Shoes, geysers and ice cream

 I am sitting on my office chair, staring at my shoes—white, with two stripes of sky blue and pink. A friend once called them “ice cream shoes,” a name that never fails to remind me of him and his unfiltered opinions about nearly every pair of shoes I own. Perhaps I should call him today.

These shoes, though cute, are far from professional, and I’m perfectly aware of it. Over time, I’ve developed my own quiet ways of rebelling—not against anyone in particular, but perhaps against the expectations I’ve set for myself.

I stop staring at my shoes. They remind me I need to wash them, along with another white pair that’s now more gray than anything. My mind drifts to the washing process I’ll tackle after this last working day of the week. I’ll soak them in warm water first—now that I have a geyser.

The geyser. For two winters, I managed without one, armed with a heating rod and the cooking gas. When I first moved here, I clung to the austerity of a minimalist life—no bed, no frying pan, no closet, no refrigerator, and certainly no geyser. I told myself I didn’t need these things, but deep down, I feared them.

To settle was to surrender, to let roots take hold. I wanted my existence here to feel transient, as if staying unattached would make leaving easier. Connections—whether to people or to things—carry weight, and I was afraid of carrying too much.

Still, five months in, I bought a bed. A month later, a refrigerator. A year after that, a frying pan. And just yesterday, a geyser. (If you’re wondering, I still haven’t gotten a closet, but I did get an air conditioner.) 

The only pair of white shoes i ever owned date back to my PT class. I always wanted to have a pair, despite the fact that I'll have to wash them often. So last year I got the 'ice cream shoes'.

I still want to leave—to a better life, in a better place. But I’m learning that small comforts, like a warm bath after a cold, tiring day, don’t have to stand in the way of that dream.

As Dr. Jehangir Khan from Dear Zindagi—my absolute favorite—says, “Zaroori nahi ki mushkil rasta hi right rasta ho.” I’ve started to believe him.

And now, I’m thinking about having a bowl of ice cream for dessert tonight. Care to join?