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.