The Autobiography of an Old Shoe (Essay)

By | January 2, 2019

The Autobiography of an Old Shoe Essay – 650 Words

 “An old pair of shoes is never exhibited like our other possessions in the form of old clothes, coins, stamps or pieces of furniture because of its association with dirt, dust, and ugliness.”

Now I look old, worn-out and ugly, but once I was at the height of my power, in my prime (the best part of my life) and in all my glory. Made of the finest calf leather and hanging in a fashionable shoe shop on a wide road, I looked like a prince of shoes. Rich businesspeople, smart civil servants, company executives and even some students glanced (took a quick look) at me as they passed by my window. Once I wanted to ask a rich young man “Mr. are you up to window-shopping alone, won’t you buy me?” But I could not do so as I could not speak. It was my good luck that the next day a politician bought me for about three-and-a-half thousand rupees.[the_ad id=”17141″]

You know I had a companion shoe as you call “a pair of shoes,” and it was a boot like me, black like a black beauty. The politician, who is still a member of the National Assembly and calls himself an MNA, wore me proudly on his right foot and my companion shoe on his left. He rode his royal car to the Assembly as the session was on in Islamabad. It was great favour of God that he gave me a chance to visit the Assembly and then many other important places where I learned a lot about high politics.

In his brightly polished shoes, the MNA X spoke fiercely against the black laws of the country in the National Assembly. At one point he lifted me high, and then hit the ground hard. All the other Assembly members looked at me. Some said “See that fine black shoe, it may hit your heads, friends, some day.” My master X heard the words, and he replied promptly (readily) and loudly, “No friends, not you, my shoes will hit hard the blood-suckers, the oppressors (cruel rulers), the looters and the very big landowners and dishonest industrialists and capitalists of this country.” All the hall was ringing with the thumping of desks and cries of “Hit them, hit them till they are dead.” So very glad I was to hear how | would be instrumental in removing the cheats and thugs and vagabonds of Pakistan from the scene so that common, able people could rise to the heights of power and control.[the_ad id=”17142″]

Wearing me the MNA X attended parties of ministers, foreign visitors of the rank of ambassadors and generals and great scientists, scholars and writers. Last of all, I went to the TV station of Islamabad where my master took part in a discussion on the future of our dear but unfortunate (unlucky) country.

It was the saddest day of my life when my MNA master decided, in the company of his wife and children, that I had better be given to one of their servants. He was the cook who wore me for a year, and often he proudly walked like Mr. X. And once I did pinch him hard for copying . the ways of Mr.X whom I liked from the heart. How horrible was the cry and abuse that came out of the cook’s dirty mouth, and it all loosened my laces. When the cook bent to tie them up, the left shoe companion of mine gave him a sharper pinch. I got immensely (greatly) pleased that the left shoe was having my own feelings. The cook of Mr. X used the left shoe and me so much roughly and crudely that one day he had to throw us into the backyard godown of the big house. Since that day I have been languishing (experiencing long suffering) here.

The Autobiography of an Old Shoe Essay – 500 Words

Foot wares are the most fashionable and designful articles of daily use. All rich and poor, young and old, men, women and children are interested in them. Shoes are used by all, and during all the seasons. Now a days it has become a very costly item. Shoes are full of variety, colours and designs, from most delicate, soft to very sturdy and lasting ones.

Some shoes lost longer than others. Pakistan is famous for her leather goods, specially footwear. The prices of shoes are so high that a common man can not buy them. You can get the most fashionable and cheapest shoes from second-hand Markets (Lunda Bazar).

My old shoes had worn out. I purchased a second hand pair from Lunda Bazar for only fifty rupees. It was very attractive and comfortable. I cleaned and polished it; and it was as good a new one. While polishings the boots, I asked the pair to tell me its life story. It readily obliged me and narrated · his auto-biography thus.[the_ad id=”17150″]

I was born in a big shoe factory in Russia. I had thousands of my brothers and sisters, but none alike in features. My sisters were made to serve the ladies so they were very delicate and tender. We were separated; packed in decent boxes and sent to the shop keepers all over the country. We were rather season proof. Thus we parted company. I was kept in a beautiful glass showcase for display. The passers by stopped to catch my glimpse. One day a Party leader came and purchased me. He had dozen of my type. He used to change us daily. I had free passage into the Parliament and visited various countries with my master. I am proud that I had been country’s deligate in various conferences in Geneva and Washington.

The shoe continued: life is full of changes. The young son of my master took a fancy to me. So to say, he stepped into his father’s shoes. I was still good looking but out of fashion. So he discarded me. They packed me in a big carton and we were smuggled into Pakistan. I was without a passport; but no body objected to it. I along with thousands of my sisters and brothers, were shut up in a dark godown for days.

After a month we were displayed for sale in the second hand goods market. A rich seth picked many of us for handsome price. He put me up in a show case with others. Though I was five years old, nobody could doubt my age. I was still fit and good. The customers spoke different languages. It was all greek to me. The shopkeeper befooled a simple customer and sold me as a new ware. One day the butcher, my new master went to the mosque for prayers. A bearded man came and stole me and sold to the utensil hawker for only ten rupees. He was an addict. The hawker again supplied some doubtful ones to the Lunda shop from where you singled me out. This is the long and short of my eventful story.

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