The girl and her doll

The other day I was out running some errand, a bit annoyed that I had to go out in middle of the day. On the way back in the bus, I was idly looking out the window watching people. A couple of stops later, a young mother with her two little kids boarded the bus and took their seats opposite mine. The boy sat with mama. The girl sat with her dolly!

This little girl was dressed in pink (of course!). She was grabbing her big cloth doll, also dressed in pink and purple. After she settled herself on the seat, she gently made her doll sit next to her. Holding on her doll, she started talking to her. A gentle loving voice, sometimes animatedly excited, created a myriad of tales with her doll. The everyday busy city outside the bus took shape of a vibrant story. And she made me peep back to my childhood.

Like most other girls, I loved to play with dolls. And created my own world with them. When I was little, it was mostly having my favorite doll and dragging her all around with me. I would talk to her the whole day long telling all my stories as I looked at the world with amazed eyes. She had to be there while I had my lunch, played ‘kitchen’, roamed around in my grandparents’ garden, lied down by my grandma for an afternoon nap listening to her stories, and also at night she was by my pillow sleeping and dreaming with me. She was my friend and companion, someone to share my secrets and plans.

And still creating stories...

One of my very first dolls I remember was one made of soft plastic. She wore an orangish-red dress with black hair. I used to ‘cook’ in my tiny wok, and she used to ‘eat’. I would sit with my doll and some weeds and leaves, talking to her and playing. Once I pretended she was ill (maybe after I had to pay a visit to the doctor), and I took her to the hospital, by the banana plant in the garden! She is with me in many of my childhood pictures. She was there close by as I sat surrounded with other toys. Myself adorned in ma’s saree and holding her close to my smiling face. I was reading my first book and she was there reading with me. She shared with me little moments of my first years.

I never used to name my dolls. They were just ‘my doll’. I had this big doll with blue eyes that closed while ‘sleeping’ in my lap. She had a smart white blouse and a pinkish colored skirt, her hair neatly tied in a ponytail. She even had little black shoes on with white socks. I adored this doll, but never really played around with her. My favorites were some smaller versions of her, in colorful dresses. Every time I went out with my parents, I used to ask for a new doll. I would choose as mine the one with cutest smile and prettiest dress. Then on, she would be the apple of my eyes until the day I would notice her missing shoes and tangled vanishing hair. And it was time again for another new doll.

Once I made myself a clay doll. I shaped it and dried it for a couple of days on the windowsill. When ready, she was dressed in the dress from an old doll. Unfortunately, she lasted for the shortest time, just a day. Like with my other dolls, I kept her by my pillow at night. In the morning, I woke up with broken pieces of dried clay wrapped in a dress. My sleepy hugs had sadly crumbled her into pieces. There ended my creativity with clay!

All my dolls were with a single ponytail. Therefore, it had immediately captured all attention of little me when I saw this doll with two braids while sightseeing in Haridwar. I wanted a doll with two braids, and my parents would happily buy me one such doll if only we could find it. The last evening of our stay included a frenzy search asking at every store, ‘Do choti wala guriya hai kya (Do you have a doll with two braids)?’ My excited face was almost turning sad, when we finally found it. She was wearing a white frock with colorful polka dots. Her shoes were black and eyes blue. Two neatly done braids went down past her shoulders. Instantly I was in love with my new doll with two braids!!

The idle playing with dolls and chattering to her took a more creative turn when I was around 10. She was my last doll. She came in a greenish frock, I remember. I had learnt to stitch, do embroidery and knit a bit by then. Craft and making new things have always been my favorite activity. The girlish whim of playing with dolls and the creativity came together. My doll got a makeover!! She got a new dress, painstakingly hand-stitched out of my old clothes and other scrapes. Matching ribbon in the hair completed her attire. I proudly looked at her, awed by my own creativity.

Soon, the long summer afternoons after school got busy with threads, needles, scrape clothes and craft-box. A small shelf was turned into my dollhouse. I had bought from a fair little wardrobe and dressing mirror for the doll. A bit of imagination furnished the house with a bed and side table. The bed linen was stitched; blanket, pillows, little rug were made. There was even a nice printed curtain hanging. Soon her wardrobe was full of new clothes – homely clothes, dresses for going out, and party dresses for an occasion. They were in all colors and fashion. Dida helped me knit her a small sweater! I, however, was particularly proud of her school dress. A pale yellow shirt, a yellow-black checked skirt and tie. The shirt even had a real monogram! She looked perfect, like going to a real school. Her bag was full of miniature books I had made and my used pencil that had reached its end. A rainy afternoon inspired me to make her a raincoat using some thicker white plastic! Now, she could not go out in rain, could she?

I had my doll and the creative afternoons surrounding her for a year or so. Then I grew ‘older’. Slowly the doll and everything else found place in the craft-box. And the dollhouse got filled with my clips and earrings and bangles. That winter I made a Christmas tree. Next I needed was a Santa Claus. The forgotten doll was perfect for it. I stitched a cherry red robe with fluffy cotton adorning its edges. The doll got a long flowing beard and a huge red hat. My doll was perfect in her new role.

Years passed. The dolls remained in the shelves, not anymore a little girl’s confidantes and playmates. Yet, they are never forgotten. Stories and memories linger around them. They bring back to me childhood moments, those long afternoons and the tales we created together. The dolls are fondly remembered when I see some little girl with her doll. They are part of some most cherished memories of my girlhood.

And even though I do not play with dolls anymore, I still love to own them. The old classic ones with innocent eyes, naughty smile, chubby cheeks and cute frocks. Like the cloth doll Blaž gave me last year. Dolls, even now, continue to create treasured moments.