Trying to Fit in The Wrong Shoes

The office cabin seemed cramped… as if her movements were restricted. This, in spite of the fact that the cabin was opulent with a glass door and freshly painted walls. A soothing colour, they had. Why, the whole office was a luxury, with an excellent, all-time-operational cafeteria and even a gym (though it wasn’t used. Who goes gyming in formals?).  Yet, she could not do anything much but sit in front of her desktop and analyse the data that gleamed on the screen, its brightness prickling the eyes. Sitting in front of the laptop for ours together was a sedentary activity, which only added to her existing problem of a big waistline that seemed to bulge a few inches more every day she looked at herself in the mirror. She did not do any strenuous exercise throughout her working day. Well, unless you count the constant use of fingers for perpetual pressing of keys on the keyboard.

She opened a Google tab now, bored of crunching numbers since morning. “Amazing women footwear” She typed in the address bar.

Yeah, she was a fashion major since childhood. She had loved sketching dresses and female figures during her teens, like all other girls her age. The only difference was that she was better than the rest of them. With a beautiful face, flawless skin, nice personality and drawing skills like that, she was tailor made for the design industry. At least that’s what her friends told her. Her friends, who could understand her more than her parents, she thought at the time.

She was brought back from her reminisce by the change of screen display. The search on the Google tab had resulted in a deluge of websites that had all kinds of designs of ladies’ footwear- high heeled stilettos, pumps, peep toes, wedges, pencil heels and what not. After surfing through a few sites, she closed the laptop lid in frustration. If only she had the opportunity to prove herself in the industry…she could add in so much, and be so much better, and would still have had time for herself.
She looked at her refection in the glass door. She was good-looking overall, with kohl rich eyes and a petite nose. And then she noticed the bulges and turned away.

She remembered, how she had once told her family that she wanted to be a designer and how her mother had scoffed the statement off, considering it to be just another childhood wistful fantasies of hers, thinking that she would come up with something else the next day, probably, even a pilot or a news channel weather girl.
It was then that she realised how she yearned that she was not an Indian- at least not a residential one.

Her cousin had told her how he had sold newspapers to pay for his own High School fees in London, and how he was still revered amongst his friends. So what if he was a newspaper guy or his friend was a hotel attendant, or his girlfriend, a waitress at the bar-b-queue restaurant. They had fun with their work and their subjects they had chosen for. More importantly, they were independent people who knew how to manage their finances at an early age and could even choose their own future. All of them wanted to be something different, a musician, a painter, a soccer celebrity, a hotel manager, a journalist, or an operations manager in a technical firm.

Different people, different perspectives.

Unlike India, that had different people, all with the same outlook. The neighbourhood fatty aunties would say, Commerce liya aur CA nahin kiya, toh kya kiya, only to leave the poor commerce chap befuddled and speechless. Well, he wants his own start-up. Why be a CA for that?
Others would come and boast of a sister-in-law’s second cousin’s son’s achievement in the JEE and put an unhappy Science student who had just managed a good rank in the AIEEE architecture exam somehow, to shame.
And then there is the third category, another cohort of the slogged ones, with not so good a kismet. They are the ones who either dream to or are bound to spend their lives clad in white lab coats, in hospitals or clinics.

In a country where you have to gather a lot of courage to even think of choosing something apart from these three professions- Engineer, Doctor, or a CA, there was meagre scope of turning the dreams of becoming an interior or fashion designer to reality. And even that opportunity lied with the well-offs of the society, who could pay for the abnormally high fees.

She was left with no choice but to get into an engineering college, then an IIM, get placed into a well-paid job and get stuck with the boredom forever. Dreams of a lavish apartment with enviable interiors did come true, not to forget that she owned the most high-end gadgets amongst everyone in her social circle. Yet, the materialistic things could not give her the satisfaction of having the life she truly desired. The life of having fun in what she did, wherever she was, amidst the luxury.

That life only went to the good-for-nothing cousin of hers who scored lesser back in school, but who made a fortune in London, doing what he loved the best- travel photography.
Yet, another day had passed, and all her fatigued body would allow her to do on reaching home was open London’s famous daily newspaper website and read his cousin’s travel column …and smile for his success…which she couldn’t have.