From Cave Walls to Social Media

• March 6, 2026
• 7:50 pm

The Timeless Journey of Storytelling

The First Stories Ever Told

Long before books were written, before theatres were built, and even before language evolved into the forms we know today, humans felt a powerful urge—to tell their stories.

Imagine a prehistoric human sitting inside a cave after a long day of hunting and gathering. The fire is slowly fading, and shadows flicker across the rough stone walls. With a piece of charcoal in hand, he begins to draw scenes from his life: animals he chased, people he lived with, and the world he experienced.

He was not merely drawing pictures—he was recording his existence

Those cave paintings were perhaps the earliest form of storytelling.

Stories Around the Campfire

As families grew, some members moved away to new caves and settlements. Yet the tradition of sharing experiences continued. Communities expanded, and people began travelling across distant lands, carrying their stories with them.

During cold evenings, people gathered around campfires and shared tales of the day’s adventures, mysterious happenings, and memorable moments from the past —much like how we sit with friends or cousins today and exchange childhood memories and anecdotes.

Over time, storytelling became a cherished social ritual.

Stories were passed down orally from generation to generation, and each storyteller added their own imagination and perspective. Eventually, when storytellers ran out of stories they had heard, they began creating new ones. These stories reflected the realities of their time.

Some stories spoke about daily life. Some celebrated extraordinary heroes.

Others tried to explain why things happen the way they do. Many wandered into the realms of the mysterious and mythical.

Gradually, humans organized these narratives into categories such as myths, legends, folktales, and “porquois” stories—stories that explained the mysteries of the world.

The Birth of the Storyteller

Storytelling was never static. It evolved depending on the audience. Stories told to children differed from those shared among adults. Even the style of narration began to change.

Some storytellers preferred a calm and simple approach, sipping quietly under a tree, allowing their voices to paint pictures in the listeners’ minds. Others were more dramatic—they stood, moved about, used gestures and facial expressions, and acted out scenes.

Thus, storytelling began developing distinct personal styles.

Creativity has no limits, and this was reflected in the evolution of storytelling traditions.

Storytellers soon realized that they could make their stories more vivid by becoming part of the story themselves.

Some dressed as one of the characters they were narrating. Yet portraying only one character limited the narrative. So, another storyteller might appear as a different character, offering another viewpoint or voice.

This collaborative narration made storytelling far livelier and engaging.

When Stories Became Visual

Soon storytellers began using props.

At first these were simple objects—perhaps a stick representing a sword or a cloth symbolizing a royal robe. Gradually, these objects evolved into elaborate storytelling tools, including puppets that could represent the characters in a story. With this innovation, storytelling gave birth to the art form of puppetry.

In puppetry, the puppet itself becomes the character, interacting with both the narrator and the audience. Across cultures, puppet traditions flourished.

In Japan, the storytelling style known as Kamishibai used illustrated cards placed inside a small stage-like frame. The storyteller would slide each card while narrating the story, allowing images and narration to flow together.

India developed a rich heritage of puppet traditions such asti

• Kathputli of Rajasthan
• Bommalatam of Tamil Nadu
• Putul Naach of West Bengal
• Tholu Bommalata of Andhra Pradesh
• Pavakathakali of Kerala

Each of these reflects the culture, creativity, and storytelling traditions of its region.

When Music Entered the Story

Storytellers soon realized that stories could also be sung.

Music added emotion, rhythm, and memory to storytelling. Songs narrated tales of gods and goddesses, heroic warriors, lovers, and everyday people.

India offers many beautiful examples of storytelling through music:

• Pandavani (ChhaPsgarh) narrates episodes from the Mahabharata

• Alha (Uttar Pradesh) celebrates heroic legends
• Baul singers (West Bengal) share spiritual and philosophical stories
• Burra Katha and Tamasha combine narration, music, and drama. These traditions show how storytelling and music naturally blended together.

When Stories Began to Dance

If music added emotion to storytelling, dance added movement and expression. Across India, dance forms became powerful storytelling mediums.

