A good part of a traveler’s life is spent walking. You cannot be a traveler if you don’t like to walk. And if you are fond of walking, your job as a traveler is to make sure your feet are utterly comfortable as you unravel a city, prancing from one lane to another, encountering dust, heat, grime and what not. Your footwears define your traveling life and also shape what kind of traveler you become.
Some feet like the feeling of being held within a shoe, guarded and preserved as they are, un-tanned, untouched. Whereas some feet – like mine – prefer to be free, out in the open, conversing with the outside world. I’m a sucker for slippers, boasting a tiny yet large library of it. My favorites are the blue acupressure slippers that were a gift from my friend Pushpak Athawale, the man behind the iOS app of YourQuote. He had a similar red one and I would just ooze with joy whenever I wore his, so he gifted me one on my birthday when I was in Bengaluru. It has pointed rubber bristles that might seem daunting for someone with soft feet. Having had my feet roughed up with barefoot football matches every evening as a school-kid & later by the drastic weather changes during my India journey, nothing feels nicer than having my weight stand on the prickly podium of this fine footwear.
I wear these slippers almost everywhere. In a train, in airplanes, in office, at home, during travel. It allows me the flexibility of turning my feet inwards and sitting in meditation any time I wish. It makes me switch barefoot without caution, without the pressure of untying the laces of a shoe whenever I get a chance — be it at a host’s home, a garden with lush green grass, a temple or a mosque, a gurudwara or a church, or a seashore where I wade through the water, with my three-quarters high enough not to get wet.
There’s an underlying philosophy with which I weigh in the choice between a shoe and a slipper, the philosophy that underlines my travel. Traveling for long distances with long itineraries is often mundane and tiring. In my case, it’s also mission-less. There’s no reward that I’m seeking. No fame, nope, no enlightenment nor spiritual awakening, no knowledge even though it is making me knowledgeable every passing day. I am traveling quite simply to experience freedom in its most bare form: the freedom to move and live, the freedom to be and decide on the spot. I rarely decide my next destination and I just meet people who cross paths with me, and I take their accounts and experiences as my guiding light to decide what next. Even in a new place, my only aim is to familiarize myself with the place, to know a city just that well that tomorrow if someone were to airdrop me in any part of that place, it doesn’t feel foreign to me. Being in my slippers, I feel the world is an extension of my home. Since I am as comfortable in my slippers as when I am home, the walls of the otherness break and everyone interacting with me feel at home. For them, I am a local, and for me, they are people such as me, my people.
It’s not that I dislike wearing shoes. I’m all up for shoes when it’s for an occasion. Don’t worry, if you invite me to your wedding, I will come in shoes. However, that decision is primarily because the wedding is your space, and I’m a visitor. I don shoes for every occasion when I am aware that space doesn’t belong to me, nor do I want it to belong, in spaces where I am a visitor. A conscious warm visitor whose job is to serve the one hosting. But as a traveler, I don’t treat the world as my host because I do not wish to be treated as a guest, a tourist. As a writer, it’s the worst thing you could do. Guests only get superficial gossips. It’s the resident of the house who knows the nuances of the stories. As a traveler, I want to be a resident of the world, not just my home. For a traveller, the idea of home is very fluid. It is not barricaded within the four walls, but it’s rather a freely expanding universe. Shoes make you great tourists, bad travelers.
I think I have been too critical of shoes. Here are my two cents on shoes and the people who love shoes. I think shoes make perfect sense when your idea of home is very rooted, even rigid. If you are not nomadic and define your home as this house, this city, this nation, you’re bound to be a lover of shoes. When home means a certainty to you, everything outside becomes unknown, hence shoes. When your sense of identity depends on where you come from, not where you go, you wear shoes. Shoes are the answers to feel safe when the world around you feels unsafe. Maybe that’s why women love it more because the outside world has always been harsh and unsafe for them. Like slippers help you turn the outside world a bit more homelike, shoes help prevent yourself from becoming like the outside world. Shoes might be a fashion statement for some, and indeed they look good, but wonder, why the first act of homecoming is the act of removing shoes, why barefoot is the norm in so many households. No, it’s not just about cleanliness. It’s about comfort. Any job that requires you to be out of your comfort zone or natural self will require you to be in shoes. My friends in the army tell me how for a soldier, their feet are the softest parts of their bodies, the weakest points, because they are always within the shoes, unperturbed by everything outside.
I’m utterly curious to hear from you. Are you a shoe person or a slipper person? How many shoes do you have? What are your thoughts on travel and footwear? Post with #FavouriteFootwear in the caption on your quote and share your stories. Before I part today, here’s a quote: “It doesn’t matter how great your shoes are if you don’t accomplish anything in them.” — Martina Boone
Walking, one step at a time,
Your Quote Baba
