Our plot in
the village gets very damp with dew. With a drizzle, the ground is wet enough
to take a day for the water to soak into the soil. Last year’s downpour broke
down the eastern wall. This year’s deluge broke the western one and our private
flood killed many trees. We had to wade through knee-deep water to salvage
saplings, clean up clogged channels, and the fear of scorpions and snakes added
to the discomfort of toes clutching on to a mess of clayey mud, decaying grass,
soggy leaves and dead crawlies.
For the third time in a month, I
withdrew money from the bank to buy yet another pair of ‘rainy shoes’.
My shopping
is crisis-oriented. A strap breaks or a sole wears off, and I take a pilot to
the closest shoe-shop (until Bata opened its showroom on CHOGM Road, we
Sangoldkars had to go to far away Mapusa or Panaji, even further away on the
other side). This time, I worked my blistered feet through first a pair of
hawai chappals. The classic version of this rubber slipper is a white sole with
two blue straps with the size number encircled and engraved on both the sole
and the strap. Until 2-3 years ago, if the strap broke, you simply took it off
the sole and carried it to a local shop to buy a replacement. One could thus
stretch the pair for many months, until the sole was a couple of millimetres
thick. These days, no one keeps chappal spare parts. The ‘classic’ chappal is
still available, but hidden under the coloured versions that have swamped the
market. Purple soles with pink and emerald stripes or dots or wavy designs
across them, thick soles, thin soles, in all sorts of synthetic materials, to
suit many budgets.
The shops
(names unknown because the sign-boards are faded, rusty, or just above one’s
head) in the market stock cheap Thai/Chinese footwear. The price ranges from Rs
180 to 350 for a ‘decent’ pair that will last for a season if you travel by
bus, two seasons if your own vehicle transports you hither to thither and an
unpredictable week if you use your feet for commuting.
There is a
plethora of choices, but I don’t wear huge purple flowers on my toes, nor
transparent soft-plastic ‘ballets’ (India has borrowed this word to describe
slip-on shoes pointed at the toe end) with holes all over them. Some look like
leather: one sales-chap told me they outlast real hide. Others are called
‘all-weather’: I had bought one of these, my feet slipped inside the shoe
through the monsoons and sweated horribly through the sunny months. Besides,
they gave me bad bites. I don’t look at them even if there is nothing else
available in my size. The Paragon brand, like Carona, is hidden away, I can’t
fathom why. I had to ask for it.
For the men,
there was a flip-flop called ‘Gas’. (Apt!) Gas and Numero Uno were the cheapest
in the men’s section. Velcro studded rexine sandals seem to be popular with
men, as well as chappals that look like chappals, with ‘toes’. Branded shoes
(Nike) smell through cloudy weeks. Best avoided in these months unless you have
a house with sufficient drying space. Too bad we don’t have Metro or Regal
handy like in Mumbai, but the former has a website (Bata has one too) one can
order through: I don’t because I like to feel an item that I’m going to wear. Lunar
is a good brand, one person tells me, for value-for-money. Can’t say, never
tried.
Having found
that my feet had to live through gooey mess every time I walked outdoors, I
decided to buy a pair of gumboots (in some parts of the world they are known as
waders). Found them nowhere. I even asked construction site workers where
they’d got their sunny yellow ones from. Language problem, I couldn’t find out
anything. Took me many days to discover, right next to Barday’s Inn at
Calangute, a shop that sold Crocs and had gumboots. Without canvas inside, my size
and a bright scarlet. Over a thousand bucks. Well above my budget, but I bought
them. They don’t make squeaky sounds, keep my feet dry, are easy to slip on and
off.
I powder the
insides before I wear them. Wear socks so my toenails won’t injure that
expensive material. Hold on to the grills when I’m walking to the gate so that
the soles won’t glide against the moss and slime. But I feel safer (scorpions
and snakes can’t get at my feet) and drier.
I wonder why more companies don’t
make gumboots. I’m dashing off letters of suggestion right now. There should be
a law: if you want to live in Goa through the monsoons, you must own a pair of
gumboots.
Whilst these
thoughts were pummelling my brain, I crossed a labourer-woman carrying a load
on her head. My eyes went to her feet. She had fixed a bottle tops at one end
of two thick thermocole pieces cut to fit her feet. To the tops she had tied
two twisted plastic ropes to make herself a slipper of sorts. It protected her
feet from the thorns and sharp stones she trod upon.
No longer
will I grumble about my footwear.
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