Folk dances such as Bihu, Lavani, and Ramleela depict community traditions and cultural stories. Classical dance forms like Kathak, Bharatanatyam, Kathakali, and Kuchipudi narrate elaborate mythological and historical tales through gestures, expressions, and rhythmic movements.

In these traditions, the body itself becomes the storyteller.

The Rise of Theatre

As storytelling became more collaborative, it gradually evolved into theatre.

Theatre transformed storytelling into structured performances where dialogue, music, dance, costumes, and stagecraft came together.

India developed numerous forms of folk theatre, and later, Sanskrit plays became an important literary and dramatic tradition.

Across the world, storytelling evolved similarly. Ancient Greece developed powerful tragedies and comedies. Medieval Europe created religious plays. Later came the

timeless works of Shakespeare.

In Japan, theatre forms such as Kabuki and Noh blended performance, music, and storytelling into rich cultural traditions.

Through these developments, storytelling became more than entertainment—it became a reflection of culture and collective memory.

The Age of Cinema and Visual Media

With the invention of film and television, storytelling entered the world of visual media.

Motion pictures, documentaries, advertisements, and short films captivated audiences with immersive audiovisual experiences. These audio-visual forms brought stories to life with realism and scale that traditional storytelling could rarely achieve.

Cinema allowed stories to travel across countries and cultures.

The Digital Age of Storytelling

Today, storytelling has entered its newest chapter—the digital age.

Social media platforms allow stories to travel across the world within seconds. A single story can reach millions of people instantly.

A traveller can document a journey.

A grandmother can share a recipe and the story behind it. A filmmaker can create a short film on a phone.

Today, anyone can become a storyteller.

The Story Never Ends

From cave paintings to campfires, from puppets to theatre, from cinema screens to social media feeds—the journey of storytelling continues.

Because storytelling is more than an art form.

It is how humans remember the past, understand the present, and imagine the future. And perhaps that is why, no matter how much technology evolves, one truth remains unchanged:

Humans will always tell stories.

Hema Subramanian

About Hema Subramanian:

Hema Subramanian is an educator, storyteller, poet, and creative writing mentor with over 20 years of experience in education and arts-based learning.

She is the creator of Pentalk – The Orange Wedges Inc., an eight-level creative writing curriculum for children aged 7–14 that has been inspiring young writers for more than 15 years.

Hema conducts workshops on creative writing, poetry, scriptwriting, theatre, and language through art, and regularly works with educators on pedagogy, instructional design, and assessment strategies.

She has served on the International Panel of ESOL Examiners for Trinity College London and works as a freelance educational consultant, designing innovative learning modules for several organizations and NGOs. She also holds a Stanford certification in Design Thinking.

A published poet, Hema is the author of “Reflections” and writes regularly on her blog Poesy. She is the co-founder of the Mumbai Storytellers Society and the Arghya Indian Classical Music and Fine Art Foundation, and has been a core member of the festival committees for several storytelling festivals, including MIST @ Panchgani and Gaatha International Storytelling Festival.

Panchgani break

Picture poetry Panchgani, Mahabaleshwar.

Captured the pictures with art in mind.

Love the way nature is so artistic.

The sunlight dappled leaves

The shades of green shimmering

The orange tailed squirrel

Or is it the flying breed

Darting or flying

Hither to thither

Sunlight intensifying its shade

Red to Orange to bright yellow

Slowly the shade lightens

As the heat rises

Paradox of sorts

The dead leaf

Shines in dying glory

Supporting webs

Giving life

As does the stump

Lying in the corner

Not one but many

In its heart and foot around

The window frame

Highlights the world beyond

The tree that’s so spread

Showering green on light

The same tree out in open

Stands taking different stance

Two paths it spreads intermittently

The growth gnarled, twisted yet bright

Monkeys dance and play

In gay abandon

As nature stands still ,

Undisturbed by the human kind

Leaves falling, birds of different shapes

Chirping their different tunes!

A shrine stands silent

The potted plants glow

The grass between the tiles smile

The silence holds

above the constant rumble

Of the tyres below!!

