As a child, I resided(most of the time) in a rural community. My dadi's home with the kiwar and angan still echoes with her love for stories, her most prized possession. She is the one who told me the consequences of stories; a story narrates to us the experiences of a person, his feelings, and the frame of mind.

From those days of stargazing (in a sophisticated sense) on the charpai, I believed and still do that thosethings that are trivial to us can have the most gripping stories. From them,we understand something profoundly and bond better with the cultures.

I was privileged in an agricultural and rumbling-stomach sense! My Dadda-Daddi were farmers. In our khet, my curiosity led me to ask questions; I experienced what the crops go through; come rain or shine quite literally. As I said earlier, I was privileged to have what people say'organic' now. I feel organic is clichéd, and chemical-free is nonsense! Everything consists of chemicals, you, I, and this light-emitting device you are reading on! I truly believe that eating something meant the way it is enroute to goodness, or one can say organic.

Dadi making me realize what a story truly means--and eatingsucculent honeycomb with my childhood friends has led me to start Harvest Stories, a piece of my life. This amalgamation of philosophies is what I wished to have. But in those years of the late 1990s, there were only three doors an unlucky youth could open, and I had to choose the path of a lawyer. And I am paraphrasing the famous quote; good things come to those who quit what they were,forced to do. Now, a quitter has gone back to where her love for agriculture began, my hometown. To be candid, I envisaged owning acres of marigold fields. Not that, but doing something reminiscent of mychildhood still is a treat.