That Pair of White Sports Shoes

My teacher asked me to fetch a glass of water. It was chilly winter and he had been teaching mathematics under the open sky. The sky was clear and the sun was sharp.

I took permission and ran fast toward the water-tap nearby. I ran faster than usual. That day I had come to school without uniform and wearing my white sports shoes instead of black action shoes. This was first time in my life that I had been wearing sports shoes and that of my favorite color. I was in sixth standard. I had been feeling like thousand bolt of energy in my feet. It felt like springs had got adjusted underneath my foot. That day I was happiest ever. 

I was in the school’s science fair team selected for inter-state science competition. We had to leave for Shimal that afternoon. I was the only one representing my class. 

I remember the every moment I spent with that pair of shoes. Tying-untying their lashes, cleaning and putting them at the right place I cared for them as much as I could. I enjoyed every moment spent with them. For me they were not just shoes. They were my love. My love for them seemed eternal. I never realized that they were just the produce of some material things and going to die sooner or later. 

About a year after, while playing with my friends in recess-time, I felt a kind of uneasiness in my foot and had to sit down for a while and had to untie my shoes. I really was clueless of what had been happening to my feet and shoes.

After a gap of two months I discussed the matter with mom. I discovered that  I was being betrayed by own feet. There was something wrong with them. They had been growing faster. I got angry at my feet, but I felt helpless. May be it was out of jealousy that my feet grew up. May be they could not accept the kind of relationship I had with my shoes.