When Barbie died at our home

First, there were those spam mails. Then, came the calls. Became a part of our everyday chore as we learnt to live with them. Evolution, I guess. We adapt. Since the past two days, however, my satellite TV execs have displayed a terrifying over-zealousness in pushing me to renew my subscription, which, incidentally, expires today. They littered my inbox, spammed my television with alerts and then tested my patience with calls from multiple landlines, which of course my phone identified as spam for me to block them in time. Bloody smart phones, these! 

Remains of the day: Barbie dinner plate

As in most homes with kids my daughter’s age – couple of more months and she would be six – television has mostly been a highly solicited, but equally muted alibi to quick-fix parenthood. The TV comes alive every morning when she is getting ready for school. It counsels her into having her lunch on return, and is a merry accompaniment while she is at her schoolwork towards the evenings. This is where it gets interesting. Her engagement with the TV is close to being a nil. It’s like her granny who she loves unequivocally, but chooses to ignore her high-decibel references to mannerisms every time she flirts with uncouthness.  

Today, first thing in the morning, she asked if the TV would be available? “Available? No my child”, I chided and reminded her of the Doraemon pulling off his antics to an uninterested audience or Winx Club girls fighting their own epic battles as the beholder lay busy with the mundane outside of the 30-inch glass panel.  The decision was deliberate. No one was watching TV at home, just switching it on only for its sake. Occasionally, I would pamper my appetite for movies in the late night shows, when cable guys would mischievously slot the junk or the reruns to exact revenge on the hopeless viewer. Worst (Or the best) my daughter, too, had outgrown the stupid box. So, I decided to not have TV for sometime. Let’s find out, I told myself.  

“But why?” she asked her eyebrows losing their linear position to arch into a bushy angry-bird frown. “Winx girls have received new powers. They will use it against the monsters,” she persuaded her case. The effect wasn’t obligatory. “But didn’t you say they were replaying old episodes, my dear?” I reminded her gently wishing she would continue to engage with her sparring partner. She didn’t. Yet, she didn’t seem disappointed. She immediately guided me to fighting the next wave of zombies in the Plant vs Zombies game. “Let’s play the endless game. Ok?” she asked. I declined. The mobile battery had discharged substantially and needed an electrical boost. So, she understood. She was convinced without much persuasion or connivance. I was convinced she had grown up.

Not long back, she wouldn’t leave her bevy of Barbie dolls for anything. The TV was still there, playing out her favourite toons. I have even written a blog on how she identified her mom with Doraemon as Dorae-mom – the giver of all things good. But her eyes were only for these unreal, mannequin-ish blondes that are packaged as a girl’s best friend. She is still left with more than a dozen, I believe, of these dolls. Some of them continue to remain in a single piece. The unfortunate others, were mutilated, de-robed and left to sulk in isolation. She would bathe them, take them out for shopping and recreate her own Winx Club stories to snuggle in the Barbies into different roles of her pick.  She brought every version of the doll. A solitary Barbie did not suffice the span of her imagination at play. So, she had me invest in her wardrobe, bathroom, mall and kitchen. She even got me to colour her doll’s hair. Then, she had Barbie bag, bottle, stationery and even her dinner plate; all of course in Pink.

The first signs of Barbie fatigue started setting in when she was around 5. She started to venture into puzzles and board games. Mind you, they were still Barbie puzzles and Barbie games, but she was merrily distracted. Slowly, my wife and I veered her more towards the games and crafts in a deliberate attempt to rid her of the obsessive fetish for the lifeless doll. We didn’t have to push hard. Just a gentle nudge was enough to reason her into seeing a whole new world of toys that were equally, if not more, engaging and rewarding.   

That fascination is now all gone. Poof! I remember having dad-daughter fights on those rare occasions when she would insist on taking more barbies off the shelf than she could handle and I could pay for without flinching. The dolls, now, lie in an old school bag in a far corner of the lowest shelf of her wardrobe. Buried! When I look at the money spent – Oh! These dolls have a price tag, trust me – I vacillate between the failing thought of what a waste and the genial nag of worth the investment.

My daughter doesn’t ask for Barbie any more. In fact, every time she drags me into a toy store she makes it a point to tell me, “Baba, I don’t need a Barbie,” and furthers her argument with a definitive, “Trust me.”  

I can hear the “Trust me” echo in our TV talk aleady. The distraction has already set in. TV is the mute spectator. Laptop is her new cake and Frozen (the Disney film) is its icing. I can’t even come to imagine giving away those dolls to some child when we have given away so much of her childhood to others. Too many memories, I guess. I didn’t have a colour television till I was in college. She’s already lived that experience and moved on!