Storyful Parent - Samvad in Action

Storyful Parent

Start with our ancient stories.

Discover a whole new way to share them.

The little ones giggle. Older children think. A rooted inner voice grows.

From parent to partner. One story, one dialogue at a time.

Explore a new way to parent Start with a free story

Samvad in Action

True moments where a story and a dialogue touched a child.

Some of these stories are from my own home, others from rooms full of children who are not mine.

What is common to all the tales is that nobody joined the dots for these children. They discovered their own way to something that stayed.

In Story Samvad, I teach you how to open this door. Here, I show you what lies on the other side.

One story, different meanings

In 2014, my son was four. We were on holiday, and for the first time he picked up a badminton racket. He was already good at cricket and football, so he expected this to be easy. I showed him a serve. When he tried, he could not even make contact with the shuttle. Stunned, he took the racket and beat it on the floor in disgust.

Later that week, I read him a book. Salt in His Shoes, the story of a boy who was too short to make a basket, and who kept trying anyway. It was written by Michael Jordan's mother. When we finished, my son was quiet. We talked a little about the story. Then he went to sleep.

The next morning, he came to me. "Can we try playing badminton again?"

The book never mentioned badminton. I had not joined the story to his own small defeat. He had arrived there entirely on his own, overnight, in the quiet of his own mind.

That was the first time I truly understood the slow, unhurried power of a story.

Nine years later, it happened again.

My daughter was seven. She loved trying new things, music, football, dance, but the moment something turned difficult, she wanted to quit. In a single year we had changed four activity classes. Then she began Bharatanatyam. And quickly tired of it.

I took out my old copy of Salt in His Shoes. Once again, the story worked its magic. My daughter began to talk about trying again. She has been learning Bharatanatyam for three years now.

The same story met two very different children, in two very different struggles. My son saw that failure is not the end of the road. My daughter saw that something being hard is not a reason to walk away. Neither lesson was written in the book. Nor did I push it. Each child saw what they wanted to see.

The boy who gave up chips

I was invited to tell stories at a school assembly. Sixty fourth-graders sat cross-legged in front of me. I told them a story about flamingoes. About the mangroves near Mumbai, and how these magnificent pink birds were getting trapped and dying in the plastic we throw away without a thought. The children were moved. I could see it on their faces. Then I asked them, “What can we do?”

Hands shot up at once. Cloth bags. No more bottled water. We will tell our parents. All the right answers. All easy to say.

Then one boy said, firmly, "I will not use plastic anymore."

I tested him gently, "Do you like chips? Cookies?"

"Yes," he said.

"Do you know how they reach you?"

He went quiet. Then, softly, “In… plastic bags."

“Hmm… So how can you get chips without plastic? Is it possible?”

He thought for a long while. "We can make potato fries at home."

And then, in his own words. "I will not eat chips from a packet again. I will ask my mother to fry them at home."

The room erupted. Some children laughed. Many nodded. Most looked as though they were rethinking everything.

I did not lecture this boy about plastic. Nobody connected the flamingo to his packet of chips. He got there himself, in the quiet of his mind.

This was a child I only met once, that very morning. Sixty children were watching, so he had nowhere to hide. And still, every step he took was his own.

The class that went home and helped

Years ago, in one of our storytelling classes at Little Readers’ Nook, we told a story called Mr Large in Charge. Mr Large is an elephant whose wife is unwell. He and the children send her off to rest, and take over the running of the house themselves. Chaos follows. The children loved this fun story. We named no moral. We asked our questions, and let the story rest.

That evening, the class group chat filled with messages from surprised mothers. Their children had come home and offered to help with chores. One had cleared the table. Another had tried to make lemonade. One had asked her mother to sit down and rest.

Nobody had told them the story was about helping at home. They had felt something in the tale, and carried that feeling through their own front doors, in their own unique way.

A playdate and a quiet corner

My daughter was at a playdate with her friends.

One of the children was having a hard afternoon. She fought. Sulked. Complained. Her mother tried everything, and finally sat her down on her own to cool off. By then neither of them was speaking to the other. The mother looked exhausted.

I saw my daughter get up. She walked over to where the girl was sitting alone, sat down beside her, and began to whisper.

She was helping her friend think it through. One gentle question at a time. What are you feeling? What do you want? And if you do that, what happens next? She stayed patient with every answer, even the angry ones.

It took a few minutes. Then the girl got up, walked over to her mother, and hugged her. The whole afternoon shifted, and everyone breathed.

My daughter is nine. We have been sharing stories since she was a baby. She knows Story Samvad, perhaps even better than I do. We have worked on it together over the years.

And it has become second nature to her now. So on a hard afternoon, with her friend struggling for calm, she reached for it without a second thought.

This is the quiet hope I carry for every child. Not that they are told what to do in the hard moment. But that something steady has grown inside them, ready to meet every challenge that life throws at them.

Where this comes from

None of these children were taught what to think. Each was given the space to find it, and each one did, in their own time, in their own way. That space has a shape. A story told well. A question asked with real curiosity. And silence held long enough for a child to fill it themselves.

This is Story Samvad, and it can be learned. I teach it in my training.

Story Kosh gives you the stories to begin tonight. Story Samvad shows you what to do with them.

Don't decide today. Attend a free webinar first, and see for yourself whether this feels like the right fit. Think of the webinar as the first step of a journey we might take together. Come, meet me, hear a story, and see what this is. There is no other way in, and that is on purpose.

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