Once Upon A Time

“Tell me a fact and I’ll learn. Tell me a truth and I’ll believe. But tell me a story and it will live in my heart forever.” – Indian Proverb

When I was a child, my father would read me stories. During siesta time, we would snuggle in bed with my favorite book -- a slightly tattered, dog-eared collection of fables, myths and fairy tales which always began with the classic words, “Once upon a time…”

I would marvel at how he just didn’t read the words, he also acted them out – changing his voice and making faces to make each story more alive. I would snicker at the sight of his moustache twitching with every punctuation. I would stare at his animated face and be mesmerized by his deep voice as I flew with Peter Pan in Neverland or skipped with Little Red Riding Hood in the woods. I adored him, this amazing man, who introduced me to the pages of magic and ever-afters.

I guess it was no wonder that eventually I developed two consuming passions in life – writing and the theatre arts. All through high school and college, I tried to recreate the magic in feature stories, scripts and dramafests. I attended one workshop after another and my fascination with stories simply grew. So much so that in 2004, I and fellow stage enthusiasts Em and Al put up a little theatre company called Artist Link Productions.

The first play we ever produced was based on the famous and well-loved novel by French aviator Antoine de Saint-Exupery -- The Little Prince. While the material’s inspired, our greatest challenge was sharing the heart of the story—that which is essential and invisible to the eye-- to a cast of 7-to-12-year-old kids, most of whom would rather be playing ball, computer games or pranks than reading a script.

I remember during our first script run-through, one kid actually fell asleep. The next day, my friends and I tried reading to them, just as my father would have probably, but the cast just sat there with their shy and blank faces. As days passed, lines were memorized, but still everything was flat. There was no heart, no passion for the story.

As the play’s creative director, I was frustrated beyond words. How could they not feel the wonder and loss of The Little Prince? How could they be indifferent to his journeys? How could I ever tame these foxes? I was ready to pull out my long glorious hair and scream. But then, at that moment, I remembered myself with my father many years back. How was he able to sustain the magic? Then it hit me—he always made me feel that the story was my own.

So there in the middle of rehearsal space, I changed direction. I told each cast member to drop their scripts for the meantime. For first, I believed, we needed to hear a different story -- their own.

The kids took turns sharing their personal tales – some funny, others sad, but each one definitely interesting. Then, with a little imagination, my friends and I tied their stories with the Little Prince’s. Like pieces in a magnetic jigsaw puzzle, you could almost hear them clicking together-- the ‘aahhs’, ‘oh-yeahs’ and nods of understanding made our blood sing. This time, the Little Prince was a part of them. And I thought, isn’t it just amazing how one’s story could actually define another?

Once upon a time, my father told me a story and gave me my first dream. With it came invisible gifts beyond price like passion, friendship, faith and love. Perhaps, you could share your story too.

-- SunStar Weekend, May 16, 2009