This was my room  for five weeks recently whilst I studied yoga at the AYRI (ashtanga yoga research institute) in Mysore which is Karnakata, Southern India.

Waking early and pulling on my yoga clothes, wrapping a dress over the top and making a cocoon of myself in a shawl; I would tiptoe through the dark house and head out underneath the coconut palms to my yoga practise and dogs would bark at this strange shadowy figure brandishing a yoga mat.

India smells like petrol and woodsmoke, drains and jasmine.

India sounds like a one man band on a motorway.

It feels like living at a free festival. Wild dogs, wild kids, singing colours and moments of absolute peace.

It feels like home.