Sole survivor

I have some passions that are entirely hedonistic, kept, for the most part, to myself. But one – apart from chocolate - is widely known of, to the point that I have made friends with complete strangers because of it. I speak of that sole obsession of mine: shoes. Perhaps the only people who can understand how I feel are my father, who stoically creates space for my ever-growing collection of footwear, my friend Nina, who shares my passion from an acquisitive and aesthetic point of view, and my long-distance buddy Shyam, who has decided that marriage (to another woman, I must specify) will have to wait while he scouts the internet market for pieces that will keep me amused and entertained, mainly so that he will not have to do so, especially when he is supposed to be working.

Perhaps my fetish for foot-ware came from my mother who, bless her heart and sole, believed that every outfit must have slippers to match. Which explained her collection, albeit not too vast, of pretty, decorative, enviable, leched after sandals that I coveted until I grew into her feet, at which point, I tried them on every chance I got, which was often, when she was out and left her store of lipstick and chappals for me to experiment with. Of course, once I acquired some of my own, I usually forced her into putting on a pair that was perfect with her dress code for the occasion, often pushing her in and out of a dozen pairs, proclaiming that this red was too bright, that was too blah and that there was hideous. Being an understanding and fairly indulgent mother in these matters, she allowed me my way, though sometimes with a gentle grumble. And she made sure that I was well shod, one very memorable time digging about 22 pairs of vari-coloured Kolhapuris out of her bottomless suitcase because I had wanted a certain set I could not find where I lived at that stage of my life.

When I was very young, sandals were the norm. I was not overly active, but chic in romper suits, denim frocks and little A-line minis that were made with exotic materials (like paper), fabulous motifs (a sunflower in a pot, for one) and exquisitely crafted embellishments (a smocked yoke, for instance). With these clothes, sandals worked best, flat, double strapped, with buckles that a small girl with a total disdain for footwear could not easily take off. In school, a standard and very boring design of closed shoe was the norm, with light sneakers for variety to use during PE, which I hated with the same passion as I hated the shoes I had to wear for that course (a deep connection, mayhap?). When I was a teenager, and my independent thought processes came into working order, I discovered now only what fun footwear could be, but also how my feet could be slid into stuff that was distinctly worth having. It began slow - on a holiday in the northeast of India, I found a Chinese shoemaker who had the most gorgeous sandals that were a brilliant leafy green, high platform heels with a sloped stack and a very sexy ankle strap. I wore them as often as parents permitted and the need arose, swanning through parts of Europe and the US in my prized greens.

My mother was the perpetrator when she bought me perilously high sharply spike heeled slouchy black suede boots. I wore them to school as often as I could, tottering through the vast grounds from class to class. In college, I went back to flats, perhaps because the sprawling campus was set high in the mountains and I am subject to vertigo. And once I grew up and figured out that moderation was healthy, at least for the feet, I balanced delicately on small block heels, playing with colour and configuration rather than height. Today, I buy stilettos – my favourite being a needle-sharp pair in gold and diamante that I have not yet had the courage of need to wear – but generally stick my beleaguered feet into comfortable wedges that keep my equilibrium dignified. My last shoe-buy was a pair of woven lime green and yellow platform slides with a three inch spike heel that are a perfect replica except in colour of a pink and crimson pair I had serendipitously acquired two weeks earlier. I did, however, maintain my sanity by buying a mundane pair of sneakers, which made it all right!

So am I aiming to rival the once-famous Imelda Marcos with my collection? Certainly not, I retort indignantly when people ask, I still do not have any Blahniks or Choos or even Ferragamos in my shoe closet. Which reminds me, there’s a sale on at the mall at this well known international shoe store….