And I… dream on…

#nature

#art

#ThroughYourLens

#hobbyphotography

#ekphrasticpoem

#capturingwhattheeyebeholds

The Mischief of Raji and Mala: A Lesson Learned

Raji and Mala were good friends even though they were a few years apart. Raji was all of 11 and Mala was about 9 years old. Their respective mothers Saru and Kantha, like them were good friends too and also had a substantial age difference between them. Raji had an elder brother who was married and had a baby boy, 8 month old, Babloo, Both his parents went to work so it was Saru’s responsibility of taking care of her lil grandson during the day.

One day, Kantha came to Saru and said, ” Saru Mami, today I believe Vasai Wala will be coming to our market to sell fresh vegetables . Let’s go and get some, then we need not go to Vasai on Saturday. Vasai is so far away and our whole day will be gone . Instead we can spend it with our family. “

“Yes Saru, it will be nice to go today, but who will take care of Babloo the baby? Other than Raji there is no one is at home.” quipped Saru.

Just then Raji who was in the next room came skipping in and said, ” Amma, you go with Kantha mami. Mala and I will take care of Babloo. It is his sleeping time and he will wake up after an hour only now. We will play with him when he wakes up. “

Saru thought about it and could not resist spending the whole Saturday with the family instead of going off to the market to get supplies. She would have to come home and then put it all away, clean the green vegetables and make the tomato and onion purees for the next week ; but If she went on a weekday her Saturday would be free to enjoy her time with the family. She agreed to go with Kantha to the market.

” Raji and Mala, be very careful with Babloo, don’t lift him unnecessarily. He has had his lunch so he will not need anything to eat now.” Saru called out the instructions as she left for the market with Kantha.

Babloo was fast asleep, Mala and Raji sat down to play a game of Ludo. 1/2 hour passed and suddenly Babloo woke up crying, both, Mala and Raji ran to him. Babloo had woken up as he had soiled his cloth diaper. Now, both the girls did not have much experience in changing diapers. But, they had taken up the responsibility so they dove in. Mala held Babloo down and kept talking to him to keep him occupied, while Raji went about cleaning Babloo up and changing his diaper. Though it was a yucky job both the girls managed it pretty well. Babloo was cranky as he had woken up mid sleep. Raji gently soothed him, she looked up at Mala’ ” Mala, just draw the curtains, and sing that soothing song you learnt in the music class the other day. I will try and put him back to sleep. ”

Mala followed Raji’s instructions and quickly drew the drapes and sat down and started humming the song. Raji in the meanwhile was laying next to the baby and cooing to him. She had seen her mother and sis in law put Babloo to sleep. She imitated them and soon both the girls succeeded in their mission and Babloo was fast asleep.

Once Babloo was asleep, both the girls went back to playing Ludo. Raji looked up to Mala and said, ” We are a good team. I think we did a very good job with Babloo. “

Mala excitedly replied,” Yes Raji. It was fun working together and taking care of Babloo. We can do it more often. ”

Just then the bell rang and the milkman had come to deliver the milk. Raji ran to the kitchen and brought a big vessel to collect the milk from the milkman. It was 2 liters of milk and the vessel got heavy. Mala quickly ran to help Raji. She closed the door behind the milkman and gave a hand in holding the heavy vessel. Both of them moved in tandem and slowly but steadily carried the milk without spilling any on the floor. They kept the milk on the gas and looked at each other beaming from ear to ear. They were very proud of their feat. Mom would never allow them to carry milk into the kitchen. But they had done it!

Back to their game , they settled down with an air of accomplishment. Just 5 minutes later, Mala looked at Raji and beamed proudly, ” We are good girls . We are helping our mom’s so much. ”

Raji agreed immediately and continued, ” Yes , I feel sorry for Amma sometimes, she is always doing the household chores. She hardly gets any time to rest. I feel I could help her more.”

” Yes Raji, now they will come back from the market and will still have a lot of work following that and Babloo will also wake up by that time. Let’s do one thing . The milk has come , lets heat it up and may be make tea for them before they come in. They will be happy and refreshed after that . “

Raji’s eyes gleamed and she replied,” Yes they will be so proud of us and it will make them so happy.”

