Random thoughts on Magic…
‘Far away beyond the moonbeams…
Let me take you by the hand,
To my home a magic island,
By the name of Never-Land…’
Peter Pan, frozen in time, an eternal child, sings to a little girl called Mary-Ann, who stares at him with big blue eyes….. I turn the pages of a book i have owned since 1979…and wonder once again, if there is such a thing as magic, a Never-Land, and perhaps, most importantly..a way to go beyond the moonbeams…
It is Sunday night and i am struggling to complete a story which i have read so many times before, yet am called upon to read it once again because the childeren want it told. They know it so well, they almost parrot the words with me, but apparently, it is one of the joys of childhood…a comfort in the familiar.
Reading stories to children is fast becoming a lost art. I struggle with my daily work which often spills into the late evening and by the time the children go to bed, i am so exhausted that i make a hasty promise to read a story ‘tomorrow’ and often doze off myself as i clutch them both close to me…only to awaken at some strange hour to find that the reading lamp is still burning bright and i am feeling cramped between two clinging children, both sleeping peacefully.
Once upon a time, my grandmother and great aunt, both of whom had a big hand in bringing me up, would tell me stories from folklore or mythology as i held their hands and marveled at the superhuman feats of gods and other god-like beings. Sleeping on a rug with a thick cotton pillow underneath my head, i would travel to enchanting lands in my imagination, fuelled by the stories i heard each day…and slip into dreamland contemplating the shadows that the passing vehicles would make on the wall opposite me. Shadows that lead the mind into seeing a variety of faces and singing trees on the bare wall, scary and amusing by turns. Turning around to the opposite side, the park in front of the house visible through the window would become an enchanted forest and the grey outlines would become fairy people. Fireflies would complete the fairy setting…
Unlike the sharpness of the visually perceived object, the words of a story are open to interpretation…and therein lies the magic…the story read or told allows for the imagination to take over and form its own unique images…i have never been able to reconcile with the screen Scherezade because she is so much more beautiful in my imagination…King Vikram had sharper features in my mental image of him and the ‘ghost on the tree’ or Vetal did not wear lipstick like the one in the television show does, so very obviously !
Almost everything that fell into the realm of a classical ‘story’ has been represented on the screen in some form or the other, so much so that a lot of children have seen the serial or the movie on a certain topic…be it the famous ‘Wizard of Oz’ or the ‘Chronicles of Narnia’…or more recently the Harry Potter series…
While this visual representation is a delightful gift for the senses, i sometimes wonder whether we are slowly limiting the flowering of the imagination when a magnificient quantification is made of a story which is beautiful simply because it allows each one of us who reads it to interpret it in our own way.
The virtues and vices of the television have oft been discussed and there is, as always with any new technology, both a positive and a negative side to it…but that surely is not the point i wish to make here. The television and the big screen have their advantages and they are far too much a part of our lives to even contemplate their putative absence.
Yet, when my daughter tells me that the ‘Barbie’ Cinderella did or said something or when the high point of my son’s day consists of learning about a new ‘Pokemon’, i feel a certain pang somewhere within me…
Have the children stopped believing in magic…the beautiful thread which makes childhood so radically different from adulthood…just before it is broken in the course of years.. ? Has each joy in this world somehow become quantifiable ? Have the shadows on the wall stopped transforming into magical creatures in candlelight…Will Peter Pan grow up one day and will i find out that Never-Land is just a high-rise complex on the outskirts of the city because, moonbeams cannot be traversed ?
Or is it that i just need to leave the kitchen platform uncleared and messy and read that story each night…so that the magic would remain in their little hearts as it still lingers in mine.. ?
Let me take you by the hand,
To my home a magic island,
By the name of Never-Land…’
Peter Pan, frozen in time, an eternal child, sings to a little girl called Mary-Ann, who stares at him with big blue eyes….. I turn the pages of a book i have owned since 1979…and wonder once again, if there is such a thing as magic, a Never-Land, and perhaps, most importantly..a way to go beyond the moonbeams…
It is Sunday night and i am struggling to complete a story which i have read so many times before, yet am called upon to read it once again because the childeren want it told. They know it so well, they almost parrot the words with me, but apparently, it is one of the joys of childhood…a comfort in the familiar.
