It was in the break of the day. at 6 pm, I was in my uncle's house. My mom stepped into the kitchen Ifor the so called 'women gossips' and my dad had to set the drawing hall into a conference room for his usual discussions related to business and current affairs. A chat had already begun. They were going on and on… I then walked towards the balcony that shred the curtain portraying the evening scenario. I could see children playing, the sun setting unperturbed and the evening walks that dragged me into my own world.

From the natural view to the un-natural and then at last my sight got settled in the neighbourhood. No, I was not sneaking into the neighbour's private life, but rather his private moment. The apartment opposite on the first floor pictured a very beautiful balcony that did turn many faces for its groomed garden and hanging flower pots. I could also see a grand old man comfortably seated on the arm chair. I don't know what made me keep gazing at that old man, when actually at this age it should have been some young man who had to drag me into this kind of attention. My memories then flashed back , I remember my mom saying, “Act your age” and I kept assuring her that I am very much normal.

But just that I keep discovering my other side every now and then to alert that philosopher in me. For that discovery a old man or a young handsome hunk that very less mattered.

All of a sudden I heard a sound, thud!! From the second floor a huge iron rod had fallen that startled me for a minute because it could have given rise to any nuisance in the colony. Moreover, small kids were playing just below the apartment. But nothing seemed to have disturbed the old man on the first floor. It looked as if nothing in the world could break his meditation or concentration that he was trying hard to keep. He reminded me of the Bronze and marble sculpture of Le Penseur by Auguste Rodin in France. The sculpture depicts a man who remained the symbol of philosophy. The old man portrayed a philosophical picture, who was utilising his time in the act of solitude.

I then had to take my sight off him on my aunt's call to have hot-hot pakodas. For nothing can be more important than the grieving of the hunger pangs and the temptations of the taste buds. My aunt shoots, what were you doing here, all alone? Now,