They died today.
Those old shoes - those well worn, scuffed, much abused companions of so many journeys. In the minute that I looked down to see what was wrong with my stride, I saw how they'd come apart, ripped at the seams, beyond saving.
Grey with a smattering of pink thoughtfully placed - like dawn's rosy hues breaking the dark of a receding night. The grey was for you; white dirties easily, black was too boring and the all pink/ all blue shoes were deemed too girlie for 'your girl'. The grey was a happy compromise, made stylish by the pink that was for me - for the 'babe' I was rapidly turning into (according to you anyway - really! You wanted me in torn jeans and grunge tees forever???). We paid a bomb for them at CP's Reebok on a regular weekday evening made memorable by the splurge on shoes and the impromptu dinner date you took me on to celebrate.
"Think of them as an investment in health", I said.
"Yeah well, I'll make you run a mile every night then - we'll start a couples only workout plan", you quipped. And so were born the shoes that died today.
As I looked at them, surprised at their sudden demise, I began to notice things I really hadn't paid much heed to before - the cracks in the seams, the eroded rubber on the tips, the near vanished treads. Even the fabric looked as if it was held together by sheer will - that of a pair that didn't want to go just yet. A pair that had seen its days of a thousand strides - in mountain climbs and river crossings, at the local park and atleast 3 different gyms in the city. In a million steps, big and small, within the city and without. In rain and shine alike, at Corbett, Bhagsu, Goa, Mumbai and practically every place I've traveled to in the last 5 years - my tireless champions of tired feet, my constant companions in every mile of work and play. They looked like they'd been through the wringer - and all the signs of impending demise were there. Its just that I took them so much for granted that I never noticed the cracks and the scuffs, the ripped seams and the holes in the fabric. And that they held for me, a last happy memory of our last shopping trip together - a memory I think I didn't want to let go of.
Perhaps, that, then, is the true nature of pain. It molds itself to us, much like those shoes fit my feet - as if made to exact size. It walks with us, a constant companion that we grow so accustomed to that we take it for granted, it carves out its own niche in our hearts and becomes a quiet part of our lives - in waking breaths and sighs of sleep alike. And even through the passage of years, even when it starts to lessen, we don't realize that it's time to let it go - that we're ready for the pain of past memories and times to fade, that it is no more a fitting companion on this journey we call life and that the time has come to bid it adieu. Until, one day, we have an epiphany - some of us do and move on; some of us don't and hence carry around the corpse of that which should've been cremated years ago.
I was en-route to the gym when they came apart at my feet. I turned and went to the nearest shoe store and asked for a pair of their best and sturdiest workout shoes - the kind that would survive a daily dose of cardio+strength and a mishmash of exercises and tasks. A fresh pair in black and peach, to be tasked with walking, running, climbing, pacing and fitting itself to the shape of my foot over the years to come. And as my feet said 'Hello' to their new best friends, I asked the salesman for a favor - to drop those old, dead and gone forevermore grey and pink shoes into the nearest garbage bin (and maybe take along with them, some of the vestigial attachment to the memory of a certain shopping trip).
And then I promised myself that I would learn to let go of that which has lost all meaning in the here and now of my today and the promise of my days to come...that, perhaps, will be a story I'll write another day.
Those old shoes - those well worn, scuffed, much abused companions of so many journeys. In the minute that I looked down to see what was wrong with my stride, I saw how they'd come apart, ripped at the seams, beyond saving.
Grey with a smattering of pink thoughtfully placed - like dawn's rosy hues breaking the dark of a receding night. The grey was for you; white dirties easily, black was too boring and the all pink/ all blue shoes were deemed too girlie for 'your girl'. The grey was a happy compromise, made stylish by the pink that was for me - for the 'babe' I was rapidly turning into (according to you anyway - really! You wanted me in torn jeans and grunge tees forever???). We paid a bomb for them at CP's Reebok on a regular weekday evening made memorable by the splurge on shoes and the impromptu dinner date you took me on to celebrate.
"Think of them as an investment in health", I said.
"Yeah well, I'll make you run a mile every night then - we'll start a couples only workout plan", you quipped. And so were born the shoes that died today.
As I looked at them, surprised at their sudden demise, I began to notice things I really hadn't paid much heed to before - the cracks in the seams, the eroded rubber on the tips, the near vanished treads. Even the fabric looked as if it was held together by sheer will - that of a pair that didn't want to go just yet. A pair that had seen its days of a thousand strides - in mountain climbs and river crossings, at the local park and atleast 3 different gyms in the city. In a million steps, big and small, within the city and without. In rain and shine alike, at Corbett, Bhagsu, Goa, Mumbai and practically every place I've traveled to in the last 5 years - my tireless champions of tired feet, my constant companions in every mile of work and play. They looked like they'd been through the wringer - and all the signs of impending demise were there. Its just that I took them so much for granted that I never noticed the cracks and the scuffs, the ripped seams and the holes in the fabric. And that they held for me, a last happy memory of our last shopping trip together - a memory I think I didn't want to let go of.
Perhaps, that, then, is the true nature of pain. It molds itself to us, much like those shoes fit my feet - as if made to exact size. It walks with us, a constant companion that we grow so accustomed to that we take it for granted, it carves out its own niche in our hearts and becomes a quiet part of our lives - in waking breaths and sighs of sleep alike. And even through the passage of years, even when it starts to lessen, we don't realize that it's time to let it go - that we're ready for the pain of past memories and times to fade, that it is no more a fitting companion on this journey we call life and that the time has come to bid it adieu. Until, one day, we have an epiphany - some of us do and move on; some of us don't and hence carry around the corpse of that which should've been cremated years ago.
I was en-route to the gym when they came apart at my feet. I turned and went to the nearest shoe store and asked for a pair of their best and sturdiest workout shoes - the kind that would survive a daily dose of cardio+strength and a mishmash of exercises and tasks. A fresh pair in black and peach, to be tasked with walking, running, climbing, pacing and fitting itself to the shape of my foot over the years to come. And as my feet said 'Hello' to their new best friends, I asked the salesman for a favor - to drop those old, dead and gone forevermore grey and pink shoes into the nearest garbage bin (and maybe take along with them, some of the vestigial attachment to the memory of a certain shopping trip).
And then I promised myself that I would learn to let go of that which has lost all meaning in the here and now of my today and the promise of my days to come...that, perhaps, will be a story I'll write another day.
