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I often remember my grandmother Janaki, who left us a couple of years ago but lives on in her beautiful, powerful, yet simple personal stories, which she would share so poignantly whenever she visited us. Muharram is one such story, or rather an experience, that I always remember, and I remain grateful to Ammamma, as I call her, for sharing it with me. 

In late 2024, a family friend was performing Sozkhwani as part of the Awadhi Muharram tradition in Delhi. Sozkhwani, as I understood it, is the recitation of elegies to mourn the departed, especially during Muharram. When my mother generally mentioned the performance to my grandmother, it sparked an engaging conversation. Ammamma began recalling how Muharram was celebrated in her village in Telangana as Peerla Pandaga (Festival of the Peer).

With her characteristic gentleness, she turned to me and asked, “Ragini, will you write about it?” I said yes because her stories always drew me in. They were layered yet simple, vivid yet tender. I loved the way she remembered them, recalling every detail with such clarity, even at 84. I recorded her, sometimes leaning on my mother to help me with the Telugu words. Looking back, I realise I was not merely recording a story. I was trying to preserve a way of remembering, a world that lived so vividly within Ammamma and emerged each time she began to narrate.

Ammamma explained that a wise and spiritual person is called a Peer. “During the battle, Ashanna (Imam Hussain), his followers, and his children fought with all their might. But one by one, he lost his brother Ushanna (Imam Hasan) and his children. When Ashanna’s youngest son was brutally killed, he was devastated. He laid his........

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