Fine Dining and Finer Tales

The word Orator conjures images of mighty leaders basking in the spotlight, addressing huge crowds with the perfect mix of voice modulations and gestures. An eloquent orator pauses time while he takes a breath and always keeps the audience under his command. This is the alley of oratory I would like to pay homage to, not by scrutinizing great speakers perched on podiums, but through my own father sitting at the dining table weaving stories. 

It’s always stories that we’ve heard a few million times before. But that’s what great orators do right? Irrespective of content, they engage the audience tirelessly.

 
We’d be sitting around, eating slowly, discussing our work or school when Dad began his autobiographical tales. “When I was in…” or “Back in the day…” served as introductions that transported us to the decades Dad grew up or perhaps his initial years in Bangalore. He’d paint a vivid image of the characters of his tales: by linking them to some other story or relation we know of. Every word well articulated, he’d pause to eat a handful. This would cause a break in the chain, and Dad would forget what he was saying, looking up into the blank ceiling.

Counterintuitively, this made us mad with anticipation, waiting till he recollected his thoughts. Often we’d pitch in with prompts to get the story going again. “Ahh..” Dad would exclaim, rest his free elbow on the table, and continue the tale. A few more lines in and he’d have to pause again for food. He wouldn’t just pick up from where he left off, instead reconstructing the last developments to give this feeling of continuity. We’d be stuck in the story, only progressing if Dad allowed us to.

He would use his left hand fluidly, animating details and tapping on the table to stress on points. Count on his fingers the number of characters accompanying him and sometimes map out the locations of places on the table. All these gestures skillfully added to the experience, as if he was saying, “Look at me, don’t just listen to me”. 

Dad would never rush anything. When cracking a joke, he’d wait for us to laugh and join in. When saying something contemplative, he’d sip his water and look around to see if we are thinking. These pauses continue to amaze me. From my experiences, I find it hard to slow down either on stage or in daily life conversations, fearing that I will lose my audience if I don’t constantly speak. But Dad had no such problems, he’d make Time his playground to lavishly recollect memories. 

Other conversations regarding chores and miscellaneous things would pick up around the stories, and he freely engaged in those too. But always the fire would be rekindled, often by me who’s dying to hear the climax of a story when I already knew every detail word-t0-word.

Such lengthy tales made his eating even slower, and most of us would get up by the time the tales winded down. Never was a story left unfinished and never did they finish until he was done eating.

Now I'm not saying this is how storytelling must be done. There are various styles that suit different people. But remember, if none of them work:

Say something trivial, pause, eat your food, look up, forget what you’ve said and start over again.

Written by: Anupam Varma