Chappals

I remember home

Ma

Her chappals

They were hers they were mine

We wore them together, turn by turn

Till those slabs of thin rubber took shape

The ups and downs, the myriad contours of our feet…

And then I left.

Now only ma wears them.

Her chappals

They seem to have fondly changed shape

They have comfortably fitted now, into her feet

Because we don’t wear them anymore – only ma does.

And sometimes now, when I go back home

And sometimes when I wear her chappals, our chappals

They don’t feel the same anymore.

My feet

They don’t feel the same at the heel

They should be lower

Just beneath the toe it used to be higher.

And the rubber straps

They don’t hold me so securely no longer

They will never feel the same again.

That is how they are

Chappals

They forget

Only I remember.

Only I know they will never be how they used to be

Only I know nothing will ever be how it used to be

Nothing, I know, nothing will ever be the same again.

2001