Hidden stories

*Story awaits a Storyteller* When your kid comes back home from school, his first few sentences are precious like the first shower of monsoon, what they say; is storytelling. When your friend is quiet for hours, the words that spill when you hold her hand; is storytelling. He was 80 years old, asked for a lift from me just up to few yards; in few minutes he spoke so much, even after we reached his house he did not want to stop as no one else had time for him, that right there was storytelling. In a lost and found letter, in a broken new watch, in a crushed to pieces car, in a blind man’s stare, in a beggar’s smile, in a frame with a garland, in an over-crowded train and an empty stomach, a story hides waiting to be told. A story waits in bullet wounds, raped existence, abused innocence, depressed smiles and surrogate wombs, for a storyteller who is willing and bold © nomeee