Fiction: The Maroon Sandals

Meenakshi Gogoi

Meenakshi Gogoi

It was raining heavily, and Gayatri walked hurriedly up the stairs to reach the first floor of the building, where she lived. Making way out of the huddled and scattered, wet, mud-sheared slippers, she reached her flat’s door. Gayatri quickly put down her vegetable bag and damp umbrella, removed her soggy sandals, and unlocked the door. Suddenly, her eyes fell into the potted petunias, split ruthlessly into tiny particles by the swirling breezy downpour. Her heart broke spotting them, and a jolt of anger slowly hit her head, only to blow off soon. She calmed herself, picked the potted petunia plants, and moved them from the door’s entrance to the living room’s balcony. As she stood half-drenched, carrying the vegetable bag, and about to close the door, Gayatri heard noises and loud music almost piercing her ears from her neighbour’s home. Her eyes spotted the clean, polished maroon sandals kept organised in one corner of her neighbour’s door, surrounded by disorganised and scattered slippers. The pair of maroon sandals was kept outside every day, in one place, ready to explore the known and unknown paths of Gaurisagar city. Gayatri felt no wonder that the owner of those sandals protected them from muddy rainwater splashes. She smiled to herself with her thoughts and closed the door with a little force, echoing the rhythmic sounds of the cowbells hung near the door. She bathed, put on her cotton peach long dress, and sat on her plump brown couch, sipping coffee and listening to soft ghazals, scrolling up and down her cell phone.

Meanwhile, the high volume of music from the neighbour’s flat faded in the air. Gayatri felt much relieved. But the sight of the maroon sandals stayed with her. Her mind flew back to her younger days, when she saw her father wearing the same pair of maroon leather sandals. He would wear those wherever he went. It was only after her mother’s constant pestering that he would agree to wear shoes while attending official parties and weddings. Gayatri used to laugh at how her mother had convinced her father not to wear his favourite maroon sandals on special occasions.

When she moved to the flat a year ago, Gayatri spotted a similar pair of maroon sandals in front of her neighbour’s door. Every morning, while watering her potted plants, her eyes would spot them kept in the same corner, clean and polished.

One morning, Gayatri recalled, she met the owner of those sandals. She smiled at him, introducing herself as his new neighbour, a college lecturer. She told him that her father had bought and rented the flat for several years before she moved in. He nodded, smiled, and softly introduced himself as Dr Anirban Dey, a gynaecologist working in a private hospital. He appeared polite, less talkative, and calm, known for his good gestures. He wore the maroon sandals and went to the hospital carrying his laptop side bag. Soon after, as Gayatri finished watering her plants and turned back, she encountered her neighbour’s wife, Madhumaloti, carrying a jute basket filled with chameli, shiuli, and joba from the garden downstairs. Gayatri sensed that those flowers were to be offered for the morning prayers. They exchanged smiles and talked for some minutes as good neighbours. Madhumaloti invited Gayatri to her home, and she agreed to visit someday. Unlike her spouse, Gayatri found Madhumaloti expressive, talkative, and friendly.

One Saturday afternoon, Gayatri was at her neighbour’s place. Madhumaloti treated her to some aromatic elaichi tea, accompanied by homemade gujias, namkeen, and besan laddus. She tasted each piece of food before her on the table and relished the sweet, savoury flavours melting nicely with every bite in her mouth. Dr Anirban was coming home from the clinic while Gayatri enjoyed his wife's friendly chirping company. The children were busy playing badminton outside.

Meanwhile, Madhumaloti went to the balcony and, with a shrill voice, called her children to come home. The sun was setting, and they had to attend a relative’s wedding in the city. Her children came running to her at the sound of her call, greeted Gayatri, and quickly went to their rooms. Madhumaloti smiled and said, “I really have to pester them to do everything. Whether it’s their homework, a book to read, or a reminder to go somewhere. I have to shout at everything.” Gayatri smiled back and nodded. But in her mind, she thought the children were very obedient, as they came upstairs at her single call, as she had asked them to do.

Madhumaloti reminded Gayatri of her mother, who used to yell at her and her younger sister to do things as she said. Gayatri was really pissed off at times during her childhood. However, as she entered her teens, Gayatri did follow her mother's advice. She stopped being rebellious and became more adaptable, polite, and obedient, in contrast to what her younger sister turned out to be: demanding, self-expressive, and arrogant at times, to fulfil her wishes. She witnessed the battlefield between her mother and sister, a war of words between right and wrong, and what ought to be. Her mother would win, and her poor sister had to compromise at one point. But she was determined to fulfil her most wanted wishes, which she did in adulthood.

As Gayatri was lost in her thoughts, her eyes fell on Dr Anirban's arrival at the door. They exchanged smiles and greeted each other. He and Madhumaloti smiled as they crossed paths while he walked inside. She hurriedly walked to the front door, picked up his maroon leather sandals, and kept them inside the almirah-style shoe rack. She replaced them with shining brown shoes. Gayatri witnessed her suave moves before Dr Anirban could spot Madhumaloti replacing his sandals. She hurriedly washed her hands and sat beside Gayatri in the living room. Gayatri was at a loss for words. Madhumaloti told her about Dr Anirban’s habit of wearing the same sandals wherever he would go. She expressed irritation over his wearing them everywhere, which she disliked the most. She hid those maroon sandals as she wanted him to wear the shoes at the wedding. Gayatri nodded and recalled her mother’s adamant insistence that her father must wear shoes instead of the leather sandals. The children wore bright, shining clothes, blushed, and looked happy in their outfits. Gayatri soon took leave of Madhumaloti, sensing she needed to be dressed up for the wedding.

Remembering the day spent at her neighbour's home, Gayatri shrugged off those sweet, funny moments from her mind to the present breezy, rainy evening. Sometime later, the rainfall stopped, but the cool breeze continued to blow. Her potted petunia leaves were left behind with light moisture and no flowers. She stood on the balcony and rang her mother. It was not raining in her hometown, and her father was at his friend’s place. After a talk on her parent’s well-being, she excitedly asked her mother about her father’s maroon sandals. Gayatri’s mother laughed and asked, “Why do you want to know about his special sandals?” “Nothing, Maa, just like that,” Gayatri replied. “He has a new pair of leather sandals and is quite satisfied wearing them,” said her mother.

Gayatri laughed, diverting the conversation to the home front, and the call ended on a caring note. She would not tell her mother about her neighbour, Dr Anirban’s obsession with his maroon sandals, which was similar to her father's. It wasn’t right to talk about this when she shared a good neighbourly bond with his wife, Madhumaloti. The night sky looked dark and damp. Gayatri hummed her heart's choicest ghazal while cleaning her attractive ceramic pots washed by rainwater with a piece of cloth. The huge trees with sprawling branches and thick leaves created a rhythmic buzzing sound, dancing with the cool breeze. Some fell scattered on the ground, soggy and crushed after the heavy downpour receded. It was night, and Gayatri fell asleep, leaving her recorder on. Deep in her sleep, she roamed in an unknown mystical world of dreams.

Bio: Meenakshi Gogoi holds a PhD from the Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU), Delhi, India. She writes short stories/fiction and loves to read non-fiction and biographies. Her works are published in The Mocking Owl Roost Web Magazine, The Wild Word Magazine, Otherwise Engaged: The Literary and Arts Journal, the Literary Cocktail Magazine, Sunkissed Short Summer Romances: An Anthology by Red Polka Books, Shiuli Magazine, Double Speak Magazine, Muse India (Forthcoming). She is passionate about nature photography and gardening. She lives with her spouse and little daughter in Guwahati (Assam), India.

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Setu, December 2025