Was at the beach today with my
