The Cobbler Who Repaired Shoes He Could Never Wear

🌿 The Cobbler Who Repaired Shoes He Could Never Wear

The bride arrived crying....

Manimoli came running across Ponmanipudi bus stand with one sandal in her hand and the other on her foot.

“Shankara....saar!”

The cobbler did not look up.

“Shankara!”

Nothing.

“My wedding is tomorrow...saar!”

That made Shankara look up.

He looked at her. Then the broken sandal.

Then looked at her again....

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes!”

“And today you are running with one shoe?”

The bride burst into tears.

“My sandal broke!”

“I can see that.”

“It is from Bengaluru!”

“Ah.”

“Very expensive!”

“Then it should have broken in Bengaluru.”

The men at Appuswamy’s tea stall laughed.

Manimoli glared.

“This is not funny!”

Shankara took the sandal from her. The heel had completely separated.....

He turned it over, pressed it, pulled it.....smelled it too.

Manimoli looked horrified.

“Why are you smelling my shoe?”

“Diagnosis.”

“You smell shoes?”

“Doctor Chari smells patients.”

I nearly spilled my tea.

“I do not!”

Shankara waved toward me.

“Sometimes.”

“I have never smelled a patient in my life.”

“Then how do you diagnose?”

Tea stall erupted in laughter....

Even the bride laughed through her tears.

Shankara looked at the broken sandal again.

“Come tomorrow morning.”

Her smile disappeared.

“Morning?”

“Yes.”

“My wedding is at nine!”

“Then come at eight.”

“Shankara!”

“Seven-thirty.”

“Can you repair it or not?”

Shankara looked offended...

“Why else am I talking to you?”

That was Shankara.

For forty years, Shankara had sat beneath the old rain tree opposite Ponmanipudi bus stand, near Appuswamy tea stall..

He owned no shop.....The tree was his roof...

A wooden box was his table.

A small stool was his kingdom.

Above him hung a hand-painted board...

SHANKARA SHOE REPAIR WORKS.

And underneath....

ALL PROBLEM SOLVE....

The grammar had faded in years...but the confidence had not.

Every morning, Ponmanipudi arrived at his feet....School shoes, wedding shoes, work boots, old slippers, new sandals.....

Shoes bitten by dogs.

Shoes crushed by tractors.

Shoes abandoned by angry wives....

Shoes thrown by paramours who had been deserted suddenly...

Once, Appuswamy arrived carrying only one slipper.

Shankara looked at it.

“Where is the other?”

“Lost.”

“Then why repair this?”

“In case I find the other.”

Shankara stared at him for a long time.

“Your wife is right.”

“About what?”

“Everything.”

Appuswamy took his slipper away angrily.

He returned two days later.

Shankara repaired it.

Everybody returned to Shankara always...because he could repair almost anything perfectly...

Buddu, an 8- year- old, came with his shoe split open in front.

Every step made the shoe speak....

“Chak.”

“Chak.”

“Chak...tak...tak....”

Shankara looked down.

“Your shoe is talking.”

The boy grinned.

“What is it saying?”

“Your father must buy new shoes.”

The boy’s smile disappeared.

“My Appaji said next month.”

Shankara looked at him.

Then at the shoe.

“What is your name?”

“Buddu.”

“Sit, Buddu.”

“I have no money.”

“Did I ask?”

“No.”

“Then don't answer questions, I didn't ask.”

Twenty minutes later, Ravi walked away in repaired shoes which had stopped talking.

“Money?” Buddu asked.

Shankara waved him away.

“Go.”

“How much?”

“Go to school, no talking.”

“I'll tell Appaji.”

“Tell Appaji, I used leftover thread.”

For forty years, Shankara had a remarkable amount of "leftover thread" especially for children's shoes...

But there was one thing very strange about the man who repaired everybody’s shoes.

Shankara never wore any chappals or shoes...not once...

Shankara's left foot had been damaged when he was a child.

It was smaller, and twisted inward...His right foot carried most of his weight.

He walked slowly with a wooden crutch beneath one arm...always barefoot....summer...rain...or winter....always barefoot.

People asked, of course.

“Shankara, why don't you make shoes for yourself?”

“I don't like shoes.”

“You repair them all day.”

“Exactly. I know too much about them.”

Another time I asked him.

“Why don't you get special footwear made?”

He pointed at my slowly bulging stomach...

“Why don't you exercise?”

The conversation ended there.

But one person kept asking....a little girl named Tara...

She was nine years old and lived behind the bus stand.

Every afternoon after school, she sat beside Shankara.

Nobody had invited Tara....nobody could ask her to go....and she asked repeated questions...

“Why is this black?”

“Polish.”

“Why is this sharp?”

“Needle.”

“Why is this sticky?”

“Glue.”

“Why are you bald?”

Shankara stopped working, glared at her...

“Go home.”

The next afternoon, Tara returned.

“Why do shoes smell?”

“Because feet live inside.”

“Why do feet smell?”

“Because children ask too many questions.”

Tara giggled....

She watched him work for hours.

One evening, Tara asked the forbidden question.

“Shankara ajja…”

“yes ...”

“I haven't asked yet.”

“I know.”

“Why don't you wear shoes?”

“Go home.”

“But...”

“Home.”

She went.

The next day Tara returned with a drawing....two feet.....two shoes.

And a man with a large moustache.

Shankara examined it carefully....

“Who is this?”

“You.”

“My moustache is not so big.”

“It is.”

“Go home.”

Years passed....

Children do something ......adults rarely notice....they grow up too fast.

Tara became taller and prettier ....

She stopped sitting beside the wooden box, near Shankara's shop...

Tara went to school in Rajathooram....and ah! to a college somewhere far away.

