Geetanjali Krishna: Sole provider

PEOPLE LIKE THEM

It was a small shop at the end of Mussoorie's Landour Bazaar, not much larger than a cupboard. The bright hand-crafted leather sandals hanging on its open door drew us in. But when we tried them on, they didn't fit.

Looking at our disappointed expressions, the shoemaker said, "just select the designs you like, and I'll make you sandals in your size!" We explained that we were on holiday, and didn't have time to get shoes custom made.

"If you walk around the market for half an hour," he promised, "I'll have them ready for you!" We agreed, not sure how he'd manage. He whipped out a dazzling array of coloured leather and asked us to choose the colours we wanted.

Debating deliciously between a fuchsia pink and a leaf green, I looked around at the tiny shop that had offered us a better choice of colours and sizes than any big city shoe store.

His name was Bhagat, he told us, and three generations of his family had made and sold shoes in this shop. He took my footprint on a piece of paper and deftly cut out the sole of my sandal from a piece of fresh leather, and said, "I learnt the craft of shoemaking by watching my father and grandfather!"

There wasn't a leather shoe he couldn't make, said he, as he expertly snipped here, cut there, to produce two perfect-looking soles in what must have been five minutes.

"Today, my brother's sons return from school and help us just as we'd helped our father as children," said he. By now, we were so intrigued by Bhagat and his artistry that we decided to stay and watch our shoes being made.

He whipped out a tin box from a dark room behind the shop, filled to the brim with readymade uppers. I spied the colour that I'd selected, and within no time, he was inserting it into the cuts he'd made into the sole.

The sandal had taken shape in front of my eyes, and not even fifteen minutes had elapsed since we'd ordered it.

"My father and grandfather never used glue like we do now "" every bit of leather was hand sewn in their day. But the shoes they made often outlasted their owners, unlike the ones I make now!" said he, pasting another layer of leather on the sole to make the sandal more durable.

Realising that what he'd said wasn't very salesman-like, he added, "this pair will last you long enough "" though it probably won't outlast you.

And that's not an unhappy thought, is it?" Changing the topic, he showed me some of the shoes his late father had made, sturdy handcrafted boots that looked good enough to last another few decades. "No big company makes shoes like these!" said he proudly, putting my finished sandals outside to dry.

Bhagat and his brothers get readymade, pre-dyed buffalo hide from Agra. The shop has a loyal clientele amongst the students of Mussoorie schools, and the foreigners who throng the School of Indian Languages just above Landour.

"Do any tourists come to you?" I asked, thinking of the steep two km climb to Landour from Mussoorie's Mall. "Enough to keep our stomach's full," said he, disclosing that in the three-month tourist season, he often sold shoes worth Rs 2000-2500 a day.

"We get some bulk orders too," said he, "and frankly, we're not ambitious for more. We're happy selling shoes all summer "" but we're also happy to toast by the fire all winter, living off our summer earnings, waiting for the next tourist season!"