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Memories & Special Bonds

Evolving Stories

Stories – are our extended family members. We swear by them.

We make stories, we preserve stories, and sometimes, for lack of proper plots, we become stories.

Evolving Stories

I have inherited many stories from my father. I had witnessed my spouse creating memories through some of his stories. These two gentlemen enhance my gratitude towards life, using their stories. Here, I spoke about it once.

My daughter is listening to my stories, since I got to know, that I am expecting. In office loos, while commuting, at night… I just used to put my hand on top of my belly and tell her about anything that fancied me that day. A nostalgic dream, bright wishes or a chapter from my own childhood. She sometimes responded, with her kicks.

The first time, I took her in my arms, I waited for the nurse to leave us alone. I securitized her features and told her “I am your ma.” That day also, I told her a story. The story of the dream I had the day before she was born. I saw I was entering the lift, holding hands of a little girl wearing a white frock. I told her that I knew that day, I am going to have a girl.

She had listened to ample stories since then. Now, she has started making her own stories also. I now have the privilege to become the audience. The first story she made was quite autobiographical, where there was dog, it ate and slept. Did nothing else. “Ek baar ek doggi.. khana khaya .. sho gaya”. It was heavily inspired from her own life.

In last few months, the stories have improved. They now have some element of emotions, have a better start and few more characters.

“Ek baar.. kya hua na tiger ne jungle me shabko bola.. mai raja hoon.. monkey bola.. Ok, chalega”

..then there is improvisation

“..lekin maine tiger ko bola.. aishe nahi hota, monkey ko bhi baari hogi”

..and sometimes a moral

“Tiger samjha.. bola.. haan.. is jungle me, shab raja”

..finally, an explicitly declared ending, with a self-appreciate note

“Stoly finish.. kaise laga? Aacha than na ?”

Her stories reveal what she is and what she is becoming. All her characters fear having shampoo and love eating mangoes. The vacation spot for all the animals are Goan beaches. They all have red and yellow tricycle. All of them have Vaishali teacher. They hate injections.

There are fine nuances of using facial expressions for extreme emotions. Anger, fear, joy and dance find their way through proper expressions. It pretty much cover up the improper grammar and misspelt words.

We all are growing together and so are our stories.

Amrita Thavrani is a mother to a two-year old daughter. Occasionally blogs at Say hello to her while strolling at the tweet street @TheSeeSawMother.