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Shoes
While buying shoes father used to talk to us on many topics.
We were many brothers and sisters.
First girls shoes were bought,next my youngest brothers.
When my turn came may father asked the salesman anxiously:
"Till now how much total?"
I never understood the reason for my father's anxiety.
A salaried PSU employee with modest means.
His monthly salary was due only after the festive season.
Till then money would be scarce.....
In the huge mirror at the College Street Shoe Store.....
I saw father's face which appeeared to scrutinize the price tags
rather than how the shoes looked like....
Looking at his face I chose the cheapest pair for myself
I almost felt he wanted me to do so
At that tender age I didn't know the income-expense mystery
My siblings reprimanded me for choosing the worst shoes
But I just couldn't make myself tell them the truth
That year father brought us to College Street on Mahalaya Day.
At Dwarik's famous eatery he treated us to "luchi" and "cholar dal"
The sweet juicy globules of "bonday" followed by trooping into the Shoe Store
But this time I insisted on an expensive pair.
I told my father that when I grew up I'd buy him the best pair of shoes.
That year father didn't buy a dhoti for himself.
He died a few days later !
So many things in life are
So many things in life are symboliC. Signs. The one we see after are very profound. I was compelled by your write dear bishu. Wonderous as always
Don't let any one shake your dream stars from your eyes, lest your soul Come away with them! -SS
"Well, it's love, but not as we know it."
:)
Thanks for your kind read
©bishu
Wow I remember doing this
Wow I remember doing this exact same thing! Coolio. Nice poem and I agree about the success and emotional turmoil thing
:)
Thanks for reading
©bishu
My mother alwayw had to
My mother alwayw had to approve of any clothing. I didn't care much for her taste, but I didn't mind much. I always had new things when I outgrew my clothes so I never complained. I went to work young and began buying my own. Your poem took me on a journey back in time. Thank you bishu. A nice poem bringing memories of days gone by.
I never thought about what it might be like to be writer and not have any other means to live by. Sounds like it could be 'thin ice'. I like writing as a hobby...but I just don't know if I would enjoy it as much if it was my sole occupation.
...
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
Nope Respected Madam not at all if writing becomes compulsion
Glad you liked to read the words which some may probably relate to their own past.Nope Respected Madam not at all if writing becomes compulsion.I give lessons(academic) to some school going children.To while away spare time when I've nothing better to do I write(sometimes in scraps of paper) sometimes type directly on the site.Sometimes, at odd hours thoughts beat in my head but no pen,paper ..they simply vanish never to appear.Not that it makes any difference to me.~~my~true~nice~friend
©bishu