I wish I had enjoyed my childhood better.. dont know why I was in such a rush to grow up.... I guess, I still am.. but hopefully I wont grow up faster than is needed... in fact sometimes I behave worse than a child.... these days... lost in the process of normal growing, I guess...
When I look back at my childhood, I do remember how excited my parents were, me being their first child.. and their beloved daughter... my birth was actually celebrated in more than one ways in-spite of slight frown on faces of my extended family members... for my parents, it was an opportunity to change the system in their own ways .. my mom was never loved because she was 2nd daughter and her mother died soon after due to pregnancy related complications.. For my mother, it was important to break that viscous cycle... and my father supported her unconditionally.. I was the one who benefited the most, their precious daughter. Even the name they gave me means 'beloved', I was brought up to challenge every norm, to break every rule, to question the system...
I wonder why I started thinking about my upbringing and my childhood today... may be because I have been going through hundreds of family pictures, many are damaged now, thanks to seeping walls and moisture inside... I wish I would have scanned those pictures early on.. I was quite the focus of number of those pictures, more so than my younger brother.. he hated being photographed.... I went through a pictorial journey of our life, snapshots at various moments, lot of memories came gushing by... and so did the tears...
I had a lot of dolls as a child, but as I entered teens, my mother started giving away my dolls and toys to other children, who could not afford to own a toy.. I don't think I resisted at that age.. but by the time I turned 15, I started feeling the loss.. I had no memories of my childhood left, memories that could be touched, cuddled, hugged, smelled.. It was my 15th birthday that I started buying dolls again... she was a real size doll, she still is. Her name is Josephine, Jo... I saw hundreds of her pictures this evening, she was integral part of my adolescence... she was named after my favorite character from a Novel, 'little woman'.. Josephine Jo.. pale skinned, blue eyed with golden hair... I never had friends so Jo became my confidant..
few years later, I left home but Jo stayed on.. giving company to my mom... she is now a young girl, 18 years old.... Mumbai is hot, dusty and humid, perfect weather to destroy everything beautiful.. same happened with Jo, she requires more frequent washing and bathing . and my mom took care of her along with 30 odd other dolls of mine that I collected over years... In this trip, though, I was strictly told to give away all my dolls or to take them to Basel with me...it sounded like a death sentence... but I know that my mom is serious.. what I am not sure is what I want to do... give these guys away... or take them with me.. but how? what about luggage restriction? Is it worth the effort? But can we really evaluate the emotional significance of things and memories? I cant throw away anything.. I get attached to even a tiny piece of paper, an envelop, an old box, a little note, dried flowers and so on.. there is no way I can let go of my toys.. and dolls.. they mean a world to me... each one of them has a story and each one of them has a name and a personality of their own... they are my family... even my old worn out Dutch bike Sally is my family... I cant put her to rest... She is still waiting for me in Groningen... someday we will reunite..
Blanquito, came from Bangladesh, his soft, snow white fur tickled me to death.. he is one naughty boy.. he had a friend, a little mouse in my student apartment in Dhaka... the mouse ate my books but did not touch Blanquito... and then I had a little frog.. it was Ramiro's frog.. I just saw some of his pictures a while ago... Blanquito came into my life through Ramiro... who also gave him this Spanish name... Ramiro left long ago but Blanquito stayed on... Later we had another huge wild bear... golden brown, soft and furry.. Caffecito..... gentle, loving, well behaved, nerdy boy... who is absolutely boring in traditional sense.. but he is my sweetheart... His name came from my favorite book, 'Caffecito story'... by Julia Alvarez... Blanquito and Caffecito became soul mates, in many ways just like me and my brother only the characters got reversed... Blanquito dropped out of school at age of 4 and Caffecito went to Cambridge at an extreme young age...
Then came Mogli... the yellow bear... I was training a group pf counselors in Chennai.. it was intensive one week training, quite tiring and emotionally exhausting... Somehow some one in my participants, learned about my fascination for soft toys... on the last day of the training... they brought Mogli to me.. as a token of their gratitude... I was overwhelmed.. Mogli radiates that empathy, all the while.. key character of a good counselor.
