Sneakers and the Moonwake

 It is quite early in the morning. The moon has not completed its walk. It is now slowly regressing. The water puddles are basking in the glory of the moonwake. I'm trying to keep myself awake in the wee hours of my morning walk. The last night has been a difficult one. Sleep eluded my worked up brain. The war inflicted against humanity is getting worst. My anxiety is scaling. I need to find a solace.

My sleepy eyes find something. 

There it lies with ordinariness laced into it. The narrow jagged lane and its ragged fringes seem to be the perfect place for it to rest in peace. Tumultuous treks and quite a lot of running affairs must have exhausted it. It looks royal in its disowned status as well. Frankly speaking, I don't think anyone must have disowned it. It has an aura of walking away with pride. When faced humiliation, it must have disowned its owner. But where was its partner? Unless, the sneaker belonged to Cinderella and she was at a ball last night this mystery of a lone adidas sneaker on a mohalla dirty road has to be solved.

My morning walk terminated with my mind running the treadmill of various possibilities of how the shoe has landed here. Bright orange colour with fluorescent, neon green borders boasted of a feminine choice. Could be my prejudice. But I find no harm in labeling it to be belonging to some Miss. Sophisticated Health Freak Babes. Wow!! The woman must have had supple legs with round, smooth heels to fit exactly into the hollow of the sneaker. On a Sunday morning like this, she must have had sported these sneakers with black shorts and a white tee. That's how the entire crazy attention would remain on the sneakers. Who knows she must have had hundreds of such privileged sets to adorn her passionate showcase. 

Every morning, she would be standing facing her worthy possession, spending a good 30 minutes on which pair would bring pride to her run today. As she did so, she would run her fingers to her hazelnut coloured short tresses and with her delicate fingertips massage her taut scalp. Maybe this exercise would help her decide the pair faster. While she stomps her feet in exasperation, unable to decide the pair, a house-help hands her a cuppa of mildly spiced, ginger kesar green tea. The aroma calms her fidgety nerves and with closed eyes she deeply inhales the rising vapors. That's when the sun bathed in saffron hues swims across the sky and a little eager parrot makes a dash for the early worm cutting the golden rays. Here and in that moment she finds the inspiration to wear the orange and neon green sneakers.

Ahaaa...that sounds like some good story on the arrival of the shoes but what about its neglect?

I took a closer look at the shoe and discover parts of it tinged in blood. 

BLOOD! 

HUMAN BLOOD!

That sets my detective alarms ringing. The woman must have started her run. With a fast number beating on her earphones. She was unaware of him following her. Her pace of running equivalent to his pace of stealthily following her. The cool breeze shuffles her short locks. His warm breath just at a distance. Her eyes look around aimlessly admiring the beauty of the royal swathed sun. His gaze unmoved drooling at her curves. She stumbles on a stone. He carefully hides in a thicket. Nursing her sprained ankle she removes the sneaker. Finding her in pain and desolate, he jumps onto her. His swarthy features overpower her sublime beauty. She fights bravely. The bloodshed is testimony to her struggle. 

But where is she? I need to find her. Maybe in the thicket. Maybe buried under the same ground I'm standing? 

JESUS!!! 

That's when an Innova stops by, making me jump in my boots. A man walks out and looking at the sneaker exclaims, "Finally, I found you. You expensive brat!" As he speaks, bright red specks of chewed tobacco fly in the air. Without any earthy inhibitions, he sprays a liberal amount on the ground. The sneakers bear the brunt of his addictive affairs.

The Innova speeds off down the narrow jagged lane. Forget the lane, it's me who is jaded due these procrastinating affairs. That's the reason I don't go for morning walks. The fresh mind hunts for frivolous activity. I now better find some puss in the boots!

What am I doing? Reflecting my empty anxiety on something as frivolous as a sneaker. Just like the moonwake that had welcomed me this morning- not containing the moon but still reflecting its light. My idiosyncrasies don't bear anything solid yet they light up a dark, murkier mood. I love the moonwake for precisely this reason that it tries to brighten a muddy pool. It knows it can never clear the muddled waters but a stray lunar ray can at least lift its spirit.

Cooking up stories is indeed relaxing. For few brief moments my mind is diverted. Though directionless, yet it clings on to the fragile thread of hope that if not the moon then at least the moonwake will quiten the troubled waters.

Amen!