It was a warm evening when I strolled into the Oxford bookstore on Park Street, Kolkata, with my mother, my creative writing teacher, Ms. Richa Wahi, and a few other education specialists to attend a story telling session by Ms .Xanthe Gresham, who had also hosted a workshop earlier that day.We had had a rather scrunched and uncomfortable ride in the car, and it would have to take something vastly entertaining to impress me when I’m slightly provoked, so I didn’t expect the session to be very fun for me and considered it beforehand to be a very kiddish affair.
I guess we should never judge a book by its cover.
There was an air of excitement in the bookstore, which was evidently due to the upcoming session. After being presented with refreshments and a brief introduction about Xanthe, the performance began. Xanthe strolled onto the stage with amazing confidence and began the legendary story of the Persian hero Rustam and how he was born with great vigour. It was about how an older legendary hero, Saam, abandoned his newborn son to die in the mountains of Iran, just because he had white hair and was thought by his father to be sent from the demons (this boy, by the way, turned out to be the first ever albino). However, he was left beneath a nest of huge birds and survived by being brought up with them, and he was known as Zaan, or the white-haired one. Meanwhile, as he grew older, Saam realized that there was nothing evil about a person’s hair colour, and so he went rushing back to the mountains to see if his son was somehow miraculously alive. He found him in the nest and took him home after he bid farewell to his bird mother. After they returned, Saam wanted his son to be married, but Zaan was heavily against the proposal. As he paced, thinking, he unknowingly crossed over to the enemy land of Kabul, and saw the beautiful princess Rudaba. Both of them fell madly in love with each other, and the two kingdoms reunited under their marriage. A few years later, after performing the first Caesarean section, Rustam was born. I liked this story because it was highly involving and participative and what would have been a common garden fairytale was changed into something much more by Xanthe.
Next, Xanthe began a story about her grandmother, who had the unfashionable name of Mabel, but was known as “Mabs”. Mabs had a minor passion of knitting, and knitted various things, from scarves to caps to toys to shawls. Xanthe gave a detailed, well-connected and rhyming description about her grandmother’s possessions, which were all somehow relevant to a hat that Mabs had made. It started with some sheep, and ended with the hat. I had the honour of playing the part of a skull lying on one of Mabs’ shelves. This was easily the most interactive story of the lot, not to mention that it entertainingly chronicled the journey of wool from sheep to hat, and it was noticeable that the audience was entertained and was ready, almost craving, for more.
The third story was about a Russian boy called Ivan (who was born out of an oak tree branch) and the evil goddess Babbyaaga (this name was said with a demented, deep and evil voice). Babbyaaga liked to eat boys of Ivan’s build, and so she tied to lure Ivan using various funny and odd methods of baiting. When Ivan finally did fall into her trap, she took him to her house, which had a highly secret (and blubbery) password. However, with the help of Babbyaaga’s cat, Ivan broke out and Babbyaaga was slain, after ingesting millions of gallons of water. This was a hugely funny and fast-paced story, which tells us that a mother’s love means a lot to a child.
The final story was a scary but funny story about how a man marries a skeleton bride in a fit of drunkenness on the day before his wedding. Realizing his mistake the next day, he rushed to the local priest and asked if he could marry again on that day. In the meantime, his accidental bride had followed him and felt sad after overhearing what the man said. The man’s actual bride arrived and saw the sad skeleton after being told what had happened. She reassured the skeleton by saying that every ounce of love that he showered her with, every child that they had, would as much the skeleton’s as much as it was hers. This was a funny take on marriage in a slightly scary way and it really amused the audience.
With that the session came to a close. Certificates of participation were handed out to the people who had attended the workshop. I really couldn’t believe the effect the session had on me. I had entered a cranky teenager and left a happy, contented person. The storytelling session was extremely fun, and undoubtedly she is one of the of the finest storytellers. The expression and confidence with which she narrates simple stories weaves some kind of magic. I would like to thank Xanthe for demonstrating to me that stories are more than just words on paper.
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