Dancing days are here again
It takes them forever to locate the luggage at the airport as I wait outside. They are returning after a two month holiday and the more time they take, the harder my heart beats, a ritual that I hate, the waiting excrutiatingly painful. Two hours from the time that they land, I finally see them come out of the departure lounge.
It is a feeling that I have come to love over the years. It is the look my son gives me when he places me in the crowd. There is something about this look, unconditional love, maybe a bit of self-assurance, of being home finally.
A look that I have loved ever since his first trip away from home, years ago, when he was barely walking and seeing me in the crowd, upon his return, he ran towards me and gave me the best hug a parent could ask for. He has grown taller over summer and has overshot my shoulder.
My daughter whispers something to her mom. She is reminding her that every year I pick her up in my arms and that I had not done so this time. I pick her up to a big hug as a beautiful day rises over Karachi.