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Chintu loves all kinds of ice-creams like any other ten year old kid does. Baraf ka gola is his all time favorite. He has a big sweet tooth for the crushed ice with different flavors of sweet as well as colorful sherbet. He eagerly waits for local ice-cream vendor daily evening. As soon as the vendor arrives, Chintu rushes to him with his neighbourhood friends. Whoever reaches there first, stands on the side-railing of the vendor's cart and stares at the ice-cream crushing zestfully while other kids vigorously attempt to have a gaze of the whole procedure. The vendor, pleased with his enthusiastic audience, performs the whole process with full devotion and concentration. He first breaks an ice-bar into smaller chunks and starts grinding a chunk with his crusher, a small manually operated machine that looks very similar to the one used for preparing sugar-cane juice. The kids watch the entire procedure in awestruck admiration keeping an eye on colourful bottles of sherbet. Red one is every one's favorite, hence there are generally two red bottles, one at each side of the crusher. Green and yellow are other sherbet. After shaping the crushed ice into a sphere on a thin piece of stick, the vendor pours colourful nectar, forming jig-jag shapes. Finally a pinch of spice or coconut powder consummates the process. Every kid knows these steps by heart and loves to watch them again and again, reminding the vendor to put some extra red sherbet or coconut powder. Even Chintu does it every time, but that particular day was different, since he was not paying any attention to minute details, he was not even looking at the crushing machine, instead he was cautiously scanning the area around him.

It was a normal sunny day and Chintu was standing under an old tree near a busy road, having his baraf ka gola. He was not completely engrossed in his treat as he generally would have been, instead he was closely watching human presence around him. After a while, he calmed down and sat there. It was a peaceful moment after a morning full of exciting adventures.

There was a huge campus building behind him, and when he got bored of watching the road, he turned to the college. It was a private college named after some local businessman. Seth Ram Bihari College of Arts & Science was the only private college of the town but not a crowded place, especially before noon. He had been there twice with his elder cousin Rohan, but he was alone that day. Even the slight memory of Rohan scared him, but he comforted himself reminding Rohan's trip to Agra, hence his presence was impossible there.

The watchman guarding the big iron gate smiled at Chintu when their eyes first met. It was not a good sign, for the watchman could be a relative of their apartment's watchman. Chintu's heart sank but he soon realized that the watchman was smiling at some other guy passing on the road. He felt relieved once again.

The red coloured iron gate was half open to allow pedestrians and two-wheelers. Students in different outfits were going in and out of the gate. He liked the way the watchman was not giving a damn to the visitors, so unlike of the school's watchman who would ask silly questions to every kid. The world beyond the gate looked so different; teachers without sticks in hand, students without heavy bags and in no formal dress. It was very undisciplined yet so cool and exciting. He even liked the red colour of the main gate more than the gray colour of his school's main gate. The huge board above it was looking more effective than his school's glowing sign-board.

'Seth Ram-Bihari Collage of Arts & Science', he read, 'How cool!', he thought, 'wait... is there a spelling mistake?... shouldn't it be College and not Collage?', he reflected. He remembered learning that word recently. He read it again and confirmed his catch.

Compelled to get the mistake fixed, he stopped the first guy passing the tree he was sitting under and asked him to check the board. He was a young boy but looked very sad. He was wearing a ragged jeans and a colourful t-shirt, and smoking a cigarette. His face was unshaven and hair were uncombed, giving impression of a typical college student. His mood wasn't matching to a youth of his age. He appeared dull, lifeless and troubled by an awful pain, as if he had recently lost a family member or had been struggling to secure a job. Whenever the real world takes pleasure to peep into unrestrained college life, it scares students. That young man might have faced a bare reality lately.

'Oh Boy! Even you have been discriminated by the merciless fate', he said comprehending Chintu's finger pointing to blue heavens and not to the sign-board. His pain, surely, was unbearable and above earthly redemption. 'She doesn't want to meet me. She doesn't even pick my calls, never replies to my SMSs, tell me is it fair?... We have been best buddies for years, and now suddenly she behaves so abruptly', the young man spoke completely ignoring the original question. He had his worries to take care of. His pain was not unbearable yet over-hyped. Inspired by contemporary cinema and infatuated by the first interaction with opposite sex, most young guys fantasied themselves as ardent lovers. Their imaginary world collapses by a single strike of reality and they loose all controls. They feel dejected and tend to ignore the real world. They would regret more for unanswered emails or phone-calls than a terrorist attack or any other real life problem. He was definitely another such romantic loser.

Chintu understood nothing and expressed his intentions in plain words. The young man sighed and sort of laughed at himself. It was full of despair. He, then, threw another philosophical reasoning and correlated the mistake with his misery. Another rant against cruel fate and he disappeared. Chintu understood nothing but the fact that his attempt to fix the problem had failed.

He talked to another group of boys. They looked at the board and confirmed the catch. They blamed the newly appointed student president. They must have belonged to the opposition party. They at once started planning an aggressive movement against sheer negligence and irresponsibility displayed by the newly elected president. One of them clicked and saved the image on his cell-phone and they rushed to their party office.

Chintu was not sure of the outcome, so he asked two girls who crossed him after a moment. They must have been freshers as they appeared pale and frightened of ragging. Their outfit confirmed it. Hair greased with excessive coconut-oil and parted in two braids, they were dressed in same coloured salwar-suits. They appreciated Chintu's intelligence but offered no help since they were too scared to talk to anyone in the college.

His hopes were about to die when the watchman called him. He must have been watching Chintu for long time. He must have assumed that the kid was lost and he generously offered his help. Chintu, on the contrary, asked him to look at the board and told him the spelling mistake. The watchman laughed and acknowledged his illiteracy. He, further, added his disgust for his profession and hoped to get a better job only if he could read and speak English. He looked at his wrist-watch and asked Chintu to stay and talk to the college principal whose arrival was expected anytime.

Mention of the principal made Chintu sick and he inquired time.

'It's about to twelve', the watchman replied.

'What....', said Chintu and ran away. The watchman was taken back by Chintu's sudden move but couldn't chase him and ask reasons behind the unexpected withdrawal. 'Naughty kids..', he thought and resumed his duty.

Chintu was running out of breath. He reached the school in time and greatly relieved to catch the school bus. What a daring adventure he had, he thought while securing a seat near a window. He had never bunked his school earlier, but that day he had no other option. He forgot his note-book that morning and couldn't sit in Sharma Sir's class without his homework. Had it been any other subject or any other teacher, he would have boldly accepted his fate. He had to vanish somewhere away from the class for five hours. He first hid behind the school bus and when everyone had entered the school, he quietly slipped into the main road. After walking around two kilometers, he reached the private college's campus. It was a safe place since he expected no one to catch him red-handed there. Rohan was out of town; his apartment's watchman must have been sleeping at that time; his house-maid wasn't crazy enough to visit that part of the universe. Moreover the place was far from the local market, thus he could safely assume no surprise appearance from anyone of his neighbours. His hobby of playing various video-games and watching cartoon-network helped him devise such full-proof plan.

He, however, had an exceptional experience that day. He always wished to be in a college instead of being in a school, but the complete episode was slightly confusing to him. He couldn't discuss that with anyone and forgot the whole incident in a few days. The spelling-mistake was also corrected in a week. But the world of excessive ragging, aggressive politics and absurd romanticism keeps waiting for him; the world where powerful knowledge is protected by illiterate guards. Fortunately or unfortunately he will be a part of this college culture in few years.