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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.

Omen

It wasn't quite eleven o'clock, for everyone was watching Kyunki Saas bhi..., when all of a sudden everything went black.

“Mommy bho!!”, an innocent voice penetrated the silence.

“Roshni beta! Stay wherever you are. I'll get the torch”, a female responded while walking across the dark room. After some careful steps, she reached the other end of the room and lit a candle. It wasn’t a big room and by no means a luxurious one. It had a television set and a refrigerator in one corner, and an almirah and a small bed in others. Two odd chairs were placed near the almirah. Roshni, a nine year old girl, was sitting on one of them. Her textbooks and writing kit were scattered all over the place.

“Mommy! When will papa come?”, Roshni’s asked casually.

Her mother who was arranging news-papers in the T.V. stand, reached for the cell-phone.

“Soon!”, she replied while dialing a number on her cell phone. Unfortunately there was no network coverage.

“It's raining! It's raining!”, Roshni screamed from the balcony. Her mother rushed outside to get the washed clothes before they got wet in the rain.

“Mommy! What for breakfast?”, Roshni joyfully shot another question at her mother. She wasn't concerned about the answers but shooting random question was fun for her. It was an irritating exercise for her mother to entertain these inquiries. She was mechanically arranging clothes, putting slightly wet ones on the chairs.

The sound of continuous coughing caught her attention next. It was probably the old man who lived in the apartment below. There was a shop and a single room-kitchen set at the ground floor. The old man had been living there for long time. He used to work at the shop during the daytime and struggle to sleep at nights. He, however, never quitted smoking. He must have smoked another bidi. His pain was clearly audible.

“Mommy! My teacher says that smoking is a bad habit”, Roshni shared her wisdom. Her mother nodded and added that Daadu should quit smoking. The old man was not their blood-relative but every one used to call him Daadu. His age, fragile body and caring attitude earned him the title. He was one of the oldest residents of the locality.

It was a three storey building. The floor above was occupied by a widow. She had no immediate family. Her social life was limited to her monthly visits to the post-office for collecting pension. The petty amount was enough for her regular doses of supari. She couldn’t sleep without consuming tobacco and watching daily soaps. It was either an over age addiction or a way to kill time. The pleasure never came for free. Her toothless jaws were too delicate to chew the raw supari. She couldn’t afford expensive tobacco powders. She, however, enjoyed the pain of shattering it into tiny little pieces every night. She would gradually hit it with some heavy stone while humming old tunes. Her weak bones would never allow her to crush it in one blow. She would spend around half an hour, meticulously preparing a single dose. The complete process would create a rhythmic churning sound accompanied by her feeble humming. It was surely both an addiction and a time-killer for her.

Had there been no power-cut that night, all outside sounds would have gone unnoticed, but everything was clearly audible. It amused Roshni and annoyed her mother. She never liked that neighborhood. It was not a very promising place for a growing kid like Roshni. There was no play ground. It was very close to a heavily crowded road, but it was the only place Roshni's father could afford. He was working hard to save some money for an apartment in a better locality. He, at that time, was on a business trip to Delhi and was expected to arrive anytime.

The news-papers and the clothes couldn't keep Roshni's mother engaged for long time. She was steadily staring at the wall clock wishing to catch at least final few moments of her favorite television serial. As the clock struck eleven, her all hopes died and she went blank for a moment. The old man was still coughing at irregular intervals while the widow was vigorously grinding her tobacco. It annoyed her. She, out of frustration, pulled out an old magazine and started reading it in spite of dim lights. Roshni, on the other hand, was cheerfully playing with her doll, singing jingles occasionally.

A dog started crying suddenly. It was a scary howl and for a moment all other sounds were checked as if everyone got scared of it. Roshni also noticed it and found it cool. She was slightly over excited and was about to dance to these odd tunes when her mother grabbed her hand and forced her to sit peacefully. It was not a good omen. According to a common myth, dogs can see future, especially evil spirits who come to take someone on the final journey. When a dog cries in front of a house, a death is sure there. Roshni's mother shivered with sudden fear. The old man had stopped coughing by then. She looked out and saw a dog sitting opposite to their building. It was crying in deep pain.

“Mommy! Why is it crying?”

“It must be hungry beta!”, She guessed. She was actually convincing herself. She was not a superstitious lady. She was from a well-educated family who never believed such myths.

“Yes! It must be hungry”, she concluded and sat near Roshni.

“Is someone gonna die?”, Roshni asked innocently. It was not her another casual question. She demanded an answer that time and looked at her mother who was completely taken aback. How could a little child know about this myth? They never discussed these myths in front of her. She must have learnt it from the old lady or someone from the school.

“Who told you?... This is all wrong.” She furiously replied. “The dog is hungry. That's it. Go sleep now. Ain't you going to school tomorrow?”. She asked Roshni.

“But I won't go to school tomorrow.”, Roshni cheerfully declared.

“Why?”

