What a benign topic—footwear. But I decided long ago that I should write about this, and here I am, without really knowing what to pen.

Shoes and I have always had a difference of opinion. We could never get along. When did we part ways—were we ever friends or enemies? In Delhi, there was no way to ignore these weight-bearers. Like Mumbaikars, Delhiites were always neatly dressed, and shoes were a must. In that cold, how could you not wear shoes? So, at school, I wore them too. I remember writing that my mother always dressed us well, so shoes weren’t alien to me back then.

But when we moved to Chennai, the approach to dressing changed. The weather played a big role in this transformation. How could anyone bear to wear shoes—and socks that would smell like a dead rat after a day’s torture—in the ever-increasing heat? That’s when the simple, light "Singapore" or "Hawaii" chappals became popular.

Wow! So simple, easy to wear, and convenient. Just a flat base with two rubber straps on either side, fastened through three holes—one in the front and two at the rear. Slip your feet in, and off you go. They were cheap, affordable, and came in various colors, which you could change as often as you liked. These chappals even had a way of announcing someone's approach with their distinct "tak-tak" sound. The problem, though, was that the streets would often be filled with the simultaneous "tak-tak" of many such chappals from every direction.

If the straps wore out from the burden of carrying us around and the buttons came off, a safety pin could easily fix them, and the chappal was good to go again—no need for a cobbler. In the worst-case scenario, you could just buy a new pair. Using safety pins to hold the straps was quite common back then.

However, these chappals weren’t too fond of the rainy season and became a bit aggressive. The streets would be filled with slush, dotted with pools of water. If you managed to walk a few meters without stepping into one of these water reservoirs, you were lucky. But step into one, and thanks to the rubber chappals, all you needed to do was rinse them on the surface of the same water, and they’d look clean again—at least on the surface. You could then walk confidently. But, as I said, these chappals had a mind of their own when they encountered water. The "tak-tak" sound would become louder, and the slush clinging to the base would design artistic dots all over the back of your pants.

What do you do in such a situation?

Continued in 185. Foot and Inches - Part 2