THE UN-PAMPERED CHILD....

I feel like Fiona stuck inside a Barbie house. Or better still, Fiona dressed as Santa Claus, stuck inside a Barbie house. Clad in my 2 year old Red striped pajamas and a fading Red t-shirt, I feel ugly sitting inside this Barbie house. What Barbie house you ask me.

I am currently staying with my maternal uncle, his wife, my niece and my maternal grandparents, because the Chillar in my lady wallet isn’t fancy enough to let me afford a place on my own. Besides I recently started working so my bank account is still fighting cob webs. Now conforming to the traditional Indian forced hospitality, my niece has been kicked out of her Barbie den and this Fiona has been allowed to sleep on the gigantic Barbie bed, keep her clothes in a pink wardrobe, wake up to an alarm clock shaped as a Barbie head and write this post in a room filled with posters of Snow White, Cinderella, Red Riding Hood and the many other fancy named plastic bimbos. Even the bathroom curtain has princess posters with lace detailing, not to forget the Disney Princess glowing stickers stuck on the ceiling with the thin waisted, umbrella hipped babes looking down on me as I sleep. I absolutely detest it all.  

As an infant I never had a cradle. No fancy chimes to look at and make sounds. I used to sleep in a cloth crib made with my father’s old Lungi diligently tied to a hook originally meant for a ceiling fan. This same lungi used to come in handy while travelling in the second class coach of the train, for it was tied on the two opposite second berth railings with me being placed mid air. It was a mobile cradle. This kid also never had a room for herself, forget a themed room. This kid never had a Barbie doll.

I remember how I once saw my Nursery friend play with this gorgeous, unreal, pink haired Barbie doll. I also remember how I rushed home and demanded that I be promoted from stuffed sock bunnies with one eye missing to a frilled frock Barbie. I do remember how later that evening my father came home with a giant frizzy haired doll that would shut its monstrous eyes on being placed horizontally and yank it open when made to stand. While all the kids played kitchen set with their Barbies, I was home alone with my Bride of Chucky.

I never had a wardrobe I could call my own. I shared an old Godrej Almirah with my granny which she declared was too precious for her since it was passed down the generation line by her ancestors I don’t care about. I was the kid that was allowed to eat anything edible that fell on the ground because my mother confirmed that the floor was wiped clean yesterday. In short I was never pampered. Except for my childhood kleptomania where I stole stuffed toys and dolls from every house I visited, I was a fine child. No hard feelings against my family.

What I am trying to say is, it is not the theme based rooms that make a child. At the end of the day, sans the Barbies and sans the frilled princess curtains, I was always told I was loved. I was always showed that I was loved. Even while I looked like a suffocated zombie with no room to move my arms around in that Lungi crib, my mother sang for me. Hence, I never needed those colourful plastic chimes suiciding above my nose. I never had those cute pink trolleys which my mother could push around the shopping malls because I was the monkey child with her feet wrapped around her mother’s hip still being carried around like feather despite her whale weight.

And who knows what I would have turned into if I had a pink room with little princess styled mirror table and a fancy pink brush to comb my hair with. Who knows what I would have become if I had a collection of Barbie dolls and played kitty party with them? May be this blog would have been differently themed with “MY PINK UNICORN” being the name. May be it would have made me dress up like a girl and not like a confused transgender.

But hear me dear future child ‘o’ mine. Know that you shall never have any of the fancy stuffs that the world confirms too. Know that I won’t buy you a cradle. If you are a boy, know that I won’t get you toy trucks bigger than you just because your friend has it. If you are a girl, know that I won’t paint your walls with clouds and unicorns. Know that I will let you eat from the floor. Know that I won’t pick you up when you fall. Know that I know you will get up on your own. Know that I won’t even cry on your first walk.

But Know one thing, I shall Love you. Know all of this, because like me, I know you will grow up just fine!

P.S- The blog shall be 3 years old this February mid. So I thought why not make a Facebook page. Like it for me will you? -------> CLICK HERE SWEET HEART!