The door to my terrace was always my getaway. Sleepless afternoons when my parents would have their aftrrnoon nap, were spent huddled in a bit of shade under a sunny blue sky of puffy white clouds. Time stood still then. For me and my sketchbook, it was my escape , my time with the world and me at its center.

Today brough me back to that time as a child. But there were so many more thoughts , so many more worries. Events of the days and of the previous evening were still ringing in my head. Once gain I was torn between what I must do, what I am expected to do and searching for what I want to do.

My time of blissful innocence is lost. But that wanting, that desire to go back gripped me as the warm breeze of our Indian monsoon caressed my skin.