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  Like all stories, mine is a nested story. Stories within stories. Yet it starts at the very beginning - a very good place to start. When we sing we begin with DO RE ME , when we read we begin with ABC, when we tell a story we begin with... One upon a time.... there lived a 10 year old who knew a huge big tree! We had a huge tree near our lunch ground in school and the moment bell rang we would call dibs on who would get to climb the tree and eat while sitting on it. Life was full of adventure. The Magic Faraway Tree by Enid Blyton was my favorite book growing up and climbing trees was my favorite thing to do. Every day was an adventure. I was the Flame of the Forest ( Gul Mohur) bursting into movement, full of curiosity, colour and carefree was what everyone who met me told me. At that young age of 10 years, of curiosity and adventure, 40 seemed so far away and old. 50 was the age my mother would go onto have her first grandchild! I am now 49 years old and turning 50 ...

She did not even know she was pregnant. The sudden bleeding was unusual and coming after an epic trekking expedition; she thought it was the stress and strain that had brought on the out pour. The doctor was doubtful and her leading questions came like a bolt at Sanjana. Now she remembered the skipped days and rued her lack of responsibility. Having relocated to a new country just 6 months back and learning to adjust was tough enough. What was tougher was the sense of loneliness and isolation that she was experiencing. It had led Prakash to arrange for her to take this trek; so that she could meet new people and also do something she really loved, be one with nature. Tears poured down her eyes and the Doctor was a bit taken aback at the grief she saw. “Prakash, I just learnt I have lost our baby”, she sobbed into the phone, not explaining head or tail or what had transpired. Concerned at the pain she was feeling, Prakash organised for a friend to bring her back home....

Happy World Storytelling Day! "storycare is inseparable from healthcare" ~ Dan Yashinsky What is the story you choose to carry within you - that cares for all of humanity? Tell me. Share it with me. There is an Italian version and a Scottish version, yet I like what is retold by Dan Yashinsky in this version from the Arabian Nights. ( Taken from the Diving in the Moon - Honoring Story Facilitating Healing Journal 2016 of HSA) Mine is: The Happy Man's Shirt. A king had a son who was so sad that all he did was stare at the wall of his bedroom as he lay in bed. (Many heads nodded at this description. “The bed is your enemy,” one patient said to another.) Finally an old wise woman came to the palace and told the king that she knew what could heal his prince. “Go,” she said, “and search your kingdom for a happy man. Borrow his shirt. When your son wears the shirt of a happy man, he, too, will remember how to feel happy.” ...

Mullah Nasiruddin had never seen a falcon before and spotting it on the window sill, he caught the bird and cut its talons, clipped its beak and trimmed its feathers. "You poor thing, how did you get into such a bad shape" he sympathised, "Now you look better." ( from a collection of Hodja Tales by Idries Shah) All of us have to clip our feathers, trim our beaks and cut our talons...to fit into a framework that exists in another person's view or in the view of society. Lucky are those who are able to remain a falcon and fly the sky and be recognised as one. I have spent the last 10 years reattaching my feathers, beak and talons. To be the person I always thought I was and thought I wanted to be. Still I find a few feathers are missing and the beak may be more crooked than it used to be, but that moment of recognition when you realise you can regrow your talons, feathers and beak is priceless... I know I clipped my sense of fun and boxed myself into ...

A healing fable Turtle was in love with Rabbit. Her family was shocked. This is unheard of; we cannot allow such foolishness to prevail, they said. How can a turtle love a rabbit so? Yet, she left the water to be with him. She bid farewell to her mother and father, sister and brother and crawled onto the land. Somewhere in her soft heart underneath that hard shell she wore, she felt great love for rabbit, the Prince of Shore. She had seen him run and adored his pace. The way he combed his hair, took her breathe away. She had seen him feast on carrots and cabbage and felt she shared the same passion.  Made for each other she felt, so they married. Rabbit insisted on moving fast. He was always in a hurry. He darted in and out of holes and chewed his food rapidly, while looking at turtle with eyes impatiently. “Move faster” he would shout back angrily. “Wait for me” she would yell. He ran ahead and she plodded behind on feet that now had cuts and scratche...

My first storytelling session was in a Multi Ability classroom of a Special School ( Vidya Sagar) in Chennai. Year 1996.  I took the children to the garden, we sat around and we had a bucket of water in the middle. E ach child had a puppet in their hand – made with simple newspaper; a lion, a rabbit and a few more animals.  As we peered into it, we saw our reflection.  So by now you may know what story I went on to tell. The Panchatantra tale of the Lion and the Rabbit and how the rabbit outwits the lion. This experience triggered a series of reactions. The children (a few of them) started noticing and looking at themselves on reflecting surfaces - as that is what they took back from that story experience. It is mind blowing...to think of this cause and effect in retrospect...   It was an experience for the children. That story allowed children to experience an idea, a concept, abstract or literal notions within the space of a narrative arc. As a storytelle...

The Rose Bush & the Snail - by Hans Christian Anderson A hedge of hazel-nut bushes encircled the garden;  but in the centre of the garden stood a rose-tree, and under it sat a snail--she had much within her, she had herself. "Wait, until my time comes," said she, "I shall accomplish something more than putting forth roses, bearing nuts, or giving milk, like the cows and sheep!" "I expect something fearfully grand," said the rose-tree, "may I ask when it will take place?" "I shall take my time," said the snail, "you are in too great a hurry, and when that is the case, how can one's expectations be fulfilled?" The next year the snail lay in about the same spot under the rose-tree, which put forth buds and developed roses, ever fresh, ever new. The snail half crept forth, stretched out its feelers and drew itself in again. "Everything looks as it did a year ago! No progress has been made; the r...