As a child my Grand mother I remember was the best story teller I knew.
She would tell me everything, right from Persian history to her childhood days of fun and frolic.
While some had morals, others were simply tit bits of gossip that kept me wide eyed.
She narrated them as she stroked my arm in affection after I returned tired from a mundane school day and hugged me to story land nights when I stayed over with her, on vacations.
She told them to me over cups of sweet tea and chocolate walnut sandwiches.
She conveyed them to me over mango marathons we had with each other all afternoon and mid night fridge raids.
Come what may she always had a new story. There was never a dull moment around her.
I wondered sometimes, did she have an elephant memory or was she making some up, just to keep me gripped?
But the day’s, dates and people easily matched and I accepted that grand mothers are just fantastic entertainers.
At least mine was a mind blowing one!
Maybe that’s where I got this gene to narrate. Tell ordinary things in an extraordinary way or so I would like to think.
Unfortunately I could not relate half as well as her for am not a very convincing conversationalist.
Luckily some part of the talent rubbed off on paper and as a child my diaries were filled with self written characters, both real and unreal.
My imagination was anyways bordering on berserk and that’s where my love to write fiction came about.
As am ready to publish my first work of fiction in paperback this year, I realize that I have countless unique anecdotes from my own existence that happen around me more often than not.
It would be pointless if I didn’t let others in on my unique adventures and escapades.
And what better way to share…than over a cup of Steaming Chai……..
Where it all begun…