BAREFOOTED

Chapter 2

Carrying her four-year-old son Dhruv in the crook of her arm, Megha followed her father with a couple of shopping bag handles looped over the fingers of one hand.

"Less stuff?" he enquired as they marched into the house with all the shopping.

Sliding the sandals off, her grateful toes splayed over the thick rug where she stood before dropping the bags on to the coffee table. Their living room was sparsely furnished with an old sofa set arranged for comfortable viewing of the wall mounted television. She glanced at her father who was already peering into the shopping bags, his thin hair turning silvery under the glow of the tube light.

"Yeah...I'll make another trip...anyway, Dhruv's school will start next week so I'll be in town every day."

"Guppie, see my new birdie," her son waved the bag he was clutching in his small hands, "See, see?" he shouted excitedly, jumping out of his mother's arms and running to the sofa where he climbed with an agility that only children possessed. He couldn't pronounce 'Grandpa' and her father loved the mispronunciation so she was certain that 'Guppie' would stick forever.

"Dhruv....no standing on the sofa with shoes on," warned Megha in a firm voice, "get down before you dirty the only decent furniture we have!"

"Okay." He quickly sat down and fumbled with the zip on the bag while Megha headed to their small storeroom beside the dining area with her father following a step behind.

"What is this? Ugly looking stuff isn't it?" Her father was holding the bird-shaped bright yellow water bottle she had picked for Dhruv.

"There's a lunch box too," she pulled a face, holding out a similar looking box as her father threw back his grey head and laughed.

"Whatever happened to the cute cat and mouse? This one looks scary," her father's eyes twinkled as he shook the plastic bottle, "I don't understand why my grandson's so enamored by it."

"Oh Dad, give it a rest....we are never going to figure out his generation. What's for dinner?" She walked towards the kitchen and opened the pots on the stove.

"Dhruv and I had the pasta you made for lunch, kept the leftover in the fridge thinking you'd be back sooner. Ruchi's made something." Her father sniffed around. "How does she make beans smell so good? I thought it was chicken," he commented, disappointment written across his face.

"Dad, we have to watch your cholesterol - don't complain. But your nose is still good, there's some chicken here, see?"

She whacked his hands when he reached for the pot of chicken that Ruchi had placed carefully behind all the other pots.

"Ouch! Don't I get to taste it at least?"

"No! Go entertain your grandson while I sort out all my shopping...shooo!"

Grumbling good-humoredly, her father left her to sort out the pile of bags they had brought in. After placing the household stuff in the storeroom, she took the rest of the bags to her workshop. It had originally been a shed outside, next to the kitchen. When she started with her shoes, her father had helped her fix up a permanent roof, some shelves and add better lighting since she did a lot of her work in the night after Dhruv's bedtime. Pleased with her day's purchases, she went about sorting and storing before checking on a partly made piece that was still on the 'last'- a plastic piece which was used to stimulate the foot shape. Beside her long work table was a set of boxes containing assorted heels with pre-molded soles that she picked up from Aunty G, her Fairy Godmother as she liked to call herself.

It had been curiosity which had taken her to Aunty G's shoe unit initially. Ruchi had come home and shown off a pair of neat sandals the old lady had given her, informing her that she had been running the business alone for years. Fascinated by the whole process, she had quickly become friends with Aunty G and found herself searching for excuses to drop by and help her out. A couple of months later, recognizing the interest Megha had, the older woman nudged her into designing a shoe for herself, guiding her through the intricacies of shoemaking. They were now thick friends and Megha understood and loved the old lady's passion. She had taught her the art of pattern making, using the 'last', cutting the material and preparing each piece individually. Aunty G's shoe factory manufactured women's footwear in bulk but she encouraged Megha to follow her instincts and create artistic pieces.