Saying this both the girls rushed to the kitchen and kept the milk on the gas. They waited for sometime for it to boil. Well, as anyone reading this will vouch for , milk never boils when you are looking at it and waiting for it to come up. And Raji and Mala were just impatient kids.

” Its taking so long to boil, lets keep it on a simmer and then come back after some time to check and switch off the gas” Raji suggested.

“Yes,” agreed Mala.

Now that was taken care of , Raji and Mala settled down in the drawing room to play a round of UNO. As they played they started gossiping about their friends and started sharing stories about their school and teachers. One thing led to another and they happily chattered away. After about half an hour,

” Raji , see some one has kept something on the gas and forgotten. Such a bad burning smell .” commented , Mala pinched her nose.

“How careless can people get ? How can someone forget something like this?” replied Raji.

They promptly gotback to their gossip session and played a few more games.

” Hey the smell is getting stronger. ” Mala got up and started following her nose . Raji followed suit. Half way down the hall and closer to the kitchen, both of them froze and realized their blunder. “The milk!!!” They stopped short and then suddenly sprinted to the kitchen.

The vessel on the gas was smoldering red, there was smoke spewing up and the burnt smell was pervasive. Raji quickly turned off the gas, with the help of the kitchen tongs Raji lifted the vessel and dropped it in to the sink. Mala quickly turned on the faucet of water and there was a loud sizzle. They both stood back to avoid getting burnt in the splash that followed the sizzle. The vessel in question had turned completely black inside out. The milk had charred and the vessel had started to burn. Both of them knew they would get the scolding of their lives. They looked at each other with guilt written large over their faces.

“Let’s clean the vessel and keep it back on the rack. That way we will not get scolded as soon as moms get home,” suggested Mala.

Raji in reply just grabbed the scrubber and got to work. She scrubbed and scrubbed with all her might. Mala kept a look out at the window to check if their mothers were returning home. After 10 mins of scrubbing, the sink had become totally black and only one layer of the scorched milk was gone. Raji had a frustrated look on her face. Mala immediately pitched in and started scrubbing with all the strength of her nine year old hands. This went on for some time. The tension was building up , it was time for their moms to get back home and any time Babloo might wake up. The girls were near tears. They felt very irresponsible and felt they had let their mothers down.

The vessel had started shining through the black residue. They had salvaged it quite a bit. Their hands were sore , shoulders ached and an immense sadness had set in. They lost all the happiness of the afternoon spent together so well. They sat moping in their own guilt when the bell rang. They quietly went and opened the door. Kantha the intuitive of the two moms sensed that something was amiss. She kept her bags down and immediately went to see if the baby was ok, when she saw things were good ,she got back to the girls. She sat down and called Mala to her. She took out the fresh wada pav that she had bought for them and handed it to her. Mala had tears in her eyes, Kantha drew her closer and asked gently, ” What happened sweetheart?”

Mala broke down with tears streaming down her cheeks narrated how Raji and she wanted to surprise both the moms with tea when they came home and the fiasco that followed. Kantha went to the kitchen to check and Saru and she exchanged an amused look. Both Saru and Kantha hugged the girls.

Saru gently said, ” Girls, we are very proud of you both for having taken care of Babloo so well and also for thinking of making some tea for us when we got back. But both of you forgot the golden rule that you need to follow when you are alone. You are not supposed to light the gas when we are not near you both, isn’t it? That was a very dangerous thing to do.”

Kantha pitched in, ” Yes , it could have been life threatening . Nevertheless, we are very happy that you took up the responsibility of your fault and scrubbed the vessel clean and most of all admitted your mistake as soon as we got home.”

With a sheepish look both the girls hugged their moms and blurted out ” Sorry mama! We will be more careful from next time.”

“But you will let us take care of Babloo on our own again won’t you?” Both the girls chirped with a glint in their eyes.

The Two-Minute Maggi Delay: A Hilarious Travel Story

This was a trip to remember! Three friends , A, AA and H, who had known each other for nearly 30 years decided to go on a holiday. We have lived sometimes in the same city, sometimes within the same country, and sometimes far apart in different parts of the world. The trip was to celebrate, cherish and soak in, the essence of togetherness of this friendship. And enjoy we did- exercising, discussing life issues, pushing our limits, making resolutions, and just being together.

