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!
