“Some foreigners were taking pictures of it too’’, said my younger daughter laughing. We were looking out of our first floor window at the eyesore that the empty site next door had become.
There, at the edge of this overgrown trashy patch stands a lamp post supported by another long slanting metal pole to form a very large right angled triangle. And strung between the two sides of this triangle was a garland of discarded slippers and shoes. The credit for this ghastly piece of art goes to our very resourceful garbage lady. Irritated by this very ugly festoon, I confronted the very indomitable lady next day. ”You know Amma “, she said smugly, ”this is a message to all those who throw garbage into this empty site that they deserve to be whacked with chappals. Just let me set my eyes on them, they will regret it all their lives”.
On our dusty travels through Rajasthan’s desert en route to Jaisalmer, we once came across hundreds of pairs of slippers and shoes on either sides of the road. Intrigued by this extreme sacrifice of the only protection against burning sand, we learned that the pilgrims going to Ramdevra near Pokhran walk the remaining distance barefoot to the temple. Good reusable footwear lying orphaned on the desert roads. Wonder what use our garbage lady would have put these to!
Recently we were watching a theatre adaptation of stories by Sadat Hasan Manto, the famous Pakistani writer. During the bloodshed caused by the Partition, a mob started to disfigure and throw stones at a statue of Sir Ganga Ram (a noted philanthropist of that period). One enterprising fellow (I secretly believe he is the ancestor of our garbage lady!), made a garland of the chappals lying around and walked towards the statue.
Such is the fate of used foot wear. The stray dogs love to sharpen their jumping skills at this strange toy and bring down a nice chewy old shoe to gnaw.
Sometimes a rag picker finds a pair that can still walk a few miles and the garland comes down. In the middle of one night to my great joy I found a group of very drunk boys untie the garland with great difficulty ( I didn’t enquire as to what their urgent need for this was) . They then began to sing, dragging the garland along like a timid dog. My joy was short lived of course. The next day another garland of assorted slippers swung merrily thanks to the philosopher who cleans our street. She will not let her symbolic piece of art be neglected at any cost.