The Procelain Doll

So, I'm not really into porcelain dolls. I think they look beautiful and all that, but I have never bought one or would. Too pink and pretty, and too figurine for me. Too collectibles item.

But I did get one home with me the other day. Pink and pretty and figurine.

But this one I shall keep. Because this one has a story.

And as much as I might not like porcelain dolls, I love stories . Especially the ones that happen to me . And have real people in them.


Tuesday afternoon. Close to 4 pm. My one year old is being what a one year old will be, on some days. A difficult one year old. Refusing to play, or sleep, or sit in the stroller to go to the park. Doesn't mind being carried around, so I put her in my sling, and set out for a walk. I plan to walk around downtown, maybe browse the drugstore, try on some nailpaint, or walk into an art gallery, or a random store that looks interesting enough.


So as I'm turning the corner around my condo, I notice the store that's right there. It's always been a bit of a favorite of mine. I haven't really ever bought anything from there, except a small furry , very life like, kitten which goes "Meow, I love you" when you press a button. Enough to entertain a one year old . For a dollar.


So anyway, this store has always been nice to browse through. First off, it was always absolutely packed with stuff. Packed , as in shelf to shelf, wall to wall. All kinds of stuff. Curios, mostly. Figurines. Lamps. Some nice, some hideous. Paintings. Prints. Incense. Key chains. Tin soldiers. Toy airplanes. African masks. Calendars. Just knick knacks and more knick knacks and even more knick knacks.

And a large selection of porcelain dolls.

So on some lazy afternoons, I would grab myself a coffee and just browse the store. Talking to the Chinese owner. Looking at knick knacks. Smiling to myself over some hideous looking lamp.

And if I was really in a mood, I would name the dolls.


The other thing that always caught my attention about this store was the fact that for the last 4 years , there has always been a sign on the door. "Closing Sale. Everything Must Go". Now, that is a gimmick that some store owners use to attract bargain seekers, especially around downtown. But sometimes it really does mean that store is shutting down and they are trying to get rid of the inventory.

For 4 years, I kid you not, the sign was always on the door. And the door was always open for business. And the store never shut down.


Till the last Tuesday when I walked by. Which is what piqued my interest. There was again a sign. It read. "Store shut down. Everything must Go. " And next to it was a very legal looking, stamped document stating something like non payment of rent etc.

And although, the store was open for business, it was almost bare. Almost everything had been sold. Just a few knick knacks here and there. Few customers grabbing the last day bargains. The Chinese owner was gone. The store was really shutting down. That day.

And here I was, just by accident, standing at its door, for what would be probably the last time. So , I walked in. It seemed momentous enough an event for me. I like romanticising things, you see. For one last time, I would walk around, browse and just spend another lazy afternoon here.

And as looked around, I saw a few knick knacks that I have always spotted when I used to browse here. A few painting that I remembered seeing. Lamps, the hideous ones. And a few porcelain dolls. With their pretty dresses.


So, anyway , that is the background to what followed.


As I walked around with my daugher slung on my hip, this lady walks up to us, also carrying a little baby girl. Mothers attract mothers.

Reasonably tall, 5'7 , I should say. Hair tightly pulled back in a bun. Very neat, not a hair out of place. Fair skinned. Not Caucasian. Wearing a summery reddish pinkish, clingy knee length dress. Bit of a tummy. Post pregnancy sort of bulge. Curvaceous, full bodied figure. Light eyes. Against her fair skin, you noticed them. Light eyes.


She walked over and smiled. We said our hello's. She asked how old my daughter was. I answered and asked about hers. Mom talk.

We told each other how cute the other's child was and how hard somes days can be and teething issues and all that. I didn't mind. She was an eager first time mom and she was pleasant.

Then she turned aorund and said something to the man at the cash register. Which is when I figured she wasn't browsing through. Turns out she was married to the guy at the cash register. Who was also the guy in charge of the foreclosure of the store.

She told me the owner could not pay the rent and hence the store had to be foreclosed. Hmm, I said , "too bad'.


As she continued talking, I wondered where she was from. I figured , probably Spanish or somewhere in Eastern Europe.

See, I am curious about stuff like that. Especially being in a city like Toronto. Because mostly everyone in this sity is originally from somewhere.

This city hands you multiculturalism on a platter. And then some more. You never know who you will meet, from which end of the world. So I normally ask. To satiate my curiosity. But I always guess first. In my head. It's like a game.


Spanish. Or eastern European. I was sure. Her English was accented. Something about her face. Something about her body. Something about her husband. I was sure I was close.


"What's your daughter's name?" She asks.

Gia", and "your daughter's?' , I ask.


"Mallika"


"Oh," I say, "That's an Indian name."


"Yes" she says. " I am from India. "

"Oh, "..says my head.


I'm from India too, I tell her.

My head is reeling.

"Where, in India?" I ask.


Punjab, she says.


Oh, I am from Punjab too. I say.


And soon we are exchanging names. Jugraon, Nangal, Doomwali, Bhatinda, Ludhiana.


Me and Jassi.


That's her.
Jassi from Jagroan. A village in Punjab. Not too far from Doomwali. Another village in Punjab . My ancestral village. Where I spent many a summer, growing up.


So , N from Doomwali in Bhatinda and her daughter meets Jassi from Jugraon and her daughter , in a store in downtown Toronto, which N have browsed for the last 4 years, and which is finally shutting down for non payment of rent by the Chinese owner and the foreclosure is being handled by Jassi from Jagraon's husband.


I was wrong about Spain or Eastern Europe. I was not even close.


We talked some more, now obviously, a greater comfort level established.

And then it was time to leave. So I said goodbye and how lovely it had been to meet her . She asked me to wait a minute.


Then , she walked over to a shelf, picked up something and handed it to me.


"This is for Gia, from Mallika. "


I looked down at my hand and there she lay. The porcelain doll in a pretty white dress. With blue frills at the edges . Same blue as her beaded necklace. A wreath of pink roses in her hand. A pink heart adorning the veil on her head. Brown hair. Black eyes. Pink lips. Barefeet.

Thank you. And I left.

And as much as I still am not porcelain doll person, I think this one's a keeper.

And in my head, I might even name her.
Jassi or Mallika. Those are the contenders.