Daddy’s shoes 👞

 

As a kid, I loved wearing Dad’s tan Oxford boots that were part of his Indian Police Service uniform and walking around the front verandah, where the shoe rack lived—outside shoes are not allowed indoors in my culture.

Growing up, I’ve realized it is not easy to be a father.

Those boots weren’t just leather and polish every day. They were long hours, quiet authority, and the weight of decisions he carried home without words. They were standing straight even when tired, choosing duty over comfort, and love expressed more through presence than praise.

Back then, I only felt their heaviness on my feet.

Now I understand the heaviness he carried every day—so I could walk freely, pretending to be him, not knowing how much of him was already walking ahead of me.