Chingey re Chingey

Why does it so happen, that we understand the true value of anything only after it is no more with us? This can about anyone or any thing. Rarely, have I met a person who truly understands that he/she is blessed with all that is around him/her.

Well, I am no different either. I have always been a reactive person as far as understanding the value of any thing is concerned. And most of the time, I end up crying over the spilt milk, after it is spilt; rarely taking care to ensure that it is not going to spill, and is safe and sound in its tamper proof pot.

I had a lovely doll, one that could walk and talk and sing (a big thing in Indian homes in late eighties). It could sing nursery rhymes…Had lovely blonde piggy tails and deep blue eyes. My Atya (aunt) and my Grandmother had gifted this lovely cherub to me. I used to call her Chingey. I have a distant memory of making a small cradle for her from my Mum’s used sarees and singing her to sleep.

Over the years I grew up, and moved on to different things—Barbies, Enid Blyton books, Nancy Drew, music, make up, and much more. Chingey was never jealous of the Barbie I got for my Birthday, or the teddy that joined the Toy gang later. She was too content to stay in some dusty corner of my room; only to reappear, when one of my cousins had come home.

She was old…but there was no change in her adorable character. Well, boys will be boys, and Chingey suffered her leg fracture at his hands…only never to recover. Yet my one legged dolly was a model, or clothes horse as you might call her, for my mum’s tailoring assignments. She was a very patient and smiling patient for all my toddler neighbours with their doctor sets…always batting her baby blues at them, sleeping as they instructed her and waking up whenever they wanted.

Over the years, Chingey lost her ability to speak…but that never stopped her from showering her love on me. Her soothing smile made me forget my unfinished homework, crap assignments, my mum’s reprimands and Dad’s punishments. I used to talk to her about all my problems…friends bitching, bad grades, guilt feelings, anxiety and fear. Whenever I would cry (No, I am not female version of Norman Bates) to Chingey…her smile would somehow, make me believe that the world is indeed beautiful.

Then one day, she was no more…broken beyond repair that we had to give her away. It did not hit then….but slowly and steadily….it keeps (even after 12 years) coming on to me, that indeed I am all alone in this world and nobody understands me.

And that’s when you realize, that there are somethings which go away as we grow up. Most of them are lost in memories. But there are a few of those lost things, which always come back, to prove that we lived a life, which is such far off at times, that it seems unreal, even to us.

I actually miss her…my childhood, the games we played….My Chingey…Always in my heart!!!
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Note: Images taken from google image search