It so happened that we had to attend a lunch at a hotel in Gurgaon and I was running late. Mercifully the traffic conditions were favorable that day and we were at the NH8 toll plaza by 3. Tardy by international standards, but in India, just fashionably late.
As we swung into the drive way of the hotel I was on the phone with a friend with whom we were planning to watch a play and have dinner at Delhi’s Gymkhana. I was instructing him on the dress code, telling him that only formal shoes were allowed in the club. When we reached the hotel entrance, I looked for my sandals, first casually with my feet, then with concerned eyes. Meanwhile, the Durban had respectfully opened the car door and was waiting for madam (yours truly) to step out. But I was bent over, frantically searching for my footwear. Strangely, couldn’t find one slipper. After a couple of minutes, the driver suggested we park the car on the side and he joined the search. He looked under the seats and foot mats, then helpfully asked if he should look in the boot of the car. I told him not to be ridiculous and to his credit he didn’t ask how I could lose a slipper in the first place. My better-half (and he was clearly the better one in this situation!) suggested that I inquire what Gymkhana’s policy was on barefoot guests. I ignored the snide comment and weighed my options. I could walk into the hotel on tippy toes with one slipper, brave the amused looks of the supercilious staff and buy overpriced sandals from their shopping arcade or I could try my luck in the non-descript neighbourhood. I opted for the latter and told my husband I would be back. At this point, he seemed past caring.
The swanky malls of Gurgaon were a long distance away so I told the driver to take the first dusty lane into the suburb near the hotel. It was a Sunday afternoon and most shops were closed. After a while I spotted a small shop which seemed to sell everything and shoe boxes were stacked against a wall. If the shopkeeper found it strange to see a well-dressed society lady (hehheh!) walk barefoot into his shop, he didn’t show it. I was in luck. He stocked all reputed brands. I quickly selected a pair. Moments later, I was back in the hotel in a shiny (too shiny! ) pair of slippers which cost me a measly hundred bucks.
And now you must be waiting for me to unravel the mystery of the vanishing slipper. I’ll have to give some background for you to make sense of the story. See, when it comes to footwear, I think comfort is paramount. Hence I buy very practical, somewhat matronly slippers. But whenever possible I go a step further and stay barefoot. So removing my footwear is the first thing I do on getting into a car. That day it seems I did it a little prematurely. Somewhere around Murthal we had made a quick stop to use the toilet. It seems that as I hurriedly remounted the car and took off my slipper it fell out and was left there, on the road, abandoned.
There is another reason for sharing this story. If there is a prince on horseback, roaming the land, with a lost slipper, looking for the maiden who fits it, I am the one. It’s not a dainty glass slipper, but then, I am no Cinderella !