Tiger's Story

All this reminiscing about the anniversary of leaving my country of birth brought back memories of the preparations we had to do in order to leave.  I started writing a post about all the decluttering that we had to do as we got rid of most of our possessions.  That reminded me of the few things we kept with relatives with the intention of coming back to get them, someday.  The only thing I kept behind, with my cousin P, was a stuffed toy tiger which had been a 5th birthday present from my father.

I started to write about that stuffed toy tiger, for it had a story attached to it (seems like most of my possessions have stories attached to them and this is why it is so hard for me to declutter), when I realized that it deserved a post of its own!  So, this is Tiger's Story:

I don't remember the exact events of the day I acquired Tiger, but this is the story of that day as my mother told me.  According to my mother, for my fifth birthday, my father and she took me shopping at a store called Chands.  I don't remember if my mother had said anything to me before going to the shop, but, knowing her, she probably told me not to ask for anything!

But, once in the shop, my father had said to me, "Baby, choose anything you want"!  LOL!  How could I resist such an invitation?  I had made a bee-line to this stuffed toy tiger that was probably the biggest toy in the store!  It was in a stretched out reclining position, with the head held up and measured about 3 feet long and about 1 foot high at the head.  It had  an excelsior-filled body with tawny fake fur with black stripes on the top and a creamy-white belly, a pink embroidered nose and green eyes that glowed in the dark.  It had a noise-maker inside so that when you pressed down on its stomach, it growled.  It cost 125 rupees, which, at the time, was A LOT of money!  In comparison, a gold necklace with clusters of small rubies cost  Rs. 135!  (I don't know how much that would have been in US dollars back then, but, in 1973, when we left Sri Lanka, 8 rupees equaled $1; today, 152 Rs. equal $1).

Notation in my Baby Book about the Tiger

My mother had tried to interest me in a smaller toy tiger, a doll, a different toy, something less expensive, but I was adamant.  Father had said to choose whatever I wanted and I had chosen!  Mother said I hugged that toy tiger and wouldn't let go.  Father bought it for me.  (Was I spoilt?  I'll let you decide!)

My mother took me to a studio to have a picture taken of me seated on the tiger!

My Tiger and I

I remember that dress - it was coral pink with lace butterflies linked with lace around the skirt and the neckline.  Mother sewed the dress; I don't know who made the lace, but she probably bought it.


Tiger was loved.  It was my most cherished toy.  It was my confidante.  Its sawdust body absorbed my tears because I would hug it and cry into it whenever I was sad.  It had long whiskers that I "trimmed".  One green eye fell off and was glued back on.  A mouse nibbled its tail and Mother patched it. 

When it was time to dispose of our possessions, I gave away most of my clothes and many treasures, including my beloved collection of books and my 3 foot high walkie-talkie doll my mother had bought for me when I was 6 or 7 (it too had a story: my parents had given it to me, pretending it was a gift from my uncle who had returned from a trip abroad - I don't know why they did that, but maybe I was told he'll bring me a doll if I was good?  But I knew it wasn't from him the moment my mother told me to thank him for the doll and I did and uncle was quite confused, asking what doll and my mother prompted him with a "Why, the doll you brought back from your visit abroad"; I gave the doll to my stepfather's dental technician whose baby daughter had been diagnosed with cancer and wasn't expected to live; he had asked if he could buy the doll for her). 

But I couldn't give away my tiger.  So, I asked my cousin to keep it for me and she did.

When I went back for the first time in 1979, Tiger looked a bit dingy and no longer growled, but I wanted to bring it back with me.  Various members of the family tried to discourage me from bringing it back; they told me I would have a hard time with Customs at the airport, that they would cut into it to see if there were any gems or other smuggled items.  I cried (yes, even if I was 23 at the time!)  I said, in that case, I will bury my tiger that my father had given me, just as I had buried Father.  I was at my aunt's house at the time and she couldn't bear to see me cry.  She said something to her husband who told me not to cry and told off the rest of the family.  Together, we wrapped Tiger in clear plastic and I was allowed to bring it as my second piece of checked luggage without any hassles at the Customs.

I brought Tiger home and shampooed him to remove some of the dirt.  He had pride of place at the foot of my bed, again.  Over the years, the fur on the top of his head got loved off, the tips of his ears got torn, the pink embroidered nose frayed, one or two stitches in his seams gave way and he leaked sawdust every time he was moved, and, I don't know if you noticed, but just like the Velveteen Rabbit, Tiger became Real and went from being "it" to "he".  He moved with me when I moved into my house.  My daughter grew up knowing who Tiger was.  The bed in the guest room became his room.  It seemed to me that he had begun to have a quizzical look on his face.  He looked old and worn out, he no longer held his head up proudly, but I would still pet him on the head at times and his eyes still glowed at night. 

One day, however, I knew it was time for Tiger to go.  I was a 50+ year old woman, at the time, with a stuffed toy tiger and it seemed slightly ridiculous.  I let go of Tiger and I cried. 

I am grateful for:
- an indulgent father
- my mother's record keeping
- mother having my photograph taken with my tiger
- memories of my much loved toy
- stories to share!