Searching for sole mates

It was my 80th birthday. A milestone that my family decided to celebrate with a grand havan to seek divine blessings.

The event was followed by a traditional Elae Oota, the banana leaf meal where guests eat and leave with a spiritual glow and a bloated belly. As is the protocol in such events, footwear was to be left outside the pooja area.

Early birds at such functions are typically more disciplined. They diligently align their slippers like obedient schoolchildren. The latecomers fill up the empty spaces. The last resort is to have a two-tier system and place their footwear on top of others. But as the mangalaarathi neared and the purohit announced the grand finale, chaos broke loose. Latecomers just flung their footwear and rushed in to grab the blessings, creating a large footwear heap.

The next day, I received a WhatsApp message from a friend’s wife with a photo of a mismatched pair of slippers. I was among the last guests to leave, she wrote. I wore what was left, not realising they were not the same. I seem to have brought back someone else’s slippers.

"It is my favourite pair, and I have a strong emotional attachment to it. Happy if you will help find it for me," she wrote. Now, what do you do when someone loses their beloved slippers?

My first thought was to publish it in the ‘Lost and Found’ section of a local tabloid. But this had happened at a private pooja and was confined to sixty-odd people. “Why not just buy her a new pair?” I suggested it to my wife. She gave me the look, which seemed to say, ‘You poor soul… you don’t understand women or slippers.’ "Don’t you realise she’s emotionally attached to those slippers? It’s not just footwear. It’s foot-feelings.”

Now came the real challenge—drafting a message to all 60 guests. After multiple failed drafts I settled on the following message: “Dear friend, 

One of you has mistakenly taken home a mismatched pair of slippers from our pooja event. Should you find it, kindly contact Ms X. The slipper wishes to be united again with its right partner!

A day later, another photo arrived of a mismatched pair of slippers accompanied by a sheepish message:

“I think I have caused the confusion. I was in a hurry and did not realise that I was separating a legally wedded pair. Deeply sorry.” 

But she didn’t say which slipper was hers. This was now turning into a possible footwear custody battle. My wife threw up her hands and said, “It's their problem now. They’ve located each other. Let them sort it out amicably or in court. We’re not running a slipper reunion bureau.”

And that is how, on the occasion of invoking divine blessings for good health and longevity, we accidentally played cupid in uniting two separated soles!