North Star shoes in my dream

The other day early in the morning I had a dream of wearing a pair of North Star shoes, a popular sneaker and probably the only decent one available during my childhood days. I felt happy, waking up with a fulfilling feeling.

North Star shoes, with black and yellow stripes resembling tiger skin used to cost Rs 99.99 a pair, a sizable amount in the year 1980, the haydays of socialism and closed market economy in India when jeans and sneakers were luxury items. This brand was available in Bata, a chain of stores apart from Carona (no relationship to COVID-19) which offered a decent array of shoes those days in Bhubaneswar.

I requested my dad to get me a pair. My father was always generous to me, fed me exotic, quality food, took us to good restaurants, never hesitated to buy me my favorite books, comics, magazines and took me to watch cricket in Barabati Stadium. But he sneered at the idea of buying North Star shoes, firmly putting down his foot on my longing desire.

His logic - while teaching in BJB College, Bhubaneswar, he has seen the North Star shoes worn only by the CHATARAs (girl chasing vagabonds) and BAZAARIs (free roaming loafers). The hall mark of a BHALA PILA (a good guy) those days, a category students fell into - those who wear only CHAPPAL (Sandal) and may occasionally deviate to slip their feet into some cheap, white Canvas shoes polishing its dirt off using a white paste. My dad's conviction vetoed my desire.

Time and again, I would gape at the North Star shoes peeping through the glass window displayed in front of the BATA Store located in Unit II (probably only one of its kind at that time), doing my window shopping salivating at it, dreaming to wear it one day. But luck wasn't on my side, I could never wear them. The North Star was that shooting star I wished for, so near yet so far. Soon the brand went out of the shelves and out of the market.

Eventually, I forgot about it. Never thought of it for long time, until that morning when I found myself wearing a brand new pair of North Star shoes in my dream. That small, smoldering sparkle of desire never really vanished from the extinguished fire. The wish inside the child inside me never died, it was lying dormant like a volcano, ready to rise as Phenix from the ashes. The ever hidden subconscious desire recalled to manifest itself after decades in form of a dream. No wonder, I woke up with a wonderful sense of fulfillment .

Childhood memories never die. It manifests itself in different ways. India's Prime Minister for 17 long years, Indira Gandhi had an insecure childhood. Her mother died young. Her father was mostly away busy in freedom movement, spending long stints in jail. She had a lonely, insecure childhood. As a teenager hungry for company she readily fell in love with Feroz Gandhi who gave her some attention, ending up marrying him.

Though later in life she became a Prime Minister, her sense of insecurity never died. It was apparent from the way she handled herself. She ruthlessly consolidated her power inside the Congress Party eliminating all her rivals. When Allahabad High Court declared her election null and void she imposed Emergency and put the entire opposition behind the bars. She would never allow someone from her party to complete a full tenure as CM of a state, lest that person becomes a threat to her position. All these actions represent a classic insecure mindset, the stigma during her childhood days forever stalked her. 

Past memories can be very stubborn, especially about the things we longed for as a kid, the things we craved about, our feelings, fantasies and crushes, dwelling deep inside our subconscious mind and surprising us by erupting in dream. It never gets deleted from the memory, stays embedded inside our mind's Recycle bin which is never emptied. We simply learn to live with them.