An anatomical structure found in many vertebrates, it is the terminal portion of a limb which bears our weight. It is made up of Tarsal, Metatarsal and Phalanges. You can twist and turn it, hop about, run with it and can even venture tap dancing just like “Happy Feet” Mumble.
Have you guessed what am I talking about?
My Foot!!
Oh…. I am not abusing. It’s really your foot I am concerned about. Have you ever given a second thought about this natural locomotors?
Are you hoping that I am here to narrate the anatomical structure with the total number of bones and intertwined nerves? I am sorry; you have terribly mistaken me as that spectacled biology teacher insisting you to draw the picture (and of course mark the parts for extra marks!!).
I was in the bus sitting in a comfy window seat, hearing Asha Bonsle complaining about Radha’s jealousy in Radha kaise Na jale and starring the passing scenes.
I was thinking particularly about nothing. And I don’t remember why I started staring at her feet. She was standing beside me holding a bag which seemed full of construction tools; waving at someone at the back of the bus and telling (yelling actually!) about getting ticket in an unknown language. A hoarse male voice was replying to her in the same language. It might have been her husband. Oh please don’t be bothered. She was clutching her bag tightly in one hand and was managing to hold on to the handle in the other.
I was absent mindedly gazing at her feet. They were long and supple, little longer than usual with slender toes. She wore an anklet made of white beads and metti (an iron ring worn on the foot to indicate a married girl). It might have her hind that made me to stare I thought. They were full of cracks and bruises. I may be due to effect of her hard construction works. The ramification of wet concrete contacting the skin was clearly visible. I remember reading about the alkaline compounds which penetrate and burn the skin. I thought about the injuries which can take several months to heal and may involve hospitalization and skin grafts. But she seemed to have no concern about her pain at all.
I can’t stop myself from comparing my feet with hers. Mine was shinning as an effect of my recent pedicure at Naturals. It would have definitely hurt me if my feet were not glittering after spending such time and of course some hundred bucks. I felt some sort familiarity in her feet, like I have seen it some where. It seemed like a blurred portrait that was saved deep inside my mind. The harder I think to recollect, the deeper it went inside my memory.
Suddenly the feet were not there. She should have got down from the bus when I was busy with my thoughts. And again I drifted back to her. She might have a kid at home waiting for her arrival. She will relish on seeing her kid and would rush to cook their hot dinner. She may even have a row with her husband for spending carelessly on liquor. She may be taunted for asking him to quit smoking. She would have been a girl with petty ambitions and unfulfilled desires. She darts in life’s race to combat with none other than fate; and will not yield until her last breath.
With a jolt, I remembered where I have seen those feet before. These feet, I remember, never wanted a rest in all its life. It ran without recumbent for more than 60 years and is still running. It paces with exertion all over the place. I have always loved those feet. I have played with it, prayed it at times, got its blessings and even chased by it during my childhood. But these feet have a small difference. It has cracks due to harvest mud instead of cement bruises.
It is my mother’s.