Gradually, she stopped coming completely...

Shankara never asked where Tara had gone...

But for several weeks, whenever a school bus stopped, Shankara looked up with a small smile of expectation on his face...

Then he stopped looking up too.....because life continues.... irrespective of people....

Shoes broke....and Shankara kept repairing them.

Children grew.....

Shankara grew older....

His hands became slower, hair became whiter.. jokes became fewer.....

Then, one morning, a young pretty woman arrived carrying a large box.

She stood in front of him.

“Shankara ajja?”

He looked up.

“Yes?”

She smiled.

“You don't remember me?”

“No.”

Her smile disappeared.

“You used to say my head was empty.”

Shankara squinted.

“Many children had empty heads.”

“You told me to go home every day.”

“I tell everybody that.”

“I drew your moustache too big.”

Shankara's hands stopped.

He looked up again.

“Tara....ayoo! kaduvale...! ...?”

Tara smiled.

“Finally.”

Shankara stared at her.

Then looked away.

“You became old.”

Tara laughed.

“You became older.”

“Why are you here?”

Tara placed the box on his wooden table.

“For you.”

“I don't want.”

“You haven't opened it.”

“I still don't want.”

“Open it.”

“No.”

“Shankara ajja.”

“No.”

“Open it.”

He glared at her.

“You have become very irritating.”

“I learned from you.”

Appuswamy had already crossed the road and stood watching...

Murugan appeared from nowhere, after seeing the pretty lady....

Selvam stopped his bicycle.

Within two minutes, many people stood watching under the tree.....

Shankara opened the box carefully..... his big white moustache quivering....

Nobody spoke.

Inside was a pair of shoes. But they were unlike any shoes in Ponmanipudi....One was slightly smaller...the other wider.

The soles were different.

The shape was uneven.

They were not really beautiful.

But they were made for Shankara.

Shankara stared at them.

Then closed the box.

“No....still no”

Tara’s smile disappeared.

“What?”

“I don't want them.”

“Why?”

“I don't wear shoes.”

“I know.”

“Then why bring them?”

“Because I made them.”

Shankara looked at Tara.....

“You?”

Tara nodded.

“I design special footwear now.”

“For whom?”

“For people with difficult feet.”

Shankara's face changed slightly.

“Why?”

Tara was quiet....

Then she reached into her bag.

And pulled out an old piece of paper....The drawing....Two feet...Two shoes....

And a man with an enormous walrus moustache.

Shankara stared.

“You kept that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you didn't.”

The trees had become very quiet.

Tara sat beside him....exactly where she had sat as a child.

“You repaired everybody’s shoes, ajja.”

Shankara looked away.

“So?”

“So I wanted to make one pair for you.”

“I don't need them.”

“I know.”

“Then take them back.”

“No.”

“Tara.”

“Wear them.”

“No.”

“Just once.”

“No.”

“Three steps.”

Shankara frowned.

“What?”

“Only three.”

“I have work.”

Appuswamy immediately picked up the sandal Shankara was repairing.

“I'll hold this.”

“Give it back.”

“No.”

Murugan took away his hammer.

Shankara glared at him.

“You want to die?”

“After three steps.”

For once, Shankara had nowhere to escape.

He looked at the shoes.

Then at Tara who had a tenacious smile on her face..

Slowly, he sat back.

Tara knelt before him.

He immediately pulled his foot away.

“I can do it.”

“I know.”

Tara moved back.

Shankara picked up the first shoe.

His hands were trembling....

He slipped his right foot inside.

Then the left foot...for a long time, Shankara simply sat there.

“How is it?” I asked.

“Quiet, Doctor.”

He reached for his crutch.

Stood.....carefully....

The entire bus stand seemed to stop breathing...

One step.....Shankara stopped.

Tara watched him.

A second step....His face tightened.

A third...He stopped again.

Tara rushed forward.

“Do they hurt?”

Shankara did not answer.

“Ajja?”

He looked down at the shoes.

“Yes.”

Tara’s face fell....

“Where?”

Shankara touched his chest....pointing...

“Here....kanna...here....very much pain.....”

Nobody laughed......

Shankara turned away quickly.

But not before I saw the tears falling over....

Shankara had spent forty years bent over other people’s feet...

Forty years repairing the things that carried everybody away from him....to schools, to weddings, to jobs, to cities, to new lives.

And now, one of those children had come back....with a pair made only for him.

Shankara took another step....Then another...

By the seventh, Appuswamy was crying openly...

Shankara noticed.

“Why are you crying?”

“Dust.”

“There is no dust.”

“Emotional dust....Shankara....dust fell on the heart.....”

That finally made Shankara laugh.

The bus stand laughed with him....

The next morning, I passed the rain tree.

Shankara was already working....

Again barefoot....

I stopped.

“Where are the shoes?”

He pointed toward his wooden box.

Inside, wrapped carefully in a clean white cloth, were the shoes.

“Why aren't you wearing them?”

“They'll get spoiled.”

“They are shoes.”

“I know.”

“They are meant to be worn.”

Shankara looked at me.

“Doctor.”

“Hm?”

“Your patients are waiting.”

“They're not.”

“Then find some.”

I walked away laughing....

Behind me, Shankar hammer began again...

tap...tap....tap....tak...

A farmer waited.

A schoolboy waited.

A bride waited.

Ponmanipudi kept walking.....

And beneath the old rain tree sat a man who had spent forty years repairing everyone else’s journey.

Inside his wooden box rested one pair of shoes...perfectly uneven....slightly strange...made just for him..

And for the first time in his life…Shankara knew exactly how that felt. 🌿

Welcome to Ponmanipudi… where nothing is as it seems.