Sometimes as a parent, I don’t get to throw tantrums. I need to behave because I have little versions of me copying me. There are days I want to scream and cry. And then there are days when I know this is what I want. I do need my punching bag. That to me is to run. I love getting up in the morning and running until I can barely stand. Run like my life depends on it. Run like nothing else matters. Just run and think about nothing else. Wake up and run.  Don’t look back.

She was an only child. She stayed alone at home while her parents went to work. Her books her only company. As she looked out the window, she saw her mom walking in the distance towards the market. She bolted out of the house and ran to catch up with her. Her lungs felt like they would burst with the exertion and yet she didn’t want to stop until she caught up with her.  Racing ahead, she finally reached within earshot of her and rasped “Mom! Wait”. Mom turned around. It wasn’t mom. Same saree. Different lady.

Sarah was browsing through the magnificent dresses, when the slightly off-white one with the elbow-length sleeve caught her eye. Just the right length, just the perfect amount of lace. She knew Jack would swoon at the sight of her in this. As she was noting down the names on the label, she saw another woman looking admiringly at an A-line wedding dress beside her, and whispered to her, “You know, if you like it, just note the details, and buy the same one at Reem’s on discount!” The woman looked up and said, “I run this place.”