When was the last time I ran?
There was mad dash, slight shove, and yet more dash towards the empty seats on the train to NYC in November.
Then there was the 'control-the-cart-where-is-the-product?-there-it-is' Christmas sale marathon.
And the huffing and puffing like a choo-choo train on the treadmill everyday, even though the speed is set for a leisurely stroll; Thanking God that no one is here to witness my humiliation.
Not to mention the frequent, slightly awful, yet trying to be graceful, jog towards the spouse/child/friends awaiting me on the other end from where ever I am.
But some how, none are fun.
The best kinds of Runs are those that were and never will be.
The kind, where I run after swiping toe-curlingly unripe mangoes from my neighbor’s back-yard, balancing them in my skirts. Ignoring mom, who precariously hangs over the compound wall, yelling about under-pants and promising a good thrashing. All the while squealing like a duck, while the dhoti clad aaiya yells about naughty thieves and devil-spawns and flourishes his walking stick like a Force FX Lightsaber.
The kind, where your mom and dad pursue you with a bowl full of warm naala ennai (sesame oil), spiced with stinky and rough things like garlic and pepper. The impromptu crazy hip-hop waltz around the living room furniture as I try to evade them. I’m positively delighted by the irony - The oil I’m desperately trying to dodge, is funnily aiding me by being slippery when my dad grabs me. All the while squealing like a duck while mom yells about staining her embroidery on the sofa cover and ruining the freshly mopped floor.
The kind, where the cousin brother I despise is chasing me with scissors/ gulal /groom's photo, depending on what I have done to him. All the while squealing like a duck, while he threatens to seek revenge on me for teasing about his new mush/ ruining his shirt/ asking about his GF.
I haven't run like that in a long time.
Ah, the terror and urgency of being a child. And the freedom and the will to squeal like a duck.