We might have outgrown playing with them, but most of us still have a doll or two from our childhood tucked away in some corner of our homes. From the earliest ones supposedly found in Egyptian tombs, to the robotic ones of today — dolls have had a profound significance across cultures. So, it’s no surprise there is a special day dedicated to celebrating these eternal symbols of childhood. The first Doll Day was reportedly celebrated by author and doll enthusiast Mildred Seeley in 1986. Ever since, the second Saturday of June is celebrated as World Doll Day.
At My Kolkata too, thoughts immediately shifted to that special toy that we have always cherished. Of course, given that playing with dolls was ‘considered’ more appropriate for little girls, many of these ‘dolls’ were action figures too, but they were all equally special for many different reasons. So, here is Team MK sharing anecdotes and stories about the special dolls from their childhood.
The 26-year-old fairy-tale doll
A little girl’s make-believe ‘daughter’ — the handmade doll that looks like Thumbelina and Little Red Riding Hood
As far as I remember, Thumbelina and Little Red Riding Hood were the first two story books I had, which my parents and grandmother would read to me. The most special doll I have is a crossover of Thumbelina and Red Riding Hood. It is small, fits in your palm and wears red. If I am not wrong, this is a handmade doll that my parents bought from an annual fete that happens at St. Paul’s Cathedral grounds in December. I was a toddler and picked it up from one of the stalls selling handmade artefacts.
This little Red was my ‘daughter’ while my ‘son’ was a teddy bear, I haven't found him for many years now. The special memory with my doll is related to childhood fear of Kalbaishakhis (Nor’westers).
I was terrified of Kalbaishakhis, and whenever there was a storm or heavy rain, I would imagine myself stranded on a small railway platform with my ‘daughter’ and ‘son’. It was my sole duty to save them from the raging storm and growling sky. I would hold them close and sit on a sofa imagining it to be a bench on the platform. I also had my luggage — my art school bag! I don’t know why, but this was my favourite make-believe summer game.
My little doll has actually travelled by train, but in a suitcase. Every vacation, when we would travel to visit my grandparents, the doll went with me. She is about 26-years old now, but hasn’t been on a train in a while.
— Jaismita Alexander
‘Dolls’ that packed a punch, literally!
Greek gods of a little boy’s childhood — WWE action figures
Ripped, hypermasculine and with a gaze that could pierce steel — not exactly the words conventionally used to describe dolls. And yet, the closest thing I had to dolls growing up were these — my cherished WWE action figures. As an adult, I’ve often wondered why boys aren’t handed Barbies to play with. Perhaps because people are too busy managing something even more fragile — the male ego.
When I was about nine years old, I discovered the mad, brutal world of WWE on TV. No sooner had I made Greek gods out of the likes of The Undertaker, The Rock, John Cena and Triple H than I spotted their action toys (made by Mattel) at the Little Shop in Mani Square. Even though my mom tried her level best to convince me that I’d get tired of them in two days (hence they didn’t demand a splurge), I simply turned to my dad, who yielded faster than a WWE referee counting to three. I came back home with six dolls!
Every evening after school, my dolls squared off in imaginary matches with each other (spoiler alert: The Undertaker always won). Occasionally, I’d paint some of their hair or add a few highlights to their wrestling attire. On days I was frustrated (read on days I had a maths exam), I’d have a few swings at Edge (mostly a villain in WWE) or drop one of my dolls (but never The Undertaker) from the second floor balcony to the first (they never broke!).
Over time, my interaction with my WWE dolls gradually decreased, before drawing to a halt once I finished senior school. By then, they had wrestled each other and my fingers often enough. Depleted with wear and tear, they had to be retired. I haven’t bought a doll since, but every time I pass by a store with WWE action figures, the kid in me stops to take a look. The WWE stars I loved (and hated) are mostly gone, but something about wrestling action figures still intrigues me. Just not enough to play with them anymore.
— Priyam Marik
Dad’s little girl
A curly-haired, button nosed memory of special moments shared with my father
My doll was my second-best friend after my teddy from my toddler days. A lanky, curly haired doll with a button nose, that my Ma has managed to preserve. My Baba got that doll for me. My introverted, super-serious bibliophile Baba, whose words were rationed (and still are), was a different person with his only darling daughter, which, obviously, is me. Once Baba came back from work and freshened up, it was playtime with his daughter every day. And he would play with that doll too, after all I was the dolly's mumma, and he was dadu! We would have tea parties, reading sessions, and he and the doll would be my students and I, their teacher. I would feed, bathe and babble with the doll, and he would smilingly oversee and help me when I needed a hand.
Now, I look back to those photographs, moments documented meticulously by my Ma, and I see a father making efforts to spend time with his child. Work-life balance is our Gen Z lingo, but back then, it was perhaps just a father being a father, trying his best. Today, when I look at my Baba, a bit frail and wobbly, battling a degenerative brain disease, I travel back in time to those carefree days with him. Carefree for me, full of responsibilities for him.
I recently read somewhere that just the way it is a child’s first time living, it is also a parent’s first time being a parent. At 35, with a few greys in my hair, I am a more contemplative, composed adult, but to Baba I am still his doll, his little one. And he still fights with all his might to treat me like one.
I live in a different home with my husband now, but that doll is still in my old bedroom sitting on my book rack, living in the same house with memories of a father and daughter, who agree, agree to disagree, and continue to carry on their relationship.
