Authors >> Alisha Priti Kirpalani >> Ghosts in Our Backyard - The Ramsays’ Real - life encounters with the supernatural
Ghosts in Our Backyard - The Ramsays’ Real - life encounters with the supernatural
Forthcoming: The Ramsays -- Ghosts in our Backyard (paranormal non-fiction)
Seven brothers and two sisters (collectively the Ramsays). Each has his or her own story to tell, each has experienced or been touched by the paranormal -- be it churails, ghosts, spirits - some friendly, others hostile. For the family, the paranormal is normal, in some cases even even healing or bringing closure. The book looks at their personal encounters of the spooky kind.
THE HAUNTING OF THE RAMSAYS: The Family’s Real Life Encounters with the Supernatural by Alisha “Priti” Kirpalani
Who Am I?
I believe in the spirit world.
I have a trident on my palm.
I was born in a car outside a crematorium.
I am a daughter of the Ramsays, the first family of horror films.
I believe in ghosts because I have seen them.
So has my mother.
So has my daughter.
Who am I?
I am the one who will give voice to the whispers of the world beyond ours.
That world where our loved ones who have passed away watch over us, as the unloved others watch us.
Sometimes the dead reach out, crossing over the impossible. Their souls wander endlessly, some tormented with suffering, some tender with yearning.
Their stories must be told.
They must be heard.
I am their storyteller.
Who are The Ramsays?
In Housefull 4, Nawazuddin Siddiqui plays an exorcist called Ramsay Baba. I watched the Akshay Kumar starrer and realised how much my maternal family, the Ramsays, had contributed to Bollywood. Their name is synonymous with horror, and has been mentioned not just in this film but in others too. Akshay Kumar built his career on the Khiladi films made by Keshu Ramsay and thereafter reached the dizzying heights of superstardom.
To be remembered over decades as the pioneers of Bollywood horror is a testimony to their achievements. The Ramsays were tagged as B grade film makers. To make films on a limited budget for the masses was their aim and they did not waver from it. They never claimed to be making classics. They wanted to scare people through their films and make money while doing that. They could not have imagined that their films would have a cult following in the future. Sadly, most of the brothers and their father have passed away before they could see the renewed interest in their trademark horror. The surviving ones have the same question on their lips. “Why the interest in us now after all these years?”
My mother is F.U. Ramsay’s daughter. Their original surname was Ramsinghani that was shortened to the easier Ramsay to enable his British clientele to pronounce it. After partition, the family moved to Mumbai from Karachi and my grandfather, F.U. Ramsay continued dealing in electronics. He was a radio engineer by profession. My mother, then a little girl, used to watch him work, soldering the pieces of a Murphy radio together. Sometimes he would look up and tease her, acting like he was going to jab her with the solder. She would shriek in fear and that was a special game between a father and his daughter.
The radio business was changing so he secured an agency from the “Binny’s” brand and sold fabric. There was a large household to run and many mouths to feed. Kumar, Kamla, Gangu, Tulsi, Asha, Arjun, Keshu, Shyam, Karan. There were seven brothers and two sisters and my mother, Asha was the younger of the two sisters.
My grandfather was drawn to the film industry and he decided to make movies. The patriotic Shahid-E-Azam Bhagat Singh was followed by Rustom Sohrab. Neither was a great success. Then came Ek Nanhi Munni Ladki Thi which was the turning point. The film did not do well but Shyam and Tulsi studied the audience’s reaction to a scene where Prithviraj Kapoor wore a scary mask. It was apparent that being afraid was a thrill for the audience. They convinced their father to make a horror film.
The whole family went on a holiday to Kashmir and rented two houseboats for three and a half months. The seven sons were given a crash course in various aspects of filmmaking, a skill they taught themselves and furthered by studying “The 5 C’s of Cinematography” by Joseph V Mascelli. It was a rigorous exercise and each one was assigned an area of expertise under the strict supervision of their father. That is how the Ramsay Brothers were born. Do Gaz Zameen Ke Neeche followed and it steered them to their destined genre; horror. The rest is history.
