Splashing through the rice fields Sonu was running back home. His shoes were choked with mud but he didn’t seem to care any more.
Sonu was eleven. His father, a farmer, took deep pride in sending his kids to school but it burnt a hole through his pocket. Mother drew the monthly budget in advance and needs were met as per priorities she set.
Sonu had been waiting for new shoes. The old ones were frayed with wide lace holes, withered sole and were discoloured. But it was going to end. His shoes were on the shopping list.
All was quiet at home.
“Where is father? Aren’t we going today?”
Sonu rushed to the kitchen where mother was grinding coriander.
“Aren’t we going today?” He blurted. But mother did not lift eyes from the grinder “we’ll see…” Sonu’s face fell, he might have to wait for another week. Sonu saw mother smiling and rushed out angrily. Being a boy he was not supposed to be bothered about this stuff… the looks and clothes… it is what his sisters thought of and he laughed at, but today everything was different.
As the family moved down the village lanes, Sonu kept pace with father. His brother trailed behind grumpily, it was not his turn this month.
As they reached the haat, the girls went with mother, the boys with father. They stopped before a seller who had shoes on display. That pair! Sky-blue stripes tapering at the end, blue laces, cushions, blue sole, sparkling white base. He often dreamt of owning something like that but they never bought expensive ones like those, settling for less flashy ones.
The seller noticed and handed the pair to his father, emphasising what a good buy they were.
Soon, Sonu was trying out the pair. He didn’t realize when they bargained and paid.
When he came out of the haat, Sonu had the new shoes on, the old ones rested in a box. He was numb to everything except the soft feel at his feet.
On way back, Sonu was alone. With his new shoes on he wanted to stamp his way through every puddle. But how could he be so callous? His friends had not yet seen the shoes and they already seemed to have lost their sheen.
He sat under a tree and unlaced his shoes regretting his mindless treatment of them.
He wiped the dirt off the sole with the end of his shirt. When the work was done he put his old shoes on and packed the new pair in the box.
Now, he splashed through the puddles, ran after the ducks, around the community pond and up his favorite tree.
A teeming number of dragonflies sat on the grass where the fields ended. He caught one by the wings, slid a thread through its body and left it to fly, while the other end of the thread was still in his hand.
He would show the boys his new shoes. They would gasp with wonder; they would beg him to let them try.
The village came in sight, it was time to wear the new shoes.
But where were his new shoes?
Under that tree by the puddle! He shot back.
Past the community pond, the ducks called out to their young playmate but he was in a tearing hurry.
Sweat trickled down his forehead and a film of tears cast over his eyes.
“Ill find them there! Ill find them there!”
Past the swarm of insects, the puddles and reached the place.
They should be here - he muttered on and on as he stormed the place.
He tore the tall weeds away, went round and round and round the tree.
He could have dug the earth had he left any energy. He slumped under the tree.
Still hoping that they were somewhere here
They were gone. He did not know what to do; too many thoughts came at him in one instance. He did not even know what to think.
We could have helped him with some philosophy-that life has a bewildering sense of hum our and a painful manner of teaching the living her ways. But it would have been of little consequence to him.
As the sun began to set that forlorn figure made its way back home. His clothes were choked with mud, his shoes were worn and old.
