<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>Grandmothers on Pitara Kids Network</title><link>https://www.pitara.com/tags/grandmothers/</link><description>Recent content in Grandmothers on Pitara Kids Network</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Sat, 13 Jun 2026 21:46:31 +0530</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://www.pitara.com/tags/grandmothers/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>The Best Storyteller in the World</title><link>https://www.pitara.com/non-fiction-for-kids/features-for-kids/the-best-storyteller-in-the-world/</link><pubDate>Sat, 02 Jun 2001 22:15:57 +0000</pubDate><guid>https://www.pitara.com/non-fiction-for-kids/features-for-kids/the-best-storyteller-in-the-world/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;Bajai,&amp;quot; as we called grandmother, was the best storyteller in the world. Her tales of jewelled ladies and brave warriors, of civilisations that ended due to famine, floods, war or volcanic eruptions, filled our young lives with fantasy.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Nestling in the foothills of Mussoorie is a tiny village called Johri Gaun (Johri village) where we spent part of our summer and winter vacations every year. They were fun-filled days of sun-kissed air and raucous laughter, when we cousins met and had a great time. On our long walks we would nibble berries or catch colourful dragon flies, which we had nicknamed &amp;ldquo;helicopters&amp;rdquo;. I always collected red ones. If anyone caught a whirring red helicopter they would yell out for me and I would run and open my shoe box to put it in.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>The Rumour</title><link>https://www.pitara.com/fiction-for-kids/folktales/the-rumour/</link><pubDate>Fri, 02 Jun 2000 09:25:21 +0000</pubDate><guid>https://www.pitara.com/fiction-for-kids/folktales/the-rumour/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;&amp;ldquo;Bajai,&amp;rdquo; as we called grandmother, was the best storyteller in the whole world, says Madhu Gurung. She lived in the foothills of Mussoorie in a tiny village called Johri Gaun. And she always started her stories with a saying, &amp;ldquo;To the listener a garland of gold, to the storyteller a garland of all forest flowers and this tale that I tell you today will be heard in heaven.&amp;rdquo; Here Madhu Gurung presents one of the many stories that she heard from Bajai in her childhood.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>