A walk to my office

I looked at the sky with a thankful face for not being very hot. I watched my steps as I walked on the pavement. It is no longer a new path after passing a year in this office, it’s among things I have known still cannot tag it as ‘my’. I have no intimacy with this path and I don’t think it has any towards me. I am just one of the thousands of people who hammer their foot into it. In this one year, this path has been same not even a small change. I have never strolled upon it just to check how it is. I didn’t know how does it look till today though I have walked on it innumerable times. Even today I had no intention of watching it but I did. I couldn’t ignore the stones carved into it as I watched my foot nimble to my office. The stones were cut to create a special pattern. The gaps which couldn’t have been greater than half inch gave impression as if it were the lines cut by a fish as it swam in the water. It had a rhythm though very oblivious. The blue lines about 4 inches thick cut across at places looked like some kind of scars. Had there been some other lines with different colors I would have thought the street looked like the painted face of a football spectator in some kind of tournament. It is possibly one of the cleanest paths in the city as it enjoys to be positioned in front of the palace. It is also one of the least busy paths in the city as it does not host any offices, restaurants, molls etc. But it does have beggars and their family. The beggars are either women with children or elderly people. The women have their toddlers held in their lap or are unleashed to crawl around on their own. When there are children people tend to stop by and offer at least something. I wonder what does the future hold for these children, may be they are destined to be beggars themselves or the rag pickers. When vehicles stop on the signals the older children rushes to knock the windows of the vehicles, get their hands inside the vehicles asking for alms which can be food or money. If you give them some cash they will slip it in their pockets and if you give them coins they will allow them to remain in their bowls. I feel as if the street watches them in silence, it watches them when they take nap under their umbrellas, when they eat from a single plate and when their mothers reproaches them for not being able to get something from the passersby. They come to the road just like I come to my office. I don’t know where they live but I can say for certain they do not spend their night on that road.
I noticed something more, this road, this pavement is always clean, cleaner than any other pavements in the city except for some dogs’ droppings and the excreta of these beggars. On the other side of the road trees droop through the once royal fence. They look like old tall men bent to pick something from the ground. The shades of these trees make the other side cooler but the foul smell of birds’ droppings make the walk on that side really painful. I can see the faces that have been voluntarily wrinkled by the passers by to avoid the smell on the other side. While most of the men use their hand to put over their nose, women and girls have their handkerchiefs. I cannot say by this sight if men use handkerchiefs lesser than women or if few men carry handkerchiefs as compared to their female counterparts.
On my side of the road, there are guards with machine guns on the gate of American Embassy. This is just a wing, the main office is not here. I look at them, there have been no problems in this area, no terror threats, no nothing so they are less alert. However when the door opens they stand firm and rigid. I do not know if these same guards stand their and even now as I write this I do not remember their faces. They are joking with each other. Now I am at the cross-road and I have to move into another street, my office is just a minute walk from here. I won’t be back to this street until tomorrow as I use another route while returning.