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As a child I had a particular fascination for a corner house. Our tiny apartment in the outskirts of Calcutta was just short of the corner but the adjoining one-room apartment, which was linked to our long corridor by a door that always remained closed, was the real corner. Then one day, that room became ours for a period of one year. That was a wonderful and exciting time. I spent innumerable hours looking down the exact geometrical corner of its balcony on to the crossing of the Grand Trunk Road with the Station Road. I waved to passing military convoys and ot trucks carrying youths to picnic spots during Christmas break. I used mats to make tents on the corner balcony and spent wet monsoon afternoons dreaming of starry nights under the shadows of Kilimanjaro. Then one day we moved away from that apartment, and since then I have never again lived in a corner house.

Did this young man grow up in this corner house? did he also put up his tent in the corner room thinking of Kilimanjaro? Why is a corner, a discontinuity, a sharp break point in an otherwise rectilinear life, so fascinating?

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Additional Photos by Animesh Ray (AnimeshRay) Gold Star Critiquer/Silver Workshop Editor/Gold Note Writer [C: 689 W: 44 N: 846] (9089)
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