At some point shortly before the pandemic I discovered that my phone kept track of my steps. I had had fun with pedometers before but never carried them consistently. Or they stopped working. In their heyday they were even among the give-aways at trade conferences, something that a vendor might put their logo on, like a pen or pen drive. Later when things got fancy with Fitbits and smart watches, I went digital in the sense of counting as I walked and noting every 100 on my fingers. Only I’d do paces as that was easier to keep count. Home to vegetable market – 300 paces. Deonar depot to home – 600 paces. If I recall correctly the young cousins in the family even started a spreadsheet to keep a daily tally and compare notes. Heady times!
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Run Me Down
In Field Notes, Real Talk on 9 February 2019 at 12:38 pmGuest post by Hema Gopinathan in a new series called REAL TALK where Ask Amma explores issues we face when engaging with womanhood.
I look wistfully at the cute pair of neon running shorts with its matching tank top that I picked up from a big fitness brand store. An expensive waste, when I am fully aware, having been told over and over, that if you want to run you can even do it in a salwar kameez or a saree. The critical point to remember is to never call attention to oneself. Because that’s very bad, calling attention and any consequence would entirely be my fault. So I put on a pair of leggings long past their lycral prime and a XXL t-shirt in a colour that can be only described as puke-sia. The hair is bound tightly as are the breasts, so as to not swing and you know, call attention.
Ask Amma 