Three days went by in a wizz. Finally , it was the day to leave. As there was no great agenda, the morning was spent in a relaxed manner. A leisurely morning tea accompanied by, a lazy in pajamas chat, followed by some exercise to justify the lovely food we were gobbling and then promptly followed it with the lovely breakfast. Our train back was only scheduled at 3:20pm, so we had enough and more time. The station was 45 minutes away from the place where we stayed, so it was decided that we would leave latest by 2:00 pm . Being the organised creatures we were , we packed left the room by 1:45 took the last-minute photographs , settled our bills and were in the car at sharp 2:05.

We realized we might reach a little too early at the station and we would not have a proper place to sit or wait. One proposed thinking was we could have some coffee at a coffee shop near the station. But then the choice of coffee shop to choose from was a question. Then a brilliant idea struck H. She had heard that having Maggi in the hills was a different experience all together. For the last 3 days we had crossed umpteen Maggi serving restaurants and dabhas but had not stopped for it. Looking at the timeframe available to us , we had the predominant thought – how long does it take to make Maggi ! Right from childhood we were brainwashed into believing that it gets done in 2 minutes. And, so what if it’s made in the hills, it would still take only so much time ! So…we decided to stop at a Maggi place to eat the tasty hill Wala Maggi.

We got down sat at the table and ordered for the Maggi. It was a scenic place and we got distracted with clicking photographs while waiting for the Maggi. Time went by, we still believed the Maggi would be served to us in 5 mins . Discussions and Maggi stories were shared, recipes were exchanged and then a wee bit of impatience set in. Finally steaming bowls of Maggi was presented to us and all our woes were forgotten and the heart was transported to the times when we had shared umpteen bowls with our kids . As nostalgia kicked in we sat down and relished every bit of it. One of us, AA, had started realizing that we might get late for our train, yet after a meek warning she whole heartedly joined us in enjoying the delicious plate. It was amazing indeed and we would vouch for the fact that “Maggi is more delicious in the hills.”

Our driver started hovering around looking anxious, and we finally got out of the Maggi stupor and looked at the time and it was past 2:30 and we still had 30 minutes of drive ahead of us to the station. We still would have 10 minutes in the station , withholding the fact , 1. H had to limp her way and is greatly challenged by any flight of stairs, 2, AA had her own issues and might not be the fastest sprinter in town. 3. A had to deal with H and AA and manage the luggage and direct the porter. And to top it all , the three of us were 50+years of age where agility is not something to dwell on.

Well! Suddenly, better sense dawned and the three gathered speed and piled into the vehicle and started the race down the hill. BP ranged high and there was stress, but years tuning into each other kept our spirits in reign and we still were positive. There was still some light hearted banter about the silliness of stopping on the way for Maggi yet we had our foot on the mental pressure pedal of our driver. He drove crazy down the hill , and we held on to our seats tight and quietly reminded each other to wear our seat belts. The car became quiet and quieter as the hands on the clock reached the 3:00 pm mark. Now the stress was palpable in the car. As our thoughts were aligned , some suggestions of alternatives of missing the train sprung up but they were promptly quashed with the positive thought of getting into the train. We were nearing the station and the traffic was getting a little thick. With churning stomach and nerves on edge we geared ourselves up. We were mentally preparing ready to jump out of the car as soon as it stops. We reached the station finally at 3:12 and we jumped out of the car. The place outside the station looked empty and only a few porters were visible . They come rushing to the car and the moment we said we are to be on the Shatabdi to Delhi, the body language changed to an urgency that worried us. A few of them muttered and warned us that we were too late and a couple optimistic ones told us we could still make it.

“A” commanded H and AA to start walking towards the train and which to our woe was on platform no 3. Two flight of stairs to deal with and poor A had to deal with our collective luggage too. There was no time to ooh and aah about it so H and AA just started their fastest speed wobble towards the platform. On the way H managed to ask a few people on the station if there was an easier way to get to platform 3. They looked at our huffing and puffing state and started with cross the tracks and just stopped half way through their sentence. Resignedly they said take the stairs and one pessimistic soul added emphatically, “You will miss the train.”

