Grandma’s Tales
PRANAB Chakraborty
Koch Bihar, West Bengal
How quickly those childhood days slipped away,
Yet their golden glow still warms me today.
Seven siblings in a bustling joint home,
Every night, after dinner, to Grandma’s room we’d roam.
With love in her voice, she’d gather us near,
Her magical bag opening, tales would appear.
Out came ghosts of every kind and creed,
Some Hindu, some Muslim, some foreign indeed.
She taught us unity, a message profound,
By bringing them together from all around.
Forgetting hatred, pride, and caste's cruel sting,
The ghosts would join hands and joyfully sing.
One moment, they’d Bhangra to Punjabi tunes,
The next, they’d disco under imaginary moons.
A Goan ghost, Anthony, with passion would proclaim,
Hymns to Goddess Kali, chanting her name.
And as her stories unfolded, rich and deep,
We’d smile, dream, and gently fall asleep.