“Your shoes are of different shades of blue!”, exclaimed my mother, pointing her fingers at my new crocs. Just two days ago my grey crocs got stolen from my apartment, which left me with no other choice but to buy new ones. Current was gone, so I had to buy a new pair under a small bulb, and didn’t notice the mistake committed by the shopkeeper.
My mother had washed the new crocs, and I went to college the very next day wearing them. Probably I’d have never noticed such discrepancy if my mother didn’t point it out. One was navy blue, and the other, prussian blue. With no time to buy another pair, I had to use it.
I’ve never been too much experimental with my clothing, and always preferred matching or complementary stuffs. Hence the feeling of wearing a mismatched pair of crocs dreaded me a lot. All I could think of were prying eyes, disgusted faces, shushed whispers, and words of pity when I’d be obliged to narrate the story behind it. And that scared me, scared of being judged over something I had no control over.
It went on for almost a week, and I was so ashamed that once I wore instead shoes which left scars on my feet. But the most astonishing thing was none noticed the discrepancy in my crocs, as if wearing mismatched shoes has become the norm in the society.
When I finally got some time to ponder over it, a realisation hit me: No one cares. As disheartening this revelation may sound, it also opened new gates of freedom. What I wear, how I look, what I do, as far as it doesn’t concern or harm others, none cares. This hit home because coming to Kolkata made me feel underdressed, and I felt I’ve to be like others. I’ve to be overpolite, letting my boundaries erode to make others happy and satisfied.
Just a few days ago I brought another pair of crocs, this time grey in colour, with no chance of discrepancy. I’ve started wearing them now, leaving the blue crocs for my father to use. But they’ve left a huge impact on me; who could’ve thought, my shoes would mirror my beliefs? And it’s not only about the shoes.