As
the
month
of
Kartik
draws
to
a
close,
the
temple
draws
more
people
nightly.
Thousands
stream
in
to
honor
the
Deities,
light
their
diyas
(small
clay
oil
lamps)
transforming
the
space
into
a
fantasy
land
of
flickering,
bobbing
dancing
flames.
But,
this
does
present
logistical
problems.
As
this
is
a
temple,
shoes
are
not
permitted
inside.
Many
people
simply
doff
there
shoes
(
or
usually
sandals)
and
leave
them
outside,
where
they
are
periodically
swept
up
into
disheveled
mounds.
Others,
such
as
myself,
opt
for
a
more
secure
locale,
and
check
them
in.
The
sandal
check
room
consists
of
a
rectangular
hole
int
the
marble
surface
of
the
temple,
surrounded
by
a
waist
high
metal
railing.
SA
man
stands
on
a
grate
below
you,
his
head
coming
about
to
crotch
level.
You
give
your
shoes
to
him,
he
places
them
in
a
bag,
gives
you
a
claim
ticket,
and
then
hands
them
below
to
a
subterranean
storage
area
where
they
are
stored.
When
you
are
ready
to
leave,
you
submit
your
ticket,
this
is
handed
down
and
the
bag
and
your
chappals
are
retrieved
and
handed
to
you.
But
with
the
crush
of
people,
the
system
is
definitely
stressed!
There
are
only
two
men
on
the
platform
both
checking
in
and
retrieving
the
sandals,
and
a
few
down
in
the
Stygian
depths
where
are
sandals
are
sentenced
to.
The
entire
railing
is
a
mass
of
people,
jostling,
yelling
waving
their
tickets
trying
to
get
their
attention,
as
more
and
more
people
cluster
behind,
pushing,
trying
to
wedge
themselves
into
to
any
micrometer
of
space
that
canI
waited
more.
I
had
finally
gotten
the
attendant's
attention,
waving
as
I
did
some
coins
to
help
him
focus
more.
He
took
my
ticket,
passed
it
down.
People
pushed
behind
me,
wedging
me
and
wedding
me
more
firmly
to
the
metal
balustrade
that
pressed
ever
more
firmly
into
my
abdomen
(thankfully
I
have
some
padding
there!)
I
waited,
the
attendant
moved
on
to
others
having
seemingly
forgotten
about
me.
People
began
to
claw
at
me
trying
too
dislodge
me
from
my
space.
I
waited
more
as
the
pressure
from
behind
inexorably
mounted!
I
tried
and
finally
got
the
attendants
attention,
and
he
seemed
to
not
recognize
me.
I
began
to
remonstrate
and
he
seemed
genuinely
surprised
that
I
had
not
yet
received
my
sandals,
but
disinclined
to
do
anything!
I
envisioned
walking
back
home,
in
the
dark,
as
the
power
would
inevitably
be
cut
at
this
inopportune
moment,
limping
my
way
trying
to
avoid,
stones,
craters
in
the
road,
glass,
cow
flops
and
the
other
usual
debris
and
mess
of
the
roads.
I
began
to
panic
as
the
press
continued
behind
me.."My
chappals,
my
chappals"
I
cried
whenever
the
attendant's
attention
began
to
waver
and
fix
on
someone
else.
The
press
behind
me
was
unrelenting
as
others
with
mounting
ipatience
sought
to
occupy
the
space
I
was
occupying.
Finally
I
glimpsed
my
shoes
disgorged
from
the
depths
of
the
storage
room.What
relief
I
felt
as
I
clawed
my
way
to
the
end
of
the
mob
and
could
breathe
freely
without
someone's
elbow
trying
to
bifurcate
my
ribs!
None