We exchanged woeful looks and ran towards the flight of stairs. H used the support of the railing in the side to haul herself up every time she climbed the steps. It helped her with the speed of her climbing and with her balance. AA was struggling but kept pace with H and Phew made it to the top of the stairs in a Guinness book record speed. Once on top we hobbled towards the stairs leading to the assigned platform. There was synchronized heavy breathing and we managed to get down the stairs . H just hung to the railing like her life depended on it while climbing down. ( it actually did ) That must have been the fastest climb down ever for both H and AA. In the meanwhile A had managed to steer the porter to our assigned compartment. She had her eyes glued on to the staircase to see if we had landed. Which we did!!! She signaled the porter to load the luggage into the compartment. AA got into the nearest bogey and started her tiresome trudge through the narrow passageway which was overflowing with passengers trying to fit their oversized luggage in the overhead racks or trying to settle down in their seats and some enthusiastic ones chatting with their family and friends standing in the passageway. H watched this and it was too much of an obstacle race for her . She glanced at her watch it was 3: 16 and she had 4 more minutes in her hand. She hobbled as quickly as she could to two compartments closer to the assigned one. Heart racing , with adrenaline pumping vigorously through her veins, breath heaving , veins throbbing with pain , she dragged herself at the fastest pace and hauled her heavy frame on to the compartment while taking a quick peek at A and the luggage situation in the next but one compartment. She took a second to realign herself and started her trudge towards the compartment with a sigh of relief. All of them had managed to get into the train. AA joined her in her struggle to get past the crowd in the passageway and together entered our compartment with stupid smiles plastered on our faces. The moment we saw A, we burst into peals of laughter to the annoyance and amusement of the other passengers. The porter had a frantic look on his face as he needed to collect his money and scramble down, out of the train. We quickly rummaged through our handbags that was still tightly held by us hanging from our shoulders. He gave us a toothy smile for he got more than he had envisaged and rushed out of the train. The three of us plonked into the comfort of the air-conditioned coach and slunk into our seats to just let ourselves calm down before we looked into each other’s eyes. The moment we sat the train left the station!!! We had made it at last in 8 flat minutes!!!

The greed for the Two minute Maggie became a 45 minute ordeal that will be ever etched in our memories forever. One that will always bring on a splurge of laughter at ourselves and one that can be regaled to our children. and grandchildren at opportune times.

Metatarsal Woes!!!

Another solo journey , the kinds that I love! Oh the sense of freedom, the confidence that surges through your veins. Head held high, a pride with the self achievement in this big bad viciously manipulative world. The meaningful strides ahead towards my destination spoke volumes.

The purpose of the journey was to wind up a home and set up another in foreign lands. The task was huge and I considered myself a kind of expert in moving homes after having done that at least a dozen times in the past 15 years. So you can imagine the confidence levels pumping up my adrenaline.

The first leg of travel was smooth, Mumbai to Munich. I had done this sector earlier and knew what had to be done. Had a good snooze in the flight as the flight took off at around 1:30am and landed around 5:50am in Munich. I knew the drill. Pick up your cabin baggage , of which I had a small carry on suitcase and a handbag that carried my laptop and other accessories. The suitcase was a four wheeled drive and moved smoothly to my command. I rested the stylish but heavy hand bag on the suitcase and breezed ahead.

I sailed through security and immigration and self pride kicked in on considering myself a seasoned traveller. I even helped a couple of other first time travellers by guiding them through the immigration and helped them find their connecting gates. I had spotted my gate on the information board and strode towards it looking for signs and directions to reach it, with great elan. Head held high, with a sense of purpose and a wee bit of supiriorty complex on being able to travel independent and confidently in a foriegn land. Well!!! Pride always had its downfall!

I turned a corner and in front of me the escalators stood standstill. A wee bit of panic set in. You see, I have compromised legs that have been prodded and corrected. All my bravado of traveling alone came from having escalators, elevators and travelators in most of the places. And being in a country know for its engineering expertise I never in my dreams thought I would be challenged by technical travel support , that too in a major connecting airport such as Munich.

