That road had a sharp gradient drop before merging on to B.C road. It lay bare on one edge, while on the other was shielded by unknown creepers, clinging in desperation to the walls of the mansion of a rich baron, now long-forgotten and quite possibly dead. It waved and curved shortly afterwards with its shenanigans, before it ran pass the B.P.(tm) LPG storage, a single storied building with its typical multi layers of cheap paint and familiar air of arrogance. During the busy days, the place was a sight to behold with its long impatient lines and familiar metallic clanking of the forebearers of the daily bread all weighed by the ever present cloak of incompetence followed to the point of religiosity.
The road left the store behind to follow a sharp sinusoidal dip, to the endless terror and joy of 8 year olds clinging to the back seats of their fathers Chetak, an experience matched only by the mighty rides of big town parks. But its not like they had anything to fear, as just at the crest at the other end stood the neighbourhood temple, perhaps strategically placed to assuage any nascent doubts as to their fathers motor skills.
It then took a slow, almost non deliberate, curve to the left.And it is the on the banks of this curve, that our destination lay.
“Thank you, as always” the spectacled middle aged supervisor remarked, while keeping her head sunk in the dusty logs as she made the entry.
It was as hideous on the inside as on the out. Protruding at an awkward angle, the building seemed to be at odds with the general scheme of the roads demeanour. The steps leading up to it, a case in point of irony, chipped away at most places and laid bare their heedless makers intentions. Surrounded by others towering beside it, the building would have found itself covered in perpetual shadows for entirety of the day had it not been the first in the lane.
To most it was just the ‘Blind Girls School’. A 2 storeyed, 5 or 6 bedroom building with a small office at front. Inside there were few walls,mostly separating the major rooms from one another.Among the rooms, 2 perhaps were classrooms while the rest held the bunk beds with and one makeshift kitchen or storage. If one were frequent enough to visit, they would find the rooms playing a sad tragic game of round robin with each other with every room acquiring a new role on every visit.
“Sir, you can send the kids to distribute the fruits.” she said, finally looking over.