I was fortunate enough to grow up on a healthy dose of Thakumar Jhuli (a collection of Bengali
folk and fairy tales for kids, whose title translates to “Grandma’s Bag of Stories”).
But my favourite happened to be Jethimar
Jhuli (“Aunt’s Bag of Stories”). The latter was by no means a published
book. Its fascination lay in the fact that only we, the kids of the Sengupta
family, had access to this collection of stories. The Jethima (aunt) in question is whom we call Soma.
It took strangers by surprise that we called our aunt, who
was so much older than we were, by her first name. But “Soma”, despite being a
popular Bengali name, wasn’t our Jethima’s name at all. “Soma” was a contraction
for “Shejo Ma” (coined by my sister, who couldn’t really pronounce “Shejo Ma”
when young). So that’s how our Jethima came to be known as Soma.
Soma was the kids’ favourite, not just because she was
well-read and charming, but because she actually took the time to know each one
of us individually. She even made us feel that she really did enjoy our
company. Most of her generation dismissed us as a “collective noun” – “the kids
are up to mischief again”, “the kids need to be fed”, “the kids need to be in
bed now” etc. Soma made everything fun – right from pujo rituals to current
affairs. But she was the best at storytelling. In fact, I haven’t met anyone
who can make the ordinary sound so extraordinary, purely by the power of
narration.
One of my favourite childhood memories (and I am sure many
of my cousins will agree) is huddling up under a blanket, on a crisp, winter
afternoon in Soma’s bedroom, while she told us ghost stories. I never
questioned (and still not sure) whether these were stories she had read
somewhere, or whether they were products of her own imagination. But the goose
bumps were real, as we held hands and squealed in the kind of thrill only the
horror genre is known to bring. The pleasurable fear going down our spine… that
bone-chilling sensation of a hand reaching out to grab us from the back…that
eerie feeling of someone watching us from outside the window… that constant
anticipation that the person sitting next to us may suddenly turn into that we
most fear…the cold hands and feet that gave us no respite, despite being under
the thickest blanket….
Soma’s stories evoked all of that. It transported us to a
place we all feared but loved at the same time. One such story was about a girl
called Ila, who rose from her coffin. “Coffin thekey uthey elo…..Ilaaaaaaa”,
Soma would say, dragging out the name in her spookiest voice. And we would
scream and beg her to stop….and the very next moment, we would ask her to say
that line again (as if she was a rock star performing her greatest hits). I am
sure we all had our own mental picture of Ila. Mine was that of a face-less
girl with the darkest of hair, white as a sheet of paper.
Another favourite story was the one in which a mother ate the
flesh of her own child! Gory, I know (and in today’s context, possibly very
inappropriate for being a kids’ story). But we turned out fine (mostly). The
saving grace was that (as was later revealed in the story) she bit off the flesh because
that was the only way to save her child, who was poisoned. But she stuck in our
heads as a monster, who liked human flesh over ordinary food.
When Miss 6 came back from school chatting about her
Halloween plans for tomorrow, strangely, these childhood memories came flooding
back. I have never really cared much that Halloween is an “American thing” and the
theories around why it “should not be celebrated”. All I know is that Miss 6
looks forward to it for most of the year. And although she may not have a cool
Jethima as Soma who can take her on a thrill ride, I have decided to start our
own Halloween tradition of spooky stories to celebrate the day. And while I’m
no expert myself, I am going to trust these
guys, and these, (and read a few more) who say that “scary stories are good for kids”. If you have any recommendations,
please do share, as Soma’s Ila will have to wait a few more years.
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