Well, after the dissapointing escalator, I quickly turned to search for the lifts to take me down. To my huge disappointment the elevator too was non-operational. My confidence dipped two more levels. But, I am a fighter and like to take challenges on my chin. I went back to the staircase the good old traditional way of getting down. I was just above a couple of flight of stairs leading towards the gates I needed to reach, it was not much and I could manage it.

As one could imagine it was a busy corridor of passengers hurrying to catch their respective connecting flights. Some of them rushing blindly as they were already late. And I was getting into the inter- city within Europe terminal and it was 6:30 am. The people rushing about were mostly business travellers travelling ultra light. And here I was with a cabin sized trolley suitcase and a large white stylish handbag which was a bit too heavy with my laptop in it. I was going with a huge task on hand and needed my technical support with me through the shifting.

I started my climb down after securing my handbag on one shoulder and the other hand occupied with lowering the suitcase step by step. It was tiring. I managed to reach a landing just below the first flight of stairs. I had a brainwave and I quickly transferred the hand bag on to the top of the suitcase by sliding the handles of the bag on the suitcase pull along extension . I was set to climb down. There was a steady stream of passengers climbing down along with me. I was heading towards the railings so that I could take the support. At that moment , the handbag slid from its place on the narrow ledge of the suitcase it was sitting on, and simultaneously my good sturdy shoe encased left foot twisted and I heard a crack. A sharp pain shot up my leg and I luckily just sat down on the stairs which stopped me from tumbling down the stairs . People around helped me up and I tested my feet, there was a bad pain indeed. I thought I had sprained my ankle. I thanked a gentleman who lifted my suitcase and left it at the end of the flight of stairs I was getting down.

Being in foreign lands where language is a major issue, not many people could help me. I held to the railing and walked down slowly down the stairs and some how managed to clear the next flight of stairs lugging the suitcase my handbag and my injured leg. Post that the suitcase with its pull along extension with my bag resting on it helped me like a walking stick to go forward. I did reach a wheelchair counter but the lady there did not comprehend what I was saying and was not empathetic enough to understand the situation. Limping but steadily moving I reached my gate and crashed on a seat.

Removed my shoes and saw no visible damage. But my foot was hurting like millions of small hammers were hammering on it. I sat there for sometime and recharged my energies. I still had a 45 minutes flight ahead of me to reach Stuttgart. I hobbled to the washrooms and freshened up. Grabbed a coffee and waited for my boarding. After connecting to the WiFi I quickly messaged my family of my situation so that my son would be prepared to receive an injured mother.

When it was time to board and the ladies in the counter still were clueless on how to help me. I just shrugged my shoulders and went ahead. I went through the gate and to my dismay we had to go down two more flights of steps. The pain was excruciating, fellow passengers kept asking if they could help me. But there was not much they could do. One gentleman just took my suitcase and carried it down to the bottom most step and left it there for me. I was thankful but was really worried till I saw the suitcase.

There I stood on the tarmac, it was raining, my foot throbbing and my heart hit the rock bottom when I saw the aircraft. A small plane with the stairs that drop down from the door. It looks cool and dashing when you see it in the movies but I had a plate on my left femur , a knee that refuses to fold beyond 90* ( That sounds like a good number but try climbing something high with only that much flection) Good you tried, now you know what I meant. The silver lining in the cloud was they took my suitcase and said they will keep it with the other baggage. So I only needed to haul my heavy self up the steps with my handbag clutched under my shoulder. I managed and got into the small carrier and found my seat. I just remember the air hostess offering some biscuits and after that I fell into a painful deep slumber totally drugged with tiredness and pain only to wake up when we landed at Stuttgart. I had given my body some deep rest for almost an hour and my legs thanked me for it.

