How serene the world looks from behind the windowpane! A big tangle of orange and black disrupted only by stalwart buildings determinedly rising from the mess…tiny cars that weave in and out of sight, sleepily tracing bejeweled, haphazard paths of streetlights strung together like lanterns at a garden party.

But it is a battle of the senses, of seeing against believing, because my mind knows – Fast cars look sedate, dark enclaves look small, sounds drown in silence, only from such distance.

Should I lean out and sweep through the cool silken air with outstretched arms, I would feel the hushed intensity, like a boiling kettle on the verge of commencing its plaintive wail. And then a honk here, a thud there, a revving far away, a light goes out, and the kettle huffs and sighs into silence as the flame is quenched just when the kettle squeaks and the window is pulled firmly shut.