I used to...

I used to be able  to close my eyes and drift off to another world. I would float around and sing melodies that had never been written before. I would sing them in rhythms long forgotten. I would move to them in ways no one had ever moved. I could fly in this world. Meet people and see places I had never met or seen before. I never dreamed in that world; for dreaming doesn't make sense when you're at the very edge of existence itself. Where simply willing something brings it to life. Where little plastic men march around and sing hebrew songs. The sun sets behind another sun and it's setting turns the world a shade of blue. Or green. Or yellow. All in the blink of an eye.

I would feel everything that everything that ever was, is and will be felt. I was everything and I was nothing and though I look back at that time today and recall very little, I know this: I do not go there now because in reality, I never did. Because there was nowhere to go. I was always there. And I am here today, just as you are. The world spins around itself and around the sun and around the merry-go-round that is the universe. Cars pass me by slow motion; Disassemble. Reassemble. And go back to standard time. My viens still pulse to the music as I float through the air and out my window and I am still the tree outside my window and I still do feel the wind blowing through my leaves. I am Nothing and still very much am, Everything.

And so are you! We are the same, you and I. No! We are all there is. And all there is, is us. These physical divisions are just links in the chain that is all and is yet insignificant for it is nothing without itself and it's very existence is questionable.

Look up! Can you see it? Through whatever blocks your view, can you see it? Can you see the Sun? As it sets into another sun and it's setting turns the world a shade of blue. Or green. Or yellow. All in the blink of an eye.

Stories

I've always loved stories. Hearing and telling them. Asking my dad for just one more story till he fell asleep narrating extended my bedtime by an hour on so many nights when I was young. As I grew older, I had my own stories. Most were based very very losely on reality, some were complete imagination. Time passed and I heard so many more stories. I had my own completely true stories too, to accompany the ones with a dash of imagination or maybe reality. I realised that I wanted to tell my stories. That I wanted to share them with the world. I wanted to swap stories because I had realised that stories are important. They enrich our lives and give them depth. They are the greatest way in which we may live on because when we hear a story from a good Story Teller, we feel exactly as he/she feels. We laugh and weep and wonder just as they do. Because they are the imbodiment of the soul of the story. The story is theirs. Not because they lived it, but because they felt it truly.

A friend of mine once called me a wordsmith. I found it fitting and carried it around till today.

See I met this girl a few months ago. Isha*. And today, as I spoke to her I realised that the title fit her better. For she is a true wordsmith. As for me? Well I realised I'm something else. (Well I aspire for it anyway)

I am a Story Teller.

I have no great skills. I have no polished craft. But I have stories. And when it comes to stories, I have seen more than I can remember, and I remember more than I have seen. (G.B.Shaw ladies and gentlemen) I dont even know which stories are mine anymore. But I love telling them. Whether it's through songs or comedy or films or plays or just over lunch, I love telling them. I realise that the great joy for me was not creation and performance. It was the framing and telling of stories that would connect to people. All these stories in my head are a part of me. And if you've heard and felt any of them, they're a part of you too.

Yes. I am a Story Teller. Sounds right, nai?

*Isha Maniar is a talented writer currently studying law. Her blog Chai Paani Etc. fills me with joy and wonder every time I read it.
http://ishamaniar.blogspot.in

Damn tablet wont let me hyperlink. :-/

Music for her little ears

I have a faraway cousin. She's about 6 months old now, but when she was born, her mother lived at her sister's house, that's my aunt's home and that home is quite close to mine. So I spent a fair amount of time with my faraway cousin for the fist few days after her birth. I've always been thouroughly amazed at how wonderful children are. But that's for another day. What makes me write about this little baby girl is this...

See I have a hobby. I sing. I sing whenever my voice is functional and even when I can barely make a sound. When I first met my little cousin, I was in the middle of a song. A song by a band called Pink Floyd. She was crying when I entered the room but when she heard me sing, she immeadiately stopped and listened. Now contrary to what some people believe, I am a horrible vocalist. My voice manages to annoy me even when I'm on stage singing. So theres only one logical reason for why she stopped cryimg. It was the song. And the theory proved itself right every time I walked into her hearing range singing a Floyd song. It wasnt any other band. Just Pink Floyd. Now understand, this girl's parents are not into Floyd. In fact, they both swear by old bollywood. But this girl. Oh this girl! How she loved Floyd! She would flail her arms and legs, dancing as best as a 15 Day old can, every time she heard Pink Floyd. She smiled and she laughed every time she heard Wish You Were Here, almost as if she understood what the song said. And maybe she did. Yeah... I think she did.