What was it like to be a grandchild of the Ramsays where horror was my playground?
My mother used to take us to visit my Naana and Naani (grandparents) on Saturdays. My maamas, maamis (maternal uncles and aunts) and cousins lived together at Lamington Road. My grandparents would be sitting on their individual beds which touched each other lengthwise. On seeing me, my grandmother would delightedly greet me with her trademark hearty laugh and encircle me in a warm hug. Immediately, she would untie the end of her sari to give me some money from her hidden supply. I would politely refuse initially but secretly wanted to grab the notes. She would then squeeze it my palm. This was my ritual for years on end. Then I would jump on my grandfather’s bed. He would ruffle my hair and hug me after I grew too old for his affectionate kisses on my cheek. With the money my grandmother had given me, I would buy a variety of sweets and wrap a mixture of them in paper. Along with my cousin who was my partner in crime, we would run down to the office and sell our version of “paan” to my indulgent uncles for one rupee a packet. They would look up smiling from their animated discussions and rummage for change in their pockets. At the end, I always made a profit and went home doubling my money.
Another memory I have of those days was being assigned the task of tearing open envelopes in the buzzing office at Lamington Road and arranging the contents neatly. The envelopes contained photographs and letters from aspiring actors and actresses wanting to be cast in a Ramsay film. My cousins and I would enjoy discussing the merits and demerits of the aspirants and their requests. Most of them were from small towns, looking for their big break in Bollywood. Young men with Rajesh Khanna haircuts striking a pose. Young women wearing skimpy dresses, looking seductively at the camera, in the hope of being the next Ramsay movie heroine or perhaps even a cadaver. It was sad really because even to our immature minds, most of them would not make the cut. The unattainable dreams of stardom were strewn on that desk.
There was a portion of the office, which was fascinating to me. It was the Ramsays’ dark room. There were trays in which photos from the films would be developed and then they would be hung to dry. It was like a secret room away from the chatter of the outer office. The red lighting cast a surreal glow on the black and white stills of menacing monsters and their defenceless victims. I would inevitably make my way there and bravely scrutinise each photograph, one scarier than the other. I never could spend more than a few minutes there alone. Then I would scoot to comfort of the soothing daylight and back to my uncles’ avid discussions of the ongoing production or the next one.
Actors and actresses would come in for their story sittings. Technicians, music directors and whomsoever was involved with the films frequented the office. Plates of boiled eggs garnished with a salt and pepper mixture were served to visitors. A grated apple milk drink or a watermelon juice was the thirst quencher. These were in constant supply because the vendors ran their business literally at the doorstep of the office. There were always some people hanging around outside, trying to catch a glimpse of the action taking place inside. I felt very privileged that I could walk in and out as I pleased and not stuck in the sweltering heat like the curious bystanders. As soon as I opened the door, there would be a scramble by the onlookers in an attempt to peek inside the mystery that were the Ramsays.
Casually lying around there were always terrifying masks of ghouls, monsters and witches. I still remember the smell of the latex rubber as I tried them on and scampered around the office, trying to scare everyone and making a pest of myself in general. The one thing I can say about my maternal family is that they were always kind and gentle, amused at my antics. Finally, exhausted and hungry, I would make my way up the stairs to the family residence where my grandmother always had another big smothering hug, a paper dosa and sheera from the neighbouring Ramanjaneya restaurant waiting.
I went for a couple of location shootings and used to see the Ramsay monsters upfront but I would barely bat an eyelid. When the film was ready, we got to see it in its gory finality. The same monsters were so petrifying that I would have nightmares for days on end. That was the high. That scary moment where you don’t want to look at the screen but you can’t look away either! The adrenalin rush of terror stayed with us so my mother and I devoured horror films over the years. That was our link to each other and to her family. Our binge watching was fruitful when my mother and I suggested her brothers watch a suspense film we enjoyed. The idea was snapped up by them and made into “Telephone”, one of the rare Ramsay Brothers murder mystery movies.
