Shoe Life

“In my shoebox lives a tiny little fairy; every now and then she sprinkles shimmering dust over my pair of shoes, so that they never cease to grow old, at nights she scrubs and cleans their soles, blowing soothing charms into their hollows to ward off the evil spirits away; which makes them always look gleaming new just like the ones proudly displayed at the shop windows. Now, my feet have grown tired and old and they refuse to walk a distance further but the moment I set my eyes on these very shoes they tend to beckon me from a mile away, teasing me like an old lover. And as we lock our gaze with me moving ahead, a smile curls at the corners of my mouth as I slip my feet into these enchanting shoes. Mesmerized, I am rekindled with a new hope and fervor as I get ready to step out and face the world all over again.”

Shoes of all kinds have always held my fascination. Plain ballerina ones, flat open sandals, closed shoes with a tiny portion of the toes peeping out, strappy wedges or even the rustic Kolhapuri chappals; a special trademark originating from the southern district of Maharashtra. But having said that, how many of us have actually ever paid attention to the way any of these shoes sound? It’s truly an interesting observation as at times it can throw some great insights to the kind of person one really is.

In my mind when you hear the arrival of a person, with his feet stomping heavily on the ground it bears the mark of a headstrong personality with maybe a mean temper lurking in the background. Or the feet that sound like the creaking of old wooden boards gives a notion of someone who is bone tired after a hard day at work and is staggering up the rickety stairs, dying to grab hold of a pint of beer or two before collapsing on his unruly bed. Then there are those sounds of the feet which one is unable to hear but can sense the presence of a stranger lurking in the shadows or some alert ears may catch a slight swoosh, causing alarm bells to ring as the mind smells fear around the corner. I, for sure shall not trust such silent feet which moves around stealthily, sneaking on you unexpectedly.

Then again, I reminisce of times when I was a little girl prancing around, wearing 3 inches high stilettoes left by some innate cousin who had come over to attend a wedding in the family. Holding my printed frock a few inches above my knees I would gingerly slip into those dainty heels and look down at my feet with rapt wonder. Standing tall, in front of the mirror a false gusto would overtake me as I imagined stepping out of the house in my high heels towering over all the little boys and girls of my age. Standing tall made me believe in my innocent dream of reaching out to the moon and stars and bringing them down to the earth. Standing tall that summer evening, I felt that I could conquer one and all. Silly thoughts, but till date, I get the same nostalgic feeling when I hear the sound of high heels merrily clicking around me. 

But the sound of feet that is closest to my heart and which I shall not trade for any other sound is the one that emerges from the bare feet. Picture a one year old toddler tottering towards you with open arms, his feet unsteady as they go thump thump but his eyes all lit up and shining as he takes his initial baby steps and moves forward, creating music with every step that he takes. Or when you dribble your feet in water and hear the sound of waves that rapidly come lapping up the sand from the feet; run wild on the wet grass on a rainy day and plish plosh plish plosh  the earth will throw fantastic sounds from below, watch a group of boys playing Kabaddi and see their feet getting entangled and landing in the murky brown mud, their backs glistening from the harsh rays of the sun, but pure joy is seen on their faces as they play the game of spirit on their bare feet.

Moving ahead, I hear the crunch of my own shoes as it treads softly while making contact with the wet soil. I lift one foot and stare at the ground where the sole has dug deep and has left a perfect arch in the soil below. I keep moving, leaving a trail of thought behind that what happens one day when we all succumb to ashes? Will the journey of our feet end along with us or will a faint trace of our memory continue to linger in people’s minds as the years go by? 

Maybe then these very feet will prove to be impressionable as they would have left behind fine traces of their imprints in some tiny corner of the earth marking their presence and continuing to remain immortal forever.