Open windows, as a companion, have been with me for the better part of the last four years of my life. I have always treated a good window with respect. And be it, in selection of room in college, or placing my bed in my flat, windows have called the shots, for often than not.

Now, even if I don’t think of windows in a philosophical way (which, truth be told, I do!), it has quite a few practical disadvantages. In winter, say for example, it is a nuisance. The chilly draught that seeps in through the hinges, and the mosquitoes and other insects in winter: the dangers are real! In summer it is the afternoon sun which heats up the room by the day. By the night, in certain seasons, lizards from the outside wall ply up to find morsels for its dinner. Spiders as well. Not a very happy proposition being asleep and insects crawling all over you.

My story of windows can’t be said if I don’t say my story of clocks. I don’t have any clock in my bedroom. I don’t like to watch time crawl back and forth, in decisions and indecisions, in springs and bearings, in metals and ticks, into oblivion. The wall-clock is too crude, I always thought. But never said: too pompous to make such a statement, isn’t it?

The absence of a clock means the inclusion of an open window. What the clock can do the window cannot. The window cannot count seconds for its gusts, not minutes for breeze. The window looks on as the world moves, in complete disdain for the passage of time, which man fights against. And the sky-scraper-(or pine trees,-)sheared, tattered blue sky to float into your 8 by 10 of a room, under the wine of the moon. Cheers!

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