Last night I came face-to face with my forgotten sole.

Yes, I’ve spelt it right. S-O-L-E. The underside of our feet. Of course it was in a dream. I can barely look at my toes (on my more flexible days), so the sole is a virtual impossibility. It’s often left for dreams to make possible the impossible.

Anyway, back to the sole. Since I haven’t had a close-up encounter with it for a long while, I’d stared at it with a long moment rather blankly. There was a curious sense of familiarity in the deep creases that cut across at various angles, in the fainter criss-crossing lines, and the mounds and depressions. But I didn’t seem to know it well…like the palm of my hand.

Was my sole trying to tell me something?

Palm and sole

The palm and sole were akin at one time —soulmates, so to speak. They kept in step, sharing the weight of our bodies and taking all the dangers in the path in their stride—equally.

Then came evolution, and we stood up on our own two feet. The entire burden of carrying our considerable weight was shifted solely to our now inferior ‘lower’ limbs. And the sole was pressed against the earth, face-down, forgotten. Yet, it was on these self-same soles that man conquered the world—over burning sand and sharp shingles. Bleeding, scarred, calloused and hardened, muddied and frost-bitten, it plodded on, step after weary step. With nary a word of gratitude. Such is often the fate of the down-trodden!

gaining the upper hand

What of the palm, in the meantime? Having gained the upper hand and palming off all the hard work to the sole, the upturned palm grabbed the attention of a fascinated world. Doctors discovered clues to diseases galore, while criminologists certified that the whorls, loops and arches of our fingertips forged our unique identity! More wondrously still, seers and soothsayers gazed ecstatically at its creases and mounds and pronounced their verdict—apparently we held our future and fortunes in the very palm of our hands!

Poor sole! No-one cared to ponder over its furrows and ridges, mounds and whorls. While the study of the palm was endowed with ponderous names – palmistry, cheirology, cheiromancy; and its ancient lineage was traced back to Sage Valmiki, the sole was destined for ignominy!

Romancing the palm

But who can be blamed? It wasn’t just its inferior position. It was the romance. Picture a palmistry session: a cosy parlour, a chance to hold a dainty hand while gently tracing the delicate course of life-, head- and heart-lines. A reassuring squeeze to calm trembling hands, while their fair owners wait with bated breath and palpitating heart for their fate to be revealed! Now that’s the stuff romance is made of!  An air of erudition, the thrill of uncertainty, the intimacy of touch…. need I say more?

Consider, on the other hand, a study of the plantar creases. Since the foot rarely gets the daily pampering that our hands do, the sole presents a distinctly down-at-heel appearance. And while the request to ‘bare one’s sole‘ may be imbued with great profundity, its practical aspects cannot be ignored. Gloves and masks would be mandatory. No romance could possibly bloom in such circumstances. Love at first sight of the heroine’s beautiful sole occurs only in reel Bollywood situations!

Sole survivor

I felt sorely for the sole. Did it have to spend its life in obscurity, while the world ate out of the palm of our hands? I stamped my foot in frustration.

‘Ouch,’ cried the sole, ‘that hurts!’

‘Tread softly, for I lead you every step of the way. Ever since you took your very first step. Kept you anchored as you danced and skipped; steadied you when you stumbled, and kept you grounded you when you got carried away. That’s my job—to keep you in touch with the earth beneath your feet.’

Barefoot, I walked again, on the flagstones of my childhood home. The baking heat of summer, and the mellow warmth of winter. Remembered again the dewy grass tickle my sole as I collected the fragrant flowers of autumn. Relived the numbing cold of the icy mountain stream as I dipped my toes into its clear waters. And felt again the warm surf curl between my toes as I strolled along the ocean’s edge.