The weekend ritual.

Baba used to say that one should never trust a man with unpolished shoes. In motorcycling, we don’t trust a rider with clean boots. At the end of the day, it is a line you need to draw for yourself and see which side you stand (in what sort of footwear). For me, I prefer to wear well-waxed, well-polished, well-looked-after shoes since it reflects the way I want to live my life, regardless of how I end up actually living it! In a way, polished shoes are aspirational for me.

So, every Friday, I make it a point to pull out my footwear, and give them the spa service. A gentle dusting, untying of all laces and knots, a nice coat of their chosen polish, and after the requisite drying, a vigorous brushing followed by a loving buff to bring out the shine, blowing on the really soft parts with my mouth to coat them with some warm vapour, which helps bring about a mirror-like finish. Of course, the canvas/cloth ones are washed and dried, along with all the laces.

Typically, I’ll listen to relaxing music like Pt Bhimsen (Miyan ki Malhar) or Prateek Kuhad (cold/mess) or Strauss (The Blue Danube) or Mark Knoffler (So far away) while polishing.

Through the week, I only lightly dust and brush them before wearing them (unless they are really dirty). Until Friday. And then, it repeats.

It is not just a footwear care routine; it is self-care. Therapeutic and calming, polishing shoes to me is the same as chopping, cooking, washing, or ironing to many others I know, who can afford help to ‘do the needful’ but insist on conducting the said activity personally, not because they must, but because it provides them something mundane and repetitive to do while their minds wind down and relax. It’s their meditation. And therapy.

What’s yours?

P.S.: Before someone jumps on me and starts critiquing my work, let me hasten to add that this is BEFORE I started the polish. This is, in a way, the mise en scène. The prep. The process was yet to start at the time this photo was taken. So, chill.

P.P.S: Are these all? Not at all. These are just half of them. Other than those seen here, I have a pair of camel suedes, then there are tan OP shoes (like the formal black ones here), there are my spare running shoes, non-marking squash shoes, golf shoes, sandals, and home slippers to complete the picture! Yeah, yeah, I know. I am not channelling my inner Imelda Marcos. It’s just that I love shoes, like I love clothes, and all the good things in life. In fact, I love to look good. After all, I don’t need to tell you that I am living the shallow life, and am vain as fuck. You know that already.