By Neel Anil Panicker

Come winters and all of Delhi turns bootilicious. Well, almost all.

Bootilicious? Pray, what exactly is that?

Now, before your mind begins to wonder and is swept away by unsavoury thoughts let me clarify and say that I am talking about matters more terra firma. You guessed it_this is about feet and more specifically about the boots that adorn them.
In this part of the hemisphere, the meaning transcends its narrow confines and morphs into something much more charming.

Long ones, short ones-__ankle high, knee high, calf length___black, blue, brown, even red, orange, gréen__a kaleidoscopic variety of boots strike the ground as the pitter patter of soft feet cushioned under these foot tapping pleasures hit the streets,

Be it the Metro, inside offices expanses, roadside eateries, darkened movie halls, or even the ubiquitous Big Fat Delhi Wedding, you can’t miss the sight of tall statuesque women  and that includes toddlers, pre-teens, teens and the forever nineteens strutting around in boots that add the much needed bling to an otherwise drab almost three month long affair that Delhiites indulge in come December every year.

Amidst all this there is also the very sorry and saddening sight of the homeless, those unfortunate Children of a Lesser God who shudder and cower and shiver and shrivel as they lie around on the footpaths, under abandoned bridges sans any clothes, forever exposed to the vagaries of Mother Nature.

It’s a sorry tale; not a tale of two cities, but a tale of one city with two loves__a sad, heartless, self serving tale of two lives, one of the haves and the other of the have nots , one covering skin right down to the toes and revelling in it and the other revealing skin to the last bone, and being reviled at.

©neelanilpanicker2018 #non-fiction #300words

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