“Because someone is gonna die tonight.”, Roshni presented her logic. Some months ago when Daadu's wife died, Roshni got a three day break. She was sent to her grand-mother's house. She learnt that day, ‘How cool deaths are!’. She loved to be with her grand-mother who would pamper her with interesting stories and delicious food. She would play with her cousins there. The crying dog gave her a hope of another such break.

“Stop saying it? Everything is fine.”, Her mother emphasized.

“It's just hungry.”, she added. “Just hungry.”

The next moment she was thinking over the possibility of a death in their building. Both the old man and the widow were potential candidates. The old-man was looking sick that very morning. She decided that she would ask Roshni's father to move to the ground floor after Daadu's departure. They would finally get rid of the daily supari-drama. Roshni would also love to move down; she thought and looked at her. Roshni was playing near the candle. She had just killed a small insect and was celebrating her victory.

“Stop it Roshni! One shouldn't hurt anyone.”, Her mother summoned her and resumed her death-hunting thoughts. She would probably not mind moving up in case of the widow's death. They would get a better cell-phone coverage there. Moreover, she could use the terrace for papad, mangodi and drying clothes. She felt delighted.

“Mommy! When will papa come?”, Roshni asked once again and unknowingly invoked a different thought process in her mother’s mind. Her mother got worried about Roshni’s father. Delhi recently had a series of bomb-blasts and it’s never safe to be outside. The old man and the widow were safe at the home, but anything could go wrong with Roshni's father. Another bomb-blast in a crowded place, a train mishap, a road accident; anything could possibly materialize the bad omen. She felt scared.

The dog was still crying. The drizzling had stopped and the painful howling was growing scarier every moment. She was completely lost in her thoughts and frozen to death. Roshni, all of a sudden, mimicked the crying dog, and howled. She started laughing after one howl, she was enjoying it. Before she could repeat it, her mother slapped her.

“Shut-up! I said”, Her mother was shivering with fear. The slapping was followed by three independent events. First, Roshni stopped howling and realized that imitating a crying dog wasn't a cool idea. Second, the locality got the normal power supply. Every electronic appliance breathed heavily for a moment and resumed the normal chorus. The candle slowly died down. And finally the cell-phone rang. It was Roshni's father. He had missed the train because of a traffic jam and would catch the next train after two hours. Everything settled down in a few minutes.

The old man was coughing next morning also. The widow was sleeping peacefully and Roshni was getting ready for school. At the far end of the street, the dog lay dead. The poor creature must really have been hungry last night.

Champa

The morning brought another ray of hope for Champa. “Will it happen today?”, she thought, and the mere thought excited her.

“There is a completely different world there, kind of fairy-land. I am dying to go there.”, Chameli contributed her theory. Although no one knew everything about the D-day, but everyone had a theory or two. Muniya, the mother of Champa, was the last to depart. She waited long before the D-day, but she was lucky enough to be selected. Before leaving, she told many stories about D-day to Champa, her elder daughter.

'Only selected one goes there.'

'and Ma! when does one return from there?', Champa asked her mother when she was a very young.

Muniya smiled at her child's innocence and said, 'No one wants to return from there. That is such a good place.'

'But Ma! this place is also good. I have so many friends here', Champa asked.

'Darling! that place is lot better, my mother used to tell me about the place. She once said that you will live like a queen there... I will meet my mother also there. Your grand-ma will love to hear about you.' Muniya was very excited about her journey.

'But I want to go with you Ma, and can we take Chameli also with us?', Champa asked. She was convinced by now that her mother was going to a much more beautiful place for forever.

'No honey! everyone goes there, but at the right time. I will go first, and then you and Chameli will come. Don't worry, the time will fly soon. I will wait for you there.' Muniya would surely miss Champa.

Muniya left after couple of days, and never returned. No one was expecting her return. Everyone was expecting the next departure. Only a fortunate one will be selected. Everyone had a belief that Champa would be the next. Champa's endless wait begun with her mother's departure. She started feeling amalgam of excitement, happiness and curiosity.

Champa and Chameli were best buddies. They were looking forward for Champa's departure. They would play together as usual, but now they started discussing the D-day, the departure day when Champa would leave. Chameli would tell her the stories that she had learned from others. These stories and theories fueled Champa's curiosity.

'You know what! Sonu says, you will get royal treatment there. You will be free to go anywhere you wish, free to eat whatever you like, free to meet whomever you want to meet and free to play whenever you want to. Isn't it great?'

'Yes! It is. I wish today is the D-day', Champa couldn't wait any longer.

Her wish was heard somewhere in the blue-heaven and that day became her departure day. Chameli and others came to see her off. Chameli was very happy, now she should be the next.

Champa's dream came true. She had so many stories to tell to her mother. She was eagerly waiting to meet her Grandma, and other friends. She knew she would soon be treated like a queen.

She looked outside the window and gazed at the blue sky, the flying-birds, the playing-children. Everyone looked happier, as if they all were happy for Champa, the fortunate one.

Soon they reached the final destination. Farqu came near to Champa, and smiled at his lovely goat. He took her rope in one hand and headed inside the meat-shop.