As a child I was always asked a question, "Whom do you love the most?", this question though very difficult to answer for others was never that difficult for me, it was and it is still the same, "ba" (grandpa).
I feel blessed to have belonged to that time when cable t.v was yet to make intrusion , so the only recluse was stories from grandpa. I knew anything could happen in the world of stories which he narrated, a happy prince could be robbed of happiness, tezimola could transform into a bird, Ali baba could find hidden treasure. It mesmerized me to the extent that I would keep thinking about these stories whole day long. I wanted to belong to that make believe world where I could think of flaunting my long hair like Rapunzel did, could find ice candy hut like Hansel and Gratel did and have a life like that of Snow White, not to miss Alice's Wonderland though.
My father once gifted me a huge story book where the images would pop up as I turned it's leaf. That book took me to roller coaster rides. I knew, if anything could make me happy, that would definitely be stories and I still believe in it.
Each night my grandpa came up with a bed time story and surprisingly he always made me the princess there which made a gap toothed girl swell with pride. She knew she could have a world of her own in the stories that her grandpa told.
At present, he being 92 with a rock solid memory, he still has stories to narrate which mostly stem out of life. I am retelling one of those here,
A long time ago when God was designing the Earth, he was revising his plans for he had kept everything as an experiment. He at first designed the trees, the paddy fields, farms, animals and everything that Nature could hold and then he thought, "let me design human beings as well", and he sent forth humans on Earth. The humans were beyond happy to be on Earth. They ate fruits, drank water, hunted animals and life was wonderful. One day, a man discovered a magic seed. He heard the heavens go crazy as God spoke to him, "Keep the magic seed safe within the soil, my child", God professed.
He did as he was professed. Days rolled into weeks and he saw the earth crack and a new green sapling stood there bold and erect. The man felt so proud, he had learnt to grow life out of magic seeds. He waited for it to ripen and it bore tiny fruits, white in colour. He dried it under sun and tried to chew it, it tasted odd but it satisfied his hunger. By that time, everyone was growing magic seeds, they again heard God speak, " My children on Earth, that magic fruit is going to be your food and you would need to let it spill it's magic by boiling it in water". The people did as they were told and they were surprised to see it grow fluffy. They finally had welcomed home rice.
Everything was well and good until God heard one of his child plead, "I am robbed my lord", he said. God listened to what he had to say. That poor farmer had grown rice in abundance but whoever would pass his fields would collect a handful of it and pocket it. The farmer was at a loss and wanted a solution. God listened to his pleadings and came up with a solution, he thought of clothing rice and gave it a nice brown cover. The farmer finally had solution to his problem and his granaries brought him a good fortune.
This is one among the hundred stories that flood my memory. In the world which asks for validation, I still want to stick to the conclusions that the stories fetched, for I believe in the magic that stories hold. Don't you?
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