Now I remembered the next ordeal of my huge suitcase that would come on the baggage belt. I braced my self and some how hobbled to the arrival bay. ( This was Germany , Europe, where people do things on their own, unlike in India where we would have a buggy to ferry you across the airport and then there will be a few helpers near the baggage belt to pull out your bag and set it up in a free trolly for you) There was no free trolly! Period! And no helpers! So courage and strength surged right from my feet to my head and I banked on it. My luggage came in quite quickly and I managed to pull it out of the river of baggages that kept flowing in the strong under current of the belt. I paused and caught my breath and promised myself it is the last leg. I hobbled towards the exit and there was my son waiting anxiously at the gate.

We grabbed some food and picked up a painkiller at the medical store and headed home. In the evening we went to the hospital down the road and got the X-rays done and it was announced… ‘ I had broken my 5th Metatarsal.’ My leg got encased in an air plaster a kind of a shoe and was handed the dreaded crutches. It’s another story how these crutches and shoes helped me with my further adventures. But that’s a story for some other day!

Doors- By Hema Subramanian

Doors
By Hema Subramanian

Shapes colours sizes
Different representations

With open arms
Welcoming all

Shutting out
The unwanted

Untold stories
Behind them

Secrets held
Within them

Myriad of emotions
Passing the threshold

Yet silent and determined
Untainted they stand!

My trysts with waking up!

By Hema Subramanian

Every morning my alarm goes off at 5:30am. I wake up. I know I have to get up do my exercises and go on with my day. But, there is an avatar of me hidden, may be with a couple of horns, urging me , pleading me, at times physically pushing me down to go back to sleep!

Her reasoning starts with, another 10 mins of sleep and you will feel better. Then she goes ahead, scans my calendar for the day and let’s me know I still have time. My mind in the sleep ridden stupor gets convinced quite easily though heavily laced with guilt! In the midst of that extra 10 minutes, guilt decides to wake me up. I squint at the watch and realise there are two whole minutes left to my precious 10 minutes. I snub the guilt and promptly shut my eyes.

Now, there is one more painful angle to the process! Self pity! My avatar shifts gear and accelerates the thought. Our dialogue starts!

Avatar: you will go and do cycling at the gym??? Do you know the excruciating pain it will trigger?

Me: no pain no gain! I have to go through the pain to get better! See yesterday after the painful exercise I was good without pain the whole day!

Avatar: Bah!! I saw you caressing your knee time and again. The pain is going to nag you the whole day!

Me: listen, i will deal with it. Just buzz off and let me get up and get going!

Avatar: why this strict routine? You don’t have to report to anyone! Sleep for some more time! Pleaseeee! See your eyes are so heavy and the body still hurts to get out of bed!

Today I fell for the trap! I gave in and promised myself a few more winks and caught some restless sleep! Only to wake up finally at 7:00 with my head bowed down with guilt at the failure of my will power!

I check the alarm on my phone and raise my hopes up! Tomorrow will be the perfect day for me to wake up at 5:30 and start afresh!

Journeys

By Hema Subramanian

Gloriously he shines

After a long travel

Across the skies

Radiant with happiness

Knowing the day

Comes to an end

His path not smooth

Praise and brickbats

Equally strewn

Stride did he

Relentless his mission

Crossing skies and seas

The shades and hues

Displayed as he crossed

Nonchalantly moving

Changing from brilliant

To bright to golden

The brilliance fading

Brightness ebbing

Yet setting with pride

Resting to start afresh

A new day to dawn

Why?

By Hema Subramanian

Why?

By Hema Subramanian

Why am I nice to people?

Why am I kind?

Why do I not change?

Even after being kicked on my face .

Even after being walked over

Even after thought to be an imbecile

I do hurt with harsh words

I do crave for softness from my loved ones

I do expect tenderness

Yet, repeatedly I am pushed

I am shoved

I am spoken to curtly

But then I still want to care

I still want to remain true

I still want to be the kind soft hearted me!

People who shove , push demean

Know their flaw in their hearts

The very reason , they defend up

Cowards they are

Can’t face their truth

Can’t handle the gentle and kind me!

Can’t match up to my love

Can’t match up to my tenderness

Can’t stand up to me!

I do withdraw into my shell

To protect my tender raw heart

But I come out stronger yet

With resolve to face

The unkind world

With a smile on my face

Gentle tender love

By Hema Subramanian