I daresay that if you haven’t learnt the Ramayana, Mahabharata, Puranas, Panchatantra and Jataka stories on the lap of your grandmother, you haven’t truly learnt them. Those who are familiar with this affectionate tradition will agree with a straightforward, verifiable truth: of pestering your grandmother to narrate the story of Dhruva or Prahlada or Shumba-Nishumba or Kumbhakarna or Vatapi-Ilvala or Kartiveeryarjuna again and again and again and again and again and again. You would never get tired of listening to the same stories again, and to preferably doze off in her lap. Perhaps our grandmothers have immortalized Maharshi Valmiki, Veda Vyasa and uncountable such sages and saints more than a million books put together by preserving their perennial stories in the fertile wombs of their memory and imagination. At that tender age, those were all merely stories that delighted you for unfathomable reasons but as you learned much, much later in life, they were also foundational building blocks of a lasting cultural education.
And how would she narrate them?