and doodle. Let the words spoken in the room form a cozy bed and pillow for me.

I want to shake that tree and let the road be carpeted by the shed yellow. I want to stand there and make fun of Bollywood. I want to see those raised eyebrows and tell myself that they don't know how to enjoy life's moments.

I want to cry laughing at the imitations of professors done by my classically talented folks. Its something that is the birth right of every student. I want to click pictures on my phone of the sleepy heads and threaten exposure on social networking websites.

I want to finger the dust off the shelves of journals and books in the dungeon like library of mine. I want to spend the day searching for that one book. Then heave a sigh of relief when I triumph in procuring it out of a corner. Gloat at myself and issue it. I am shallow in a lot of ways.

I want to wake up early and take my run through the fog around the ring road. Say hi to the mess bhaiya on my way back and ask the menu of the day. Give him a look of disgust. Laugh with him over it and still swallow what he serves and calls food.

I want to wash my bucket of joy and hang them with perfection. Fold them once dry in a manner that looks ironed crisp. I want to sit on the mess table post-dinner squashed between population wanting to burst into debates. Violent discussions that'll rub off sleep and leave everyone dark eyed in the morning.

I want to stick posters. Announce to the world about performances that'll make them scream for more. Obviously, work towards it through the nights with my bunch. With butter rotis and crispy vegs. Gradually moving to rotis and lesser crispy vegs. Pockets torn.

Work on group assignments that'll require more co-ordination than reading and structuring. Last minute be the motto. Then, now and forever. Sit in the visitors room till the guard starts giving out suggestions and offering beverages to keep us awake.

I want to chase the cat munching on my dustbin. Offer it something better. The warden's dustbin. Plan plots to exterminate pigeons from the face of the Earth. Yes. We were ruthless. Only in plans.

Now that I have entered the parallel world I was trying to create and escape into, hi to those are a part of it. Bye to the rest. See you later.

And you know that she's half crazy. But that's why you want to be there.

Though the temperature isn’t exactly as low as it should be, it does look like a winter morning. It’s gloomily cloudy and it smells cold. Yes, funnily it smells and doesn’t feel cold. You should be here to know what I am describing. I would love to go to the beach now. Lie near the shore. Let the water tickle my outstretched feet. Let the warm sand rub my back. Have my book in my hand and let the breeze turn the pages for me. Serene and solitary.

I have switched from the rib-tickling tales of a rebellious priest and his arch rival communist mayor to a treasury of Indian mythology. It’s beautiful so far. The pages are new, yet there is something antique about it. I guess its the ancient tales typed on them that make them different and special. I love the calligraphy on it. Reminds me of the calligraphy pen Pa got me a really long time back. It still has its price tag on it. I was always scared to use it. I know the shelf it’s on. I am far from it right now, but when I get closer, I will use it. Write something for Pa with it.

I am doing something I love more than anything else. It can’t be the only thing I do cause some things don’t change. Some opinions don’t change. But I am proud of myself in a strange sort of way; for having kept the embers of my passion burning all through. They will burn like this today. And they shall burn like this forever.

I want to learn how to weave a carpet. Inspiration: a beautiful picture I just saw of a man sitting behind the wooden machinery that was producing the most colouful piece of art. From barren nothingness arises a splash of design in colours of one’s choice. I know I’ll love the feeling after having completed a piece.

The TV has been endlessly screaming for the past several minutes now. And what is one it makes me nauseous; the sickening background music, intolerable voice modulations and the insufferable dialogues. Just why people watch it is beyond me. I pray sincerely that I never reach a stage where the TV becomes my best friend. Never.

Give me a canvas the size of a wall. I want to splash colours on it. Use anything but a brush to paint on it. Go unconventional. I don’t want to show it to anyone till I finish. Maybe I won’t show it at all. Paint it black after I am done. It will be something I made for myself. It will remain mine. Or, I’ll paint a huge Calvin and Hobbes on the white surface and worship it. Yes, I have a strange sense of religiosity.

And she feeds you tea and oranges

That come all the way from China

And just when you mean to tell her

That you have no love to give her

Then she gets you on her wavelength

And she lets the river answer

That you’ve always been her lover

And you want to travel with her

And you want to travel blind

And you know that she will trust you

For you’ve touched her perfect body with your mind.

Suzanne- Leonard Cohen

Well, I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky.

I woke up this morning groggy and sat cross-legged on the bed facing the window. There was a silent breeze brushing the sun's early strands. I closed my eyes and tried recollecting my dream. I remember snippets that don't fit together. They are pieces of different puzzles. I had more than one dream.

Somewhere a friend is snuggled under a warm blanket refusing to leave the bed. I want to make chai for her, snuggle in next to her and have a long talk. Its been too long since we met. A lot has passed between us. More than half of December has gone. And I haven't shivered even once. I am nearer to the equator. I can't complain. It is geographically impossible. My wish.

Reading has taken a stand still although I have a set of new books piled in front of me. Each wanting to be touched and flipped. Each wanting to be heard out. I will. One and one. All of them.

I made what I was supposed to. It came out well, served its purpose and made the person it was made for happy. Satisfaction swept in that evening. It was beautiful. I could do with more such evenings. Many more. And they shall happen in time.

I have been listening to a lot of music these days. And when I say lot, I really do mean a LOT. I have been breathing, eating and obese-ing on music. Genre irrespective, I have had headphones on my head all day. My grandmother now thinks I have transmogrified (Calvin style) into an extra-terrestrial specie.

I am going to return to watching Prison Break now. I will return with more that is in my head.