Just how electronic devices carry on an old practice
When I was a youngster, tales came through voice, not with pages.
My granny lay back on a charpai and informed slow, calculated tales. She made us part of those scenes which were stitched from memory, not of facts.
Each sigh, each pause, each hush after a line mattered.
Now my youngsters find tales in different means. They click, swipe, type folktales right into YouTube. English narrators, animes with glossy music, a Malay story shared in class, a Palestinian tale from a pal, a Pashto adage meme.
The resources are different, yet the hunger is the same: to pay attention and to belong.
Initially, I really felt something had actually been lost. A shivering voice is not something a screen can hold. It does not smell like warm blankets, or sound like a granny breaking into laughter.
Is that old fire gone? I assume not.
Stories have actually constantly altered shape. They were sung before they were spoken, spoken prior to they were composed, composed prior to they were published, published prior to they were streamed.