— Pooja Mitra
Better than the main character
The cherished Bumblebee, better than any Optimus Prime
Growing up sports was always a choice so being outdoors and getting muddy was always fun/ The other source of entertainment was of course, Cartoon Network. While I enjoyed collecting Beyblades and Bakugans, my favourite toy was always my black and yellow Bumblebee — the Transformers character I’d grown fond of while watching the animated series and then the live action movies. Why Bumblebee? Well, while everyone was looking at Optimus Prime, I really loved this cute yellow Chevy race car that didn’t speak but played songs to convey messages.
I had one of those Bumblebee toys that changed from car to Transformer and I would spend hours dismantling and reshaping my Bumblebee.
The toy is still with me, kept safely in some part of the house but I haven’t seen it or played with it in a long time. I’m happy I can’t find it, though, or I would never be able to get any work done.
— Debrup Chaudhuri
Just mother-daughter things
Mini in her dress that matches a dress of my daughters; and the bridal doll made by my mother-in-law
‘Ma, what dolls did you play with?’ is a question I have often had to answer as a mother of an eight-year-old. My earliest memories of dolls include a baby in a yellow woolly dress and a bonnet to match, always ready to cry if the pacifier was taken off her mouth. And then there was a doll, whose appearance I don’t particularly remember but that has stayed in my memory because my mother knitted a sweater and a muffler for her with wool leftover from a sweater she had knit for me. So, both me and my doll had matching sweaters — blue with a navy-blue pattern around the neck. Though I can’t knit or sew to save my life, I have got a couple of matching dresses stitched for my daughter and her favourite doll Mini (who was taller than her when she came as a gift on my daughter’s first birthday). My daughter is fast growing out of her love for dolls — the world of books, cricket and more taking their place — but Mini remains an almost real part of her life, unlike the Frozen dolls and Barbies.
Barbie, and later her sister Skipper, came to me when I was much older but before that two of the finest dolls in my collection were a blue-eyed “English” doll in a powder-blue dress and a Christian bride in a white lacy gown. None of those dolls remain with me but they stay on in a favourite photograph from my childhood clicked by my father — me sitting amid my collection of dolls. It’s a frame I emulated with my daughter and her dolls, too. I do still have a precious doll in my possession — a bride in white made by my mother-in-law and gifted to me on the first birthday after she met me before marriage.
— Sohini Bhattacharya
A childhood dream fulfilled
A Barbie in a yellow dress — a childhood dream that was fulfilled decades later
Some bonds are gifts that last a lifetime, and the first Barbie I ever owned is a symbol of that.
Growing up, my parents were always busy taking care of our extended family, leaving little room for saving money for any expensive toys. By the time we could afford it, I had outgrown the age for dolls. However, the dream of owning a Barbie doll and a dollhouse always lingered in my heart.
I once happened to share this unfulfilled childhood wish with a colleague-turned-friend-turned-rakhi brother, during the early days of my career in Kolkata. Six years later, fate took me to Mumbai with a new job, where I happened to reconnect with him. A self-appointed local guardian in the new city, he gave me the most wonderful surprise on my 26th birthday — the first, and only, Barbie doll I ever owned — the best surprise ever from a dear friend.
It was something I had yearned for years and it meant the world to me. Though my little nephew has now torn apart the poor doll’s appendages, the Barbie remains the best birthday gift I’ve ever received — a symbol of a dream fulfilled.
— Jaya Biswas
A little moment with dadu
She looks a bit worse for wear, with a bad haircut — I cut her bangs when I got rid of mine — but she has a special place
It has been about four months since I’ve moved to a different city away from my parents. Last month, a care package from home contained — much to the amusement of my husband — my collection of soft toys. Some of these date back to the early years of childhood — the precious few handpicked from a larger collection that was given away to a children’s home after I ‘grew out of it’. Others have been bought and are collected on travel well into my adulthood. My first memory of a doll, however, is of one that looked like a very English baby with blond hair and blue eyes. It had a feeding bottle in one hand and when you raised the bottle to its lips the liquid would disappear, as if the baby was really drinking the milk! It was a favourite for a very long time. The dearest putul of my childhood, however, is another very English looking baby — a girl this time — with dark eyes and blonde hair, dressed in a pink polka-dotted blouse and lace trimmed pink pinafore. When this doll came into my life, the height difference between the two of us wasn’t much.
What is most special about this doll is that it reflects the bond I shared with someone I dearly miss every day — my dadu. My maternal grandfather was the epitome of the doting grandparent — storytelling sessions, bedtime cuddles, candies in his pocket every evening when he returned from work. Being the first grandchild and remaining so for a very long time made our bond even more special, I believe, and growing up all the baynas were directed to dadu. On a summer vacation trip to Kolkata from Bombay, while Ma, my aunts and my grandmother shopped in New Market, dadu was tasked with keeping me company. While walking around, this beautiful cheruby doll caught my eye at a toy store and thus began the saga of puppy eyes. Not that dadu needed much convincing, Ma was the real gatekeeper. In the end, dadu vetoed Ma and the — rather expensive — doll made the journey back to Mumbai with me. Almost every eye at Kolkata airport was drawn to this doll carried by a child not much taller than the doll and I remember an old gentleman, similar in age to my dadu coming up to talk to me asking me about the doll.
She made the journey back to Kolkata years later when we moved back and is still at home. Through the years, she has endured quite a bit — temporary tattoos on her shoulders with a pen, a (bad) haircut because when I lost my bangs my doll had to as well. Today, she somewhat resembles the second coming of Chucky, but she remains just as special.
— Rumela Basu
