When I think about my childhood, some of my fondest memories are of bedtime stories with my mother.
She would finally settle down after dinner with a magazine in hand, hoping for a few quiet moments to herself. Within minutes, I would be beside her, asking for a story. She would flip through her magazine looking for a kid-appropriate one.
Somewhere in the middle of the tale, before the prince reached the castle or the rabbit escaped the fox, I would drift off to sleep, happily holding her hand.
Years later, I found myself on the other side of that ritual.
My daughter loved stories. And how!!
Not just at bedtime.
She wanted stories for every activity - while brushing her teeth, while eating, while taking a bath, while waiting for lunch, and sometimes simply because she was two years old and stories made the world more interesting.
Like most parents, we started with the classics. The Hare and the Tortoise. Goldilocks. Panchatantra tales, Krishna stories narrated by grandparents (We later transitioned to Mahabharatha and Ramayana over meals. This deserves a separate post)
But toddlers have an appetite for stories that no library can satisfy.
Soon, we exhausted the familiar ones.
So we started making up our own.
The Rainbow Story
One afternoon, while trying to get her to nap, I invented what became known as The Rainbow Story.
One day, Red was feeling bored. She went for a walk and met Orange.
The two became friends and headed to a nearby park, where they met Yellow on the swings. Later they found Green sitting alone. Then they met the brothers Blue and Indigo. Finally, at the beach, they met Violet.
By the end of the story, all seven friends were walking hand in hand, making a beautiful rainbow.
I don’t remember the original version anymore.
In fact, the version I just wrote is probably different from the one I told all those years ago.
But C knew it by heart.
Long before she could recite the colours of the rainbow in order, she knew the adventures of Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo and Violet.
Without either of us realizing it, she had learned the rainbow.
That little discovery changed everything.
When Stories Started Appearing Everywhere
After that, something shifted in how we lived our days.
Stories stopped being something we “read” and became something we did.
Mustard seeds had friends named jeera and urad dal.
Carrots played with radishes.
Moong dal and masoor dal went on adventures together.
Letters had personalities. Numbers had hobbies. Shapes went exploring.
The contents of my kitchen, pantry, and vegetable basket were suddenly living rich, complicated lives.
And somehow, through these silly little stories, learning happened naturally.
Colours, numbers, letters, classifications, vocabulary, sequencing, memory — things that might have felt like lessons became adventures instead.
What I Learned Along the Way
Looking back now, there were a few things I didn’t fully realize at the time.
First, children don’t always respond to teaching, but they respond deeply to story.
Second, repetition isn’t boring for them — it’s comforting. The same Rainbow Story told a hundred times wasn’t “too much”; it was familiarity wrapped in joy.
And finally, the simplest objects often make the best characters. A mustard seed or a bowl of dal can hold a child’s imagination far more easily than anything elaborate.
For newer parents, I’d say this gently: you don’t need to prepare perfect stories.
You don’t need a script, or morals, or even originality.
You just need attention, imagination, and a willingness to say, “What if this tiny thing had a life of its own?”
That is often enough.
What Remains
The funny thing is, I can barely remember most of those stories now.
The Rainbow Story survives only in fragments.
The mustard seed adventures are mostly lost.
Hundreds of little tales that once filled our days have quietly disappeared with time.
But the feeling of those days remains intact.
I remember a little girl listening with wide eyes, completely invested in the fate of a mustard seed or a pea.
I remember making up stories while stirring a pot on the stove or trying to convince her to finish lunch.
I remember her correcting me when I got details wrong and proudly repeating parts she had memorized.
And I remember a season of life when almost anything in the world could become a story.
The Quiet Lesson
Looking back, I realize the stories taught her far more than I intended.
Colours, numbers, words — yes.
But also attention. Connection. Imagination.
Still, I don’t think that was the real gift.
The real gift was simpler.
A child curled up beside someone she loves.
Listening.
Imagining.
Believing that a lonely little Red could go for a walk and find six lifelong friends.
And honestly, that might be one of the most natural ways a child learns to see the world.
And if there’s one thing those years quietly taught me, it’s this:
Children may not remember every story we tell them.
But they remember how those stories made them feel.
And somewhere deep down, I think we do too.
The Mother Duck Says 🦆
No comments:
Post a Comment