Tiger, my Djinn

I must have been about two or three years old, for it was before my sister was born, I had a djinn. He was a gorgeous tiger. A Royal Bengal Tiger. He was long and strong. His coat was bright golden orange with beautiful thick white and black stripes. His belly and inner side was very soft and pure white like down. He had small perky ears, left one a bit bent at the bottom. His best thing was grand white whiskers that would tickle me to fits. His eyes were small and translucent yellow, always aware. And most of all, I loved his tail, soft and long, orange with black rings. I used to hold it, pull it, play with it, hang by it, and he never seemed to mind. He was my best friend, the only one I had at that age, and he was always with me whenever I needed him.

Photo Credit: San Diego Zoo

Did it have a name? No, I just called him Tiger, just like the neighbor's German Shepard was called. But mine was a real tiger, not a dog! I used to notice from the back window how miserably the neighbor used to treat his dog, but my Tiger was my favorite plaything, we shared everything we had - sunshine on cold floors, the musical plop of water drops in the bucket, the unending expanse of the terrace, the crack on the side of the stair, the long line of tiny black ants going somewhere in a hurry, the smell of Maa's fresh warm rotis, the call of the vendors from the street, and much more. This was long before I had read The Jungle Book, or known about Hobbes, or been to a zoo, or had any exposure to any books about tigers. I suspect he had just popped out of a calendar that hung in our shabby little dining room one fine day and made my world alive and beautiful. No one else could see him, he was my djinn; invisible to all, and visible to me alone. We used to talk in secret language and he used to follow me everywhere I went, especially when I went to the bathroom, as it used to be at the other end of the house across the stairs, and I used to be very scared going there alone. He used to stand outside and keep telling me that everything is fine and that he is guarding the door, that I need not be scared. He was my best friend.

He was by my side almost all the time we lived in our Nibaranpur home, till my sister was born. I was four when my sister was born. Our home was on the second floor. We had to get to the stairs through a small garage where Baba used to keep his white scooter. As we went up the stairs, it would open into the dining room. Baba liked the dining table against the window, so there was only seating for four people. This was the table where my dad's friends would sit when they visited us in the evenings, and there used to be songs of Manna Dey sung by Kamal Kaku into the night over unending cups of tea and snacks. While they all sat on the chairs around the table, I used to sit on the table, with Tiger by my side, and observe and listen to all the things the adults talked about - politics, music, movies, football, cricket, price of daily items, problems at work, weather, the whole lot. I didn't understand it all, but what I did I would explain patiently to Tiger, and he would nod his head and sometimes roll his eyes. The kitchen was on the other side of the staircase, and also was the bathroom. Maa used to spend most of her time in the kitchen, while Tiger and I played on the dining room floor. Leading away from the dining room, there was a small room, it was my room. There was a large tall bed by the window. The window overlooked the street and beyond that to the Mess (a boarding house for working menfolk) opposite our house where my dad's friends used to live. The window had vertical rods, and I used to stand holding the bars and talk to everyone walking the streets below. I had many friends. Maa used to tie me with a piece of string to the bars so that I did not fall of the bed, while she was cooking in the kitchen. Tiger and I could spend all day looking outside, watch the sparrows and pigeons, the stray dogs and cats in the street. We used to talk a lot, I don't remember all the conversations, but it used to be mostly about the people and animals we saw. We used to snuggle together and play. I loved blowing bubbles in his pure white soft belly, and he howled with laughter. We used to tumble about the bed together playing with each other, giggling and wrestling with each other. It was pure joy.

We were poor then. Baba used to make five hundred rupees a month and had to send three hundred or so back to my grandfather for his brothers' education and family rations. Maa had to manage with meager resources. So, we used to have my favorite egg curry only once a week, and meat or fish once every two to three weeks. Dinners used to be roti and a sabzi (vegetable). Now a days I love bhindi/okra, but at that age, I used to hate it. Actually, I did not like any vegetables then, except maybe fried eggplant/brinjal steaks. Baba's strict rules were that you had to finish every morsel on your plate. So on the night that the dinner was roti and okra sabji, it was torture for me. I used to sit on the dining table, for what seemed like hours, with one roti and fried okra on my plate. To teach me discipline, Maa and Baba, after having finished their dinner, used to leave me alone in the dining room, with a tiny ceiling light burning, and retire to the bedroom. I was supposed to call out when I was done, then they would get me down from the table. Tiger was so nice then, my best buddy. He used to walk up and down the dining room, assuring me that there was nothing to fear. Sometimes he would jump up on the table and rub his head in my tummy urging me to eat. And when he did that I would squeal with laughter, and that would often bring Maa over to inquire as to what was happening. Finding me just sitting there and laughing away, she would chide me and go back to the bedroom. Sometimes Tiger and I would plot and throw pieces of roti and okra through the window, or under the table. Under the table was not always a great idea, since next day the remnants would show up when Maa swept the floor, and that meant scolding when Baba got home from work.

