eing a boy, though just eight years old, I was never really into teddy bears. However things changed when one day my father took me to a shopping mall at the beginning of my summer holidays this year.

There, outside the food court, stood a magnificent colourful kiosk called The Toy Factory. I saw the otter, but empty, coverings of stuffed animals such as cats, dogs, giraffes and many teddy bears and chose a giraffe for myself. Here is the best part -- I got a chance to stuff the giraffe skin I had chosen myself, using the stuffing machine in the store. It was so much fun watching the fluff from the machine being pumped into my giraffe.

After the giraffe had been stuffed, there was a little heart ceremony where I made a secret wish, kissed a small cloth heart and put it in my new furry friend. I finally got a birth certificate for my new giraffe as well and decided to call him Mighty, because he is so soft, furry and tall. I even bought Mighty a little T-shirt that said “I Love Hugs”.

What I had forgotten while I was making Mighty was that our maid’s son, Iqbal, who was a couple of years younger than me, had also accompanied us to The Toy Factory. He must have stood there looking at the kiosk wondering if he would ever be able to afford something like this for himself. As we got into our car, Iqbal asked if he could hold Mighty. I must admit that I became possessive and was not feeling very generous because I was being asked to share my new furry friend which I had made myself. I did not say anything and clung hard to Mighty, holding him close to my chest.

Later that evening, I overheard our maid, Shagufta, speaking to my mother recalling how her son Iqbal had come back from the mall and broke down before her crying and wondering when Iqbal’s family would be rich enough to afford nice things like cuddly stuffed toys.

On overhearing that, a chill ran down my spine and I felt so very guilty. I had actually made someone feel bad about his position in life and made him cry over something he could not afford. I realised that, firstly, I was insensitive that I bought something so nice in front of someone who, I should have known, could not afford it and then I was not generous enough to let him touch it. After all, he was a child like me, but I had made him cry and had broken his heart.

I went to my father and told him how bad I felt. After my father heard what I had to say, he said in a calm voice, “Well there is only one thing to do now, isn’t there?” And I knew what that was.

I went to Iqbal’s quarters at the back of our house and called him out. I brought my hand from behind my back and presented to him a token of apology, my Mighty. Although I had got very attached to Mighty in just a day because I had made him myself and he carried within himself my secret wish, I was happy to be sharing it with Iqbal.

Iqbal looked at me in amazement and at first refused to accept my token of apology and friendship. But when I insisted, his eyes beamed and a wide grin covered his face. He hesitantly accepted my gift and we agreed that we would share the toy.

Mighty would sleep with Iqbal during the week and I would have him over the weekend or when my school friends were over.

I realised that through Mighty, I had acquired not just one but two best friends, Mighty and Iqbal. I also realised that things became more precious when shared with others.