What is time? Is it just a convenient invention to trap us into believing that we do not live forever? Or is it the belief that we do not live forever in whatever form that time is demarcated by stages in our lives from birth to teenage to middle age to old age? Whatever the reason we are tied to time for life and we have no choice but to let time unfurl the events in our lives. This sketch is about how I mark my time with an ink pen whenever I am in this kind of mood and whenever time does not unload anything else that demands my immediate attention and devotion. There are too many things that I want to do and 24 hours is a miserly portion discounting the time needed for sleep and rest.
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