Like my childhood, it all ended. My grandparents passed away. Their beds touching each other lay empty. The brothers ultimately went their separate ways. The overgrown sisal tree, planted by my grandfather, covers the naked desolation of the house. The films release and fade into oblivion. The office remains locked with the oxidized Ramsay Films banner holding on to the past. That era of horror is over and only the memories and movies remain.
My mother, who my father affectionately calls “horror sister”, missed her calling. While narrating her supernatural experiences for this book, she would excitedly add such dramatic elements of horror that I had to keep reminding her that I was writing true accounts of the experiences, not a Ramsay script. “Why don’t you say that her nails were dripping blood?” or “ her eyeballs turned upwards”. It struck me at these moments that the horror was in her genes and she could create these scenes with a snap of her finger. Her eyes would shine as her imagination soared into the universe of fear. She understood that this book is about staying authentic but old habits die hard.
I credit my creativity to my maternal family and my mother, the original storyteller. The ability to create a world with words is a gift from them. Destiny has driven me from birth along many pit stops to halt at the eventual destination of this book. I was born at the precise moment when my father was speeding past the Chandanwadi crematorium in South Mumbai, trying to get my mother to the hospital in time. It was just over an hour past midnight when he jammed the brakes of his Ambassador car on hearing my new-born cries emanating from the backseat. The final resting place of people was my birthplace. While some are to the manor born, I am to the spirits born.
Upcoming: The Ramsays -- Ghosts in our Backyard (paranormal non-fiction)
Seven brothers and two sisters (collectively the Ramsays). Each has his or her own story to tell, each has experienced or been touched by the paranormal -- be it churails, ghosts, spirits - some friendly, others hostile. For the family, the paranormal is normal, in some cases even even healing or bringing closure. The book looks at their personal encounters of the spooky kind.
THE HAUNTING OF THE RAMSAYS: The Family’s Real Life Encounters with the Supernatural by Alisha “Priti” Kirpalani
Who Am I?
I believe in the spirit world.
I have a trident on my palm.
I was born in a car outside a crematorium.
I am a daughter of the Ramsays, the first family of horror films.
I believe in ghosts because I have seen them.
So has my mother.
So has my daughter.
Who am I?
I am the one who will give voice to the whispers of the world beyond ours.
That world where our loved ones who have passed away watch over us, as the unloved others watch us.
Sometimes the dead reach out, crossing over the impossible. Their souls wander endlessly, some tormented with suffering, some tender with yearning.
Their stories must be told.
They must be heard.
I am their storyteller.
Who are The Ramsays?
In Housefull 4, Nawazuddin Siddiqui plays an exorcist called Ramsay Baba. I watched the Akshay Kumar starrer and realised how much my maternal family, the Ramsays, had contributed to Bollywood. Their name is synonymous with horror, and has been mentioned not just in this film but in others too. Akshay Kumar built his career on the Khiladi films made by Keshu Ramsay and thereafter reached the dizzying heights of superstardom.
To be remembered over decades as the pioneers of Bollywood horror is a testimony to their achievements. The Ramsays were tagged as B grade film makers. To make films on a limited budget for the masses was their aim and they did not waver from it. They never claimed to be making classics. They wanted to scare people through their films and make money while doing that. They could not have imagined that their films would have a cult following in the future. Sadly, most of the brothers and their father have passed away before they could see the renewed interest in their trademark horror. The surviving ones have the same question on their lips. “Why the interest in us now after all these years?”
About the Author:
Alisha ‘Priti’ Kirpalani lives in Mumbai along with her husband, two daughters, one cat and over a hundred board games. Her journey with words started after she won a creative writing contest in college, an undisclosed number of decades ago. This was followed by a degree in English Literature, a short stint as a reporter and later as a copywriter. From full- length novels to blogging to micro-fiction, she is known for the impeccable language and insightful nature of her writing. She is the author of ‘Out With Lanterns’ and ‘A Smattering of Darkness”.
She was declared a top writer in Feminism for her blog on Medium.
She won the micro-fiction contest hosted by the online publication ‘The Coffeelicious’
Both her books have high ratings and reviews on Amazon.