Reading stories to children is fast becoming a lost art. I struggle with my daily work which often spills into the late evening and by the time the children go to bed, i am so exhausted that i make a hasty promise to read a story ‘tomorrow’ and often doze off myself as i clutch them both close to me…only to awaken at some strange hour to find that the reading lamp is still burning bright and i am feeling cramped between two clinging children, both sleeping peacefully.
Once upon a time, my grandmother and great aunt, both of whom had a big hand in bringing me up, would tell me stories from folklore or mythology as i held their hands and marveled at the superhuman feats of gods and other god-like beings. Sleeping on a rug with a thick cotton pillow underneath my head, i would travel to enchanting lands in my imagination, fuelled by the stories i heard each day…and slip into dreamland contemplating the shadows that the passing vehicles would make on the wall opposite me. Shadows that lead the mind into seeing a variety of faces and singing trees on the bare wall, scary and amusing by turns. Turning around to the opposite side, the park in front of the house visible through the window would become an enchanted forest and the grey outlines would become fairy people. Fireflies would complete the fairy setting…
Unlike the sharpness of the visually perceived object, the words of a story are open to interpretation…and therein lies the magic…the story read or told allows for the imagination to take over and form its own unique images…i have never been able to reconcile with the screen Scherezade because she is so much more beautiful in my imagination…King Vikram had sharper features in my mental image of him and the ‘ghost on the tree’ or Vetal did not wear lipstick like the one in the television show does, so very obviously !
Almost everything that fell into the realm of a classical ‘story’ has been represented on the screen in some form or the other, so much so that a lot of children have seen the serial or the movie on a certain topic…be it the famous ‘Wizard of Oz’ or the ‘Chronicles of Narnia’…or more recently the Harry Potter series…
While this visual representation is a delightful gift for the senses, i sometimes wonder whether we are slowly limiting the flowering of the imagination when a magnificient quantification is made of a story which is beautiful simply because it allows each one of us who reads it to interpret it in our own way.
The virtues and vices of the television have oft been discussed and there is, as always with any new technology, both a positive and a negative side to it…but that surely is not the point i wish to make here. The television and the big screen have their advantages and they are far too much a part of our lives to even contemplate their putative absence.
Yet, when my daughter tells me that the ‘Barbie’ Cinderella did or said something or when the high point of my son’s day consists of learning about a new ‘Pokemon’, i feel a certain pang somewhere within me…
Have the children stopped believing in magic…the beautiful thread which makes childhood so radically different from adulthood…just before it is broken in the course of years.. ? Has each joy in this world somehow become quantifiable ? Have the shadows on the wall stopped transforming into magical creatures in candlelight…Will Peter Pan grow up one day and will i find out that Never-Land is just a high-rise complex on the outskirts of the city because, moonbeams cannot be traversed ?
Or is it that i just need to leave the kitchen platform uncleared and messy and read that story each night…so that the magic would remain in their little hearts as it still lingers in mine.. ?
Comments
I enjoyed your story about story-telling. But it reminded me of something else: In order to consume the large volumes of information that everyday brings we've all developed shortcuts. Most of us rarely read each word but rather prefer a speed skim.
So, I had to re-read your post to get the full story!
Yeah, we are so used to reading fast and assimilating information at a rapid pace. Deepa Tai's writing has to be read slowly, enjoying every nuance, every careful woven word! Isnt it great?
I am thrilled to see your reactions! Yes indeed, the world is moving at a pace that seems hard to fathom. It is important to learn the tricks of keeping up with today so i realize the need for power reading..
But i think it is so necessary to learn to savour a story and to kindle the imagination...else the child is lost..
:-)