By Mohamed Keshavjee
‘Shoeshine, sir?’ asked the young lad with a shoeshine box in his hand, as I peered into the window of a shop in New Delhi’s fashionable Connaught Circus.
‘No thanks’, I responded. ‘I’m in a hurry. I have to go somewhere.’
‘Will be quick, and make like new’, he said reassuringly.
‘No’, I said again. ‘I do not want to shine my shoes.’
I tried fobbing him off, but it was difficult. He then followed me and tried to engage me in conversation.
‘From where, sir?’ he asked.
Read more – Dated: Jan 13, 2017
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Ismailimail 
I love this short story Uncle Mohamed! In addition to your epic tomes about Alternative Dispute Resolution in Islamic Societies and the factual account of our extended Keshavjee family and their journey from Chotila, Gujarat, India starting in 1894, to Pretoria, South Africa and far beyond up to the present day, your short story with a moral and an idiom reveals how versatile an author you are. I look forward to reading many more short stories by you as they come out.
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