I envy folks who can just walk into any flea market slipper store and walk away with pretty, glittery foot embellishments.
When it comes to fancy footwear, my feet don’t always cooperate. I have larger than average feet, and a dangerous corn under one of them, that will burn a hole through the most well-crafted shoe, if I find one my size, that is. So, when I do get something that looks good on me, I keep it for as long as I can. The cheaper the better, because my corn couldn’t care less about how expensive the footwear is.
Growing up in a middle class household, we always found ways to repair stuff that was broken instead of buying replacements. Things were expensive, and what we had, was worth repairing because they were built to last. And it was relatively easy to find people willing to fix things, each with their own niche.
Many of these folks had their dedicated street homes. Some would roam around residential areas hawking their services in the most creative ways. There was a person who specialised in pressure cookers, another for sewing machines. One roaming man had a super specialisation for zippers.
This morning, I opened by shoe cupboard to see a pair of cheap glittery slippers I bought several years ago. It had seen many a mochi*. If you looked closely, you could see at least three sets of stitches on the sides of the sole. But viewed from the top, which is hopefully how people will notice my feet, it looked gorgeous. One of the toe straps, though, had given way.
My slippers looked questioningly. “Is it time yet? Are you finally going to replace me?” I won’t lie, I have looked for new footwear, but nothing has caught my fancy.
Nowadays, however, nothing is built to last. After all, if everyone had durable items, who’d buy the next thing a company wants to sell? But the number of people willing to fix things is also shrinking—it’s not a high paying venture.
I looked into at my soles, and went in search for a local mochi. Despite all this fast fashion, there are still a few of these around. Hopefully, I’d find one who knew how to get the job done. And a mochi I did find.
Sitting on the side of the road, underneath a large tree, he had a bunch of tools and some shoes spread out in front of him. His shirt had eaten much dust from the passing cars. His hands weren’t in a much better condition. How else would the hands of someone who handled other peoples shoes for a living look like?
“How much for fixing these,” I asked him.
“Twenty rupees for this one… and eighty for that one. A hundred total.”
A hundred rupees for fixing two slippers. I scanned the QR code in front of his shop and showed him the transaction. I was amazed at how someone could survive on such income. I was happy I could reuse my slippers for a bit longer at a tiny cost. But what surprised me most was the big smile on the mochi’s face once I’d made the payment. He seemed to be genuinely happy to render his services.
Clearly, we lived in two different worlds.
*mochi = Hindi word for cobbler
Musings of an eccentric mind 