Toy Story

Much like everyone else, my relationship with toys goes back a long way , right into my formative years as a child. All of us have certain memories wrapped around them spanning over a number of interesting juvenile years of joy.

My earliest memory is that of a huge teddy bear I never named. It was way bigger than I was, black with red limbs. My good friend and neighbor was terrified of him and I never missed an opportunity to scare her away every time I felt like it. We did not stay friends’ very long thanks to the recurrent victimization she time and again endured at the hands (or maybe paws) of yours truly.

A military green colored noisy machine gun lived on me, literally! I always had it slung across my waist using a chord of black wool; ever ready to pull the trigger and buzz the life out of those predatory house lizards. The sight of them running for life, zigzagging all across the wall was my very first taste of sadistic pleasure. The fact that they scare the life out of me now is a different story altogether, the evolution of which I have failed to trace.

There was a phase when I was gaga over rag dolls. Plain white sheets stuffed with cotton, stitched, painted and finally dressed with whatever assortment of multicolored fabric mum had to spare. The final product was of course no competition to the `oh so plastic’ Barbie who turned into my best bud just a couple of years down the line. 

I could never have enough of them be it the ultra modern kitchen and bath, the classy furniture and the gadgets, the beautiful clothes and the grooming products or the many avatars she came in- fashion as I never knew it had found its way into my life. My only regret for a very long time was not being able to bring home a Ken doll. In hindsight, I may have been the only one looking!

Before the Barbie madness descended, the locally manufactured dolls were my prized possessions. From handsome Genie to good looking Julie and Indu, the villain Ranka, the sidekick Kumbi and the vamp Bindu-my cast for the endless doll games was complete. I stitched them the prettiest clothes, jazzed up their saris with lace and glitter and strung together colorful beads thus making them beautiful pieces of jewelry. I had a little tin trunk that held my treasures. I kept it locked and have no honest recollection of when and how I grew over it (Barbie dolls perhaps)

The best part was the annual ritual we girls had- doll weddings- the ceremony was nothing short of a real one and my dad was forced to clear out the garage which doubled up as the wedding hall. It was duly decorated  with colorful streamers on the ceiling and freshly plucked flowers on the walls-the guests trickled in with gifts for the newlyweds. Upon solemnization, it was in order for the invitees to feast on the innumerable items of food laid out on the table. We discussed doll issues and the potential bride and groom for the following season were picked.

I did have a huge collection of cars, trucks, jeeps and other automobiles which came into play  as and when my dolls needed some mode of transportation.  

Miniature versions of kitchenware filled with petals, water, flour, turmeric and yes, mud, kept me occupied for hours as I would entertain `visitors’ and feed them over and over again.Staying indoors was so much fun despite the fact that I loved running around the colony unleashed.

I cherish the imaginary world of wonder I had built for myself as a child.It undoubtedly goes to prove there is so much magic in mere thoughts, the potential to create undying amazement and marvel.

This really is an ode to those long forgotten companions who made those years unforgettable and possibly are the ones who instilled in me my almost insatiable appetite for imagination.

A toast to our toys!!