Chappal Queen: Navigating bad weather, terrible traffic and the labyrinth's of the Indian legal system in rubber flip flops.

I remember picking up the 'Scion of Ikshvaku' with much enthusiasm when it first came out. Having loved the author’s previous trilogy of novels and wanting more, I was left sadly disappointed by the mediocre storyline and cheaply composed prose marred by a thousand cliches. It felt like I was reading a caricature of my much beloved author and not the real thing. But somewhere along a really dragged out middle section, a plot snippet stood out in my mind. In it the protagonist, prince Ram has his first encounter with the princess Sita. The incident left him not smittened or awestruck like most first encounters in fiction tend to pan out, but rather with his head bowing in respect. It was unique how pure and sincere the emotion was; no slow violins playing in the background, no skipped heartbeats or butterfly filled stomachs, but simple old fashioned respect and admiration. I found this emotion, spread across the pages of an extremely mediocre piece of fiction fascinating and almost a bit alien. Until that is; I experienced it first hand on an ill-planned weekend trip. I found that very feeling of clean and distilled admiration as I met the ‘Chappal Queen’; and like the great Scion of Ikshvaku so many millennia ago, my head bowed in respect.

‘Adulting is hard. It’s not one crisis after another as we would expect it to be, it’s multiple crisis all at once in an unending cycle’

- Random Instagram reel

As a young professional out in the big wide world all on my own, I often struggle with navigating the challenges of adult life. What helps is having a support system, a family you can fall back on and friends you can run to for those fuck ups where it’s best to not get family involved. I would be lost without this support system and I am extremely grateful for them.

That support system was missed more and more in a new city as I stood under the shade of a metro station on a cold and rainy evening. The torrential downpour had totally ruined my weekend trip thus far and as I stood there wet and freezing, cursing the rain God’s, she arrived. In a sky blue hoodie and matching plastic chappals, she smiled at me from afar, bringing with her a sense of warmth which was in total contrast to the down and gloomy vibe I had surrounded myself in. Completely unbothered by the awful weather she took out her flower printed umbrella and spoke with an unfiltered fondness and honesty as she led me down the  famous streets of the city she had come to call home for the past five years. 

She spoke for hours at length as we walked, stopping for breaks every now and then in random breweries, cafes and even chai thelas. She spoke about her work, her school and childhood, her business ideas, dreams, aspirations  and all the shit life seemed to be throwing her way. And I listened, with a growing sense of fascination and admiration for this person who seemed to have lived, faced, fought, won,  learnt and grown so much more than I had; and all with the light hearted nonchalance of a person who paid no mind as her chappal clad feet splashed in muddy potholes and overspilling drainage runaways of those city streets.

Straight out of high school she had made her way all on her own to a strange new city, one where she couldn’t speak the language and barely knew anyone to help her settle down. Over the years, she not only survived but thrived, making this strange city and its even stranger people her own. Completing her law degree she was building herself a thriving legal career. One which often led her to dangerous situations by its very nature. Situations where a cowardly techie like me would tremble she merely shrugged off like a minor occupational inconvenience. She spoke of them almost how I would speak of shitty legacy code and Friday evening deployments. My problems suddenly felt trivial and childlike in comparison.

She seemed more grown than me, more confident in herself and her ability as she made light  of her challenges. She spoke with a steely determination about her goals and all she would achieve. It frightened me. Her sense of certainty was alarming; how could one so similar to me in age have such emotional resilience? 

I struggled long and hard with this thought and then it finally struck, the answer was right there in front of me:  She wore chappals everywhere!

 A strange conclusion you might think dear reader but allow me to elaborate…

Chappals aren't just ordinary footwear as it turns out but much more. It’s representative of an attitude, a school of thought and a way of life. They may seem unassuming and often go unnoticed in their ubiquity, but are the silent workhorses which in this writer's humble opinion best capture the depth of resolve the human spirit is capable of.

The ordinary chappal goes by many names; flip-flops, sandals and moccasins amongst others. From the iconic blue rubber classics which have long been the weapon of choice for desi mothers to the fanciful ones which line the pages of high fashion and showrooms of noted brands, chappals can be found everywhere serving a multitude of purposes. But wherever we may find them, at their core chappals are designed with a simple thought in mind. To protect the sole but never stifle the feet. To be there when hard rocks, wet mud and slippery sand is around but not deny the foot the joys and necessary pains of these experiences. It’s the footwear equivalent of a parent who lets their child make as many mistakes as they want in the hope that they learn from them, while always watching on as a silent safety net to catch them if needed.

The chappal finds its perfect match in folks who embrace this philosophy and are never daunted by new situations. Who are  just as comfortable in roadside stalls as they are in high dining restaurants. Who don't crib when life gets hard but find a way to push through irregardless. Chappal wearers are extremely versatile personalities who can thrive under immense pressure from multiple fronts but are also attuned to slowing down and smelling the roses.

And the 'Chappal Queen' opened my eyes to all of this over an ill fated weekend. One where the weather had brought down my morals to an all time low, some of her chappal wearing resilience seemed to rub off on me. And as we finally parted at the weekend's end, I was left a more humble person. One with a new found respect for her and her chappal wearing ways; my head silently bowing in admiration.