The Autobiography of a Lost Shoe
I was ‘born’ in the BATA factory town years ago and displayed at the exclusive BATA showroom in Connaught-Place, along with my brother. Before I could spend a few days with my other friends in the display window, my sibling and I were bought by a young boy. We became his most prized possession, for he had paid an exorbitant amount for us.
We spent a few months in his shoe cupboard. Occasionally, we were taken out, used fondly and returned to the cupboard. The boy used us sparingly, lest we get spoilt. Those were beautiful days indeed. We idled away our time in the cupboard gossiping with our new friends—Mr. Black, Mr. White and Mr. Gray.
Alas! Our good days lasted a short while. Today, remain alone, unloved and tattered without my “left” brother and other friends. Perhaps, they have forgotten me, but I often recollect the good old times and feel sad.
This is how I was ‘lost’. Raki, my owner, placed me on a shoe-rack outside a temple. I saw many others placed on the rack. Some big, some small and some very tiny. Some looked brand new and the others tattered. We were busy ‘socializing’, when suddenly a pair of brown hands cruelly picked us up and stuffed us into a large bag. We cried for help, but in vain. Little did I know that these were the last moments of our togetherness and joy with my left brother and friends I was separated from them very soon?
Now, I lie discarded, abandoned, on a dirty rack in the Sunday Bazar. I know, no one has any use for me. I will be discarded, on the streets, kicked around unless someone chances upon my ‘left’ brother.
