As a kid, I was fond of listening to the stories by my amma.
Every night , a new story and with every new story, a new lesson. At times, she would repeat the same stories too. Some of them are still stuck in my head and I remember them word by word in her voice.
She would tell me about various accounts of 'Mahabharata' and 'Ramayana' and numerous folk tales too.
I loved listening to all of them.
Stories make us go to places without moving an inch. They make us dive deep into the ocean of thoughts. They teach us things about life and things about ourselves.
There were often a times, when she would narrate a story of a princess and her bravery and I would imagine myself there.
Another thing about stories is that the moment you start listening to them, you develop a connection with the characters and maybe that's why a little pain in their lives, make you cry.
So, the when amma left this world and there was no one to tell me the stories, I surrounded myself with books. All sorts of stories, which I can read whenever and wherever I want. Although, these stories are so much different from the 'stories by amma'. I love reading all these stories but somewhere inside, I miss listening to them.