Kamma, my father's mother, had come to visit us one time. She was a small lady with a very strong personality. She was not particularly fond of children, nor of my mother. Baba used to be at office all day, so she had no choice but to hang out with us. Tiger and I used to follow her around everywhere, even to the terrace, even if she disapproved of it. I was very curious about her, and found it fascinating to have another woman about the house who was so very different from Maa. I used to observe everything she did, and she did things so very differently from Maa. In the afternoons, when the sun was high, she would take a bath and sit on the stairs leading up to the terrace. I used to sit by her and Tiger would laze on the stairs above us. I remember Kamma smelling of neem from the Margo soap she had just used. She sometimes wore a light lemony yellow colored cotton saree with orange border and tiny black dots. She looked so beautiful in that sari. But Tiger used to get jealous that I liked looking at her, and he would try to flaunt his orange black and white at me on the stairs, sometimes precarious balancing on only one paw, just to get my attention. I would then scold him to keep quiet. She had curly hair that she would oil and comb while sitting on the stairs. I used to just sit and watch her, for she did not like talking much, nor pay much attention to me. She looked very beautiful, with a bright red bindi and sindoor. She'd break into a song or hum a tune sometimes. Tiger used to get bored and sometimes bound up and down the stairs urging me to follow him. Though I knew that Kamma couldn't hear him, I used to scold Tiger and ask him to sit quietly beside me. Instead Tiger used to make faces at me, and threaten to snuggle and make me laugh. A few times he would come very close to me and shout loud in my ears "tickle, tickle" that would unleash my squeals. Kamma would get upset, call my mother and make a big scene. So you know, he was really naughty and troublesome sometimes, managing him was quite a bit of work for a three year old!

One time I developed a stye on my left eyelid, it was a big one. So big that the eye was almost closed shut. Maa and Baba were worried. The stye was very painful, and I used to cry a lot. Tiger thought that if he licked the boil it would go away, I let him, but his magic did not work. One evening, Baba had the idea to burst the stye and let the pus out. So, he set me up on my bed, Maa lighted a candle and handed him a few large sewing needles. The plan was to heat the end of the needle to sanitize it and then poke the stye with it. It was dangerous, if he missed the stye or jabbed too hard, I could go blind. So Maa and Baba explained the procedure carefully to me and asked me to sit still and patiently. Maa was to hold me while Baba did the job. The stage was set on the bed in my room, right beside the window towards the street. In fact, the candle was precariously kept on the windowsill.

Tiger was not happy. Not happy at all. He furiously paced up and down the room while the preparation was going on and kept telling me loudly that he did not approve of it. He kept threatening to eat my Baba if he dared to hurt me, and may be Maa too for helping in this process. I was crying, but I kept urging Tiger to trust Maa-Baba and not eat them. Who'll look after me then? I was just a little girl! So, here we were, Maa behind me, holding me still. Baba sanitizing the needles and then bringing it close to my eye. I was very scared. All of a sudden I saw Tiger grow huge and tall, almost three times Baba's size, and stood on his hind legs ready to pounce on Baba from the back. His eyes were glowing, he was breathing hard, and saliva was falling off his open mouth. His mouth was wide open and as big as Baba's head, he could chomp off Baba's head at one go, I was sure of it. I yelled out with all my might - "No! No! Don't eat him! Don't eat him!!"

Baba was stopped in his tracks - "What? I'm not going to eat you? This will be just a little prick." But I kept crying and yelling. So much so that Baba's friends from the Mess came to their respective windows and also yelled out to us - "Hey Dada! What are you doing to that little girl? Why is she crying so hard?" Baba had to appease them and explain that he's trying to burst the stye on my eyelid. But while all this was happening, Tiger just stood there in that pouncing style as a statue, no movement, fixated on chomping Baba's head off, brimming with silent undivided intention. I was not scared for the stye on my eye anymore, I was scared that Maa-Baba will soon become tiger food!  Anyway, Baba did manage to successfully prick the stye a few times, in spite of my crying and wriggling, he also managed not to pierce my eye. After seeing that I was safe, Tiger got down and looked straight at me, said in his cold deep penetrating serious voice, "I am telling you, I would have really eaten him had he dared to hurt you!!"

Tiger, my djinn, is no longer with me. Only the many memories of him remain. He used to make me laugh, the real laugh with no care, and that mirth came from somewhere very deep inside. As you grow up, you learn to live in a world made of rules, reality, and sharp edges, and there is no place for djinns, soft white cuddles, and secret languages. You learn to be brave the world on your own, venture out in the darkness and stay there all alone through the cold nights. I don't remember exactly when he left me, he probably faded from my life gradually as I got busy with reality of growing up. These days, as an adult, I want him back, sometimes very intensely. I miss him. There have been dark days, and quite a few of them in the last few years. I could have used his company, his softness, his assurance, his love and care, I yearned for him. When I go for long walks on the beach at the break of dawn on Sundays, I sometimes smell him in the mist of the morning as it envelopes me, arising from the sea with the roar of the waves. Maybe he is there, maybe he is gone, he is a mirage. But I want to laugh with him again, for Laughter, the real one, I realize now, had gone away with him when he had left......