The Autobiography of an Old Shoe

Today, I was dumped in the roadside bin callously and indifferently. It was as if I never existed in that little girl’s life anymore. All because I had lost a sole and become worn out and all right, all right! A couple of inches too small for her growing feet. But I was still her favorite pair of red shoes. He mom must have given that thought some more weight age but no, she did not. She wrapped me in an old newspaper and had me thrown outside the house by the janitor.

I still remember the day when I found myself out of the crisp box in a Shoe showroom. Everything was bright and shining around me. All the shoe were lined up in perfect and neat order amidst all those lights and mirrors, sparkling and new. I felt like a queen in the middle of it and I must say I had become a bit smug. After all I was a red pair of ballerina, the kind that young girls love to don and all the young girls made a beeline for me as soon as they stepped inside the showroom with their gasps and sighs. But of course, not all could dare to afford me but then this little girl came in with her mother and all she had eyes for were me. She promised her mother she would forego all other luxuries for a year, if only she could have me. Her mother agreed, albeit a bit reluctantly as I was on the pricier side but the girl would have no other way. I was soon billed ad packed in their shopping bag, on my way to a new adventure and destination.

Back home, the girl could not have enough of me. Wherever she went, I was the star attraction. She boasted about me to her friends, acquaintances and relatives and soon girls from far and wide came to cast a look at those magical red shoes. But alas, one day, the girl, in all her carelessness of childhood stepped in a pile of dog – shit and sullied me. No amount of scrubbing, washing and rebuke from her mother could restore me to my earlier glory.

The girl, however, still managed to wash, clean and polish me to the best of her ability. She and I together would cover a lot many adventure in the course of the next two-three years. All the parties we attended and games we played, I was a witness to her struggles, her insecurities and her joys. She confided in me a lot and I began to think I would always remain an inseparable part of her life. It was as if she and I were pitted against the rest of the world.

But, the euphoria did not last long. In about two years’ time, I had become old and jaded. I became too small for her growing up toes and I began to pinch her little feet. She became wary of donning me anymore and moved on to more sparkling, new shoes. I lay there is a corner gathering dust and hoping against hope to be picked up every time she opened the shoe cabinet. It was not meant to be, I remained there till today, when her mother picked me up, wrapped me in an old newspaper and handed me over to the janitor to be thrown away.

Wait, I can hear someone. There is this rag picker girl who has her eyes on me and I can almost see the same twinkle in her eyes as I had seen long back in another girl. I think, I am going to be off for another new adventure…

Autobiography

From The Autobiography of an Old Shoe to HOME PAGE

ShareFacebookTwitterPinterestWhatsAppMessenger