Where do great stories come from?
They come from a Death Valley tent in freezing November.
They come from smeared Haldi and torn kurtas.
They come from families who know how to laugh freely.
They come from a naive auntie who loves you like one of her own.
Great stories are born, not created.
They creep down like a ray of sunshine, behind a cloud.
They announce themselves like a bolt of lightening.
Bringing a sudden shower of laughter,
They end with a fog of nostalgia.
Great stories are a happy coincidence, sublime accidents.
They are born from past hippie lives and current hipster-dom.
They are born from teenage escapades with a cricket bat.
They are born from sweet doggies and a mewing cat
They are born from high school math classes and sleepless nights.
Great stories spring about, when you don’t expect them to.
They start when two giggling girls are escorted out of children’s park.
They start when your best friends come together to set the dance floor on fire.
They start when you are getting soup in a Turkish small town.
They start when you introduce Holi and Bhang to a crazy bunch.
They deserve to be shared and not held back,
The release of emotions is what they desire,
The memories, the feelings, the rawness.
Share them, spread them, include them.
You never know who needs these great stories to ignite one of their own great ones.