My other Shoes are Manolos

Do you remember how on one New Year’s Eve you and I sat and watched Thillana Mohanambal? Giggling at the histrionics, eyebrow quivering emotions and dazzling, gaudy costumes, yet still moved by the story somehow?

Do you remember how you would wait for me by the stairs near the flagpole every day after school?

Do you remember how I cried every time you left for college? At the end of every summer and winter vacation for five years. My eyes red and cheeks wet, unmindful of the bemused somewhat embarrassed stares of others.

Do you remember how you used to read Stephen King novels and then tell me the stories late at night? How Amma put a sticker of Hanuman on my headboard after you told me the story of Pet Cemetery. It stayed there for a good 10 years.

One day, I will say ‘Do you remember the day your son was born? How I fell asleep early and found out through the message you left on the phone?’

Welcome, nephew. If you’re very good, one day your Aunt Shoefiend will buy you one of these.