One of the best things about working late into the night is that when you return home, you have the roads to yourself. The coveted, hassled space by the day, suddenly becomes your only realm. Under the inky blue sky, the demonic roads take on an angelic demeanour and do not repel you any more by its unconcerned air.

The city that's bursting on its seams with unbridled money, people and now high rises suddenly seems peaceful.

Yes, this city that supposedly never sleeps after all does have its shut-eye time. Gazing out of the windows of an SUV that transports me into the arms of sweet repose daily, I feel a sense of calm.

This was and is my home after all. A home that I used to love so much for its ubiquitous bindaas attitude and warmth. A home I suddenly started hating with all my heart, when the 'bindaasness' contorted into callousness, a home I then disowned for its meanness, fell out with and swore never to return.

Then, just as easily, I was falling in love all over again. Now, speeding past the empty city roads in the wee hours, I notice a sensuous side of Mumbai. It may be a disgusting thought, but not inconceivable.

At this time, there are no vehicles emitting constant dissonance into the putrid air, no pallid urchins scampering in intrepid haste, no pedestrians scurrying cheek-by-jowl on the narrow pavements, no hawkers spilling their wares on to the half-baked, ill-dug roads.

The city discards its virago image and takes on the garb of a nubile sixteen-old-year old lost on a balmy invigorating night. At this point, my imagination runs wild and I experience the excitement of an unworldly adolescent gurgling with anticipation.