Charlotte came into my life quite unplanned.. I was walking through a crowded market in Delhi, and this girl just looked at me... and I knew I had to bring her home... She was the biggest... and I remember flying home from Delhi with this big doll in my hand... the regular crew of the flight thought that it was a present for my daughter.. I smiled and said, it is a present for myself.... My niece had major crush on Charlotte... at some point, this girl cried so hard that I gave her my Charlotte... I cried too but silently...
and then there are Elmo, and Earny and Manchu and Pingoo... and Emily and Anouk.... at some point, I lost track of them... there is a tiny doll, my precious little baby... her name is Anamika, which literally means the one with no name... she is really special... she came to me in Pondicherry.. I was working with local women's group after Tsunami that hit in 2004... east cost of India was badly hit.. most fishermen had died leaving behind women... the loss of life, property was so immense that these women could barely cry.. they were choked.. could not really cope with the situation... one of the counselor in the group one day decided to try something new... she brought some small pieces of cloth, local materials, colored pens and paper.. Group of women sat around in circle... lost, disconnected from the self and the life around.. they stared blankly at the huge expanse of the ocean.... and at some point, one of them came forward.. she picked up a few things and started fiddling with it... soon she picked up a bright purple piece of cloth with golden border, typical cloth that women in south India wear... and Anamika was born... a tiny doll, size of smallest finger.. but clad in bright cloth. The woman held this tiny doll to her chest and broke into tears... that was the moment we were eagerly waiting for.... soon Anamilka became symbol of new life, new hope... these women made thousands and thousands of these tiny dolls.. it ignited their imagination and creativity, it gave them a sense of well being, they started taking active interest in making these dolls... they asked for more fabric and other supplies... we had finally broken the ice.. thanks to Anamika.. I have one with me.. who reminds me of that extraordinary moment of her birth... birth of life, birth of hope, birth of wanting to live on...
When I look back at my childhood, I do remember how excited my parents were, me being their first child.. and their beloved daughter... my birth was actually celebrated in more than one ways in-spite of slight frown on faces of my extended family members... for my parents, it was an opportunity to change the system in their own ways .. my mom was never loved because she was 2nd daughter and her mother died soon after due to pregnancy related complications.. For my mother, it was important to break that viscous cycle... and my father supported her unconditionally.. I was the one who benefited the most, their precious daughter. Even the name they gave me means 'beloved', I was brought up to challenge every norm, to break every rule, to question the system...
I wonder why I started thinking about my upbringing and my childhood today... may be because I have been going through hundreds of family pictures, many are damaged now, thanks to seeping walls and moisture inside... I wish I would have scanned those pictures early on.. I was quite the focus of number of those pictures, more so than my younger brother.. he hated being photographed.... I went through a pictorial journey of our life, snapshots at various moments, lot of memories came gushing by... and so did the tears...
I had a lot of dolls as a child, but as I entered teens, my mother started giving away my dolls and toys to other children, who could not afford to own a toy.. I don't think I resisted at that age.. but by the time I turned 15, I started feeling the loss.. I had no memories of my childhood left, memories that could be touched, cuddled, hugged, smelled.. It was my 15th birthday that I started buying dolls again... she was a real size doll, she still is. Her name is Josephine, Jo... I saw hundreds of her pictures this evening, she was integral part of my adolescence... she was named after my favorite character from a Novel, 'little woman'.. Josephine Jo.. pale skinned, blue eyed with golden hair... I never had friends so Jo became my confidant..
few years later, I left home but Jo stayed on.. giving company to my mom... she is now a young girl, 18 years old.... Mumbai is hot, dusty and humid, perfect weather to destroy everything beautiful.. same happened with Jo, she requires more frequent washing and bathing . and my mom took care of her along with 30 odd other dolls of mine that I collected over years... In this trip, though, I was strictly told to give away all my dolls or to take them to Basel with me...it sounded like a death sentence... but I know that my mom is serious.. what I am not sure is what I want to do... give these guys away... or take them with me.. but how? what about luggage restriction? Is it worth the effort? But can we really evaluate the emotional significance of things and memories? I cant throw away anything.. I get attached to even a tiny piece of paper, an envelop, an old box, a little note, dried flowers and so on.. there is no way I can let go of my toys.. and dolls.. they mean a world to me... each one of them has a story and each one of them has a name and a personality of their own... they are my family... even my old worn out Dutch bike Sally is my family... I cant put her to rest... She is still waiting for me in Groningen... someday we will reunite..
Then came Mogli... the yellow bear... I was training a group pf counselors in Chennai.. it was intensive one week training, quite tiring and emotionally exhausting... Somehow some one in my participants, learned about my fascination for soft toys... on the last day of the training... they brought Mogli to me.. as a token of their gratitude... I was overwhelmed.. Mogli radiates that empathy, all the while.. key character of a good counselor.
Charlotte came into my life quite unplanned.. I was walking through a crowded market in Delhi, and this girl just looked at me... and I knew I had to bring her home... She was the biggest... and I remember flying home from Delhi with this big doll in my hand... the regular crew of the flight thought that it was a present for my daughter.. I smiled and said, it is a present for myself.... My niece had major crush on Charlotte... at some point, this girl cried so hard that I gave her my Charlotte... I cried too but silently...
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