During my college years, I was an introverted soul, partially owing to the simplicity of my wardrobe. I had just two shirts and two formal pants which I diligently rotated for my daily attire. An old pair of my father’s shoes completed the ensemble. When the college administration changed our dress code to white shirts, blue jeans, and sports shoes, my heart soared. This, I thought, would level the playing field, eliminating the stark disparity between the haves and the have-nots.
How wrong I was. Students donned designer jeans, branded shirts, and gleaming sports shoes. Lunchtime turned into fashion critiques, as classmates poured over labels and admired the tapestry of Diesel, Levis, and Wrangler – brands that I had not even heard of before. I kept my distance, gravitating towards the quieter, humbler crowd.
That’s when my resolve took form. I craved a pair of branded shoes. Upon expressing my desire, my parents, who had had their own share of struggles, tried to steer me towards more modest options. But I remained steadfast. I believed that my standing among my peers was hitched to the chariot of my attire.
After a conversation with my dad’s friend Shyju, a decision was made. We would travel to Nagaram, renowned for its shoemaking. To save time, we boarded a train without tickets. Our thriftiness caught up with us at Charlapalli when we were fined 500 rupees. This sum was earmarked for my shoes. My father’s relief at not being detained contrasted with my own sense of loss.
We pressed on to Nagaram by shared auto-rickshaw. My spirit sagged as none of the shoes bore the names Adidas or Reebok. A shopkeeper suggested we try Habsiguda for brand showrooms.
Our first stop was Adidas. The deference with which I was treated was intoxicating. When I finally settled on a pair that even my father admired, my bubble burst. It cost 4500 rupees, and we had a mere 800 left. The courteous facade of the shopkeeper crumbled when I requested something more economical.
Disheartened, we wandered into the Reebok store next door. Before the salesperson could commence his dance of showmanship, I cut him short and requested options around 700 rupees. This figure accounted for our return journey.
To my amazement, he produced a pair for 699 rupees. Without a second glance, we purchased them. I only truly saw them when I was back home, clutching them close to my heart.
That day remains etched in my memory, a kaleidoscope of emotions – anticipation, excitement, disappointment, and eventually a bittersweet triumph. It was a day when my youthful idealism collided with the realities of the world, leaving behind an invaluable lesson on the nuances of life and the fortitude of dreams.