I took this photograph last summer, which now feels like a decade ago, as the wind whistles through the crack in my window and the rain drums upon my roof. The photograph is simple but it represents escapism to me, something we all need every now and then especially during this grim winter.
Ever since I was young whenever I saw planes soaring above me I’d imagine where the plane was heading. It was usually somewhere warm during England’s never-ending icy winters or somewhere cold during our weeklong tepid summers. Nowadays, however, whenever I see planes painting the sky with a white brush of vapor trails, I envisage myself on it heading to India, a country I left only two months ago but yearn to return to.
This yearning has been brought about because some of my friends are travelling to India in the next few weeks as well as one of my friends still in India announcing her engagement. As I lecture those about to visit incredible India about where to go and what to avoid I brim over with explorers envy, knowing that soon they will be clinging onto a rickshaw as it carves through Delhi or sipping masala chai, high in the Himalayas. So I look at this photograph and pretend, just for a moment, that I am too.