When I Learned the Power of Storytelling
I first realized the mountain-moving power of storytelling when I was around three years old. I had gone to see Om Shanti Om–a Bollywood film that is, in equal parts, ridiculous and entertaining–in theaters with my mother, who brought me along to her plans because nannies were a cherished, expensive rarity in those times. Throughout the film, my mother tried desperately to put me to sleep: it was scandalously past my bedtime, and she was afraid that I would end up with a disfigured, indisciplined sleep schedule. She begged, pleaded, and threatened, all while I intently watched the screen, amazed by the dazzling dances, the surreal plot, not to mention the painfully gorgeous Deepika Padukone.
There is one moment from that movie-watching experience that I can pinpoint with amazing clarity: it was the introduction of Deepika Padukone’s character, where her dress gets entangled in the male lead’s watch. At that moment, in collective unison–almost as it wasn’t even of our own accord, and we were pre-programmed–everybody cheered in celebration. Before I realized it, I was standing up from my seat, and waving my arms in the air, overcome with joy. I turned to my mother, expecting to see a horrified expression, and instead, I found her doing the same. When I left the theater, an old couple came up to me and asked if I liked the movie. Unapologetically opinionated, even then, I replied, “I didn’t like the story, but the songs were good. And I loved the part where the girl’s dress gets stuck in the guy’s watch.”
It was true. I thought the plot was confusing and hard to understand. But I have never stopped watching movies since. There was just something so incredibly spectacular about the collective emotion that we–a bunch of strangers, who hadn’t uttered a single word to one another–felt. That feeling of togetherness and community and joy is the product of telling stories. Many people think of storytelling as a route of escapism, but for me, it’s the opposite. Stories are my lens into the world, not away from it. They are the tools with which I learn on a daily basis, the basis of my inquisitiveness and intellectual vitality. Stories fuel my greediness to learn more, to see and experience more.
Stories also give me a way to connect with other individuals, to feel the magic when a group of strangers shares a singular emotion. They are what bind us, and truly give us a reason to live—whether we find that in learning from one another, or building a community amongst ourselves.
This is why it always angers me when parents discourage their children from reading books or watching movies. I have grown tremendously from my experiences with stories—both fictional and otherwise. I have loved, lost, and learned alongside each and every character. I have felt their pain, their triumph, their humanity. I have discovered empathy and anger and sadness. I have become more mature and emotionally aware. These experiences are not simply entertaining ways to pass time, they are hardcore learning experiences.
As I transition into college, I seek to listen to more stories and tell my own. In doing so, I hope I can build the sense of community and unity I had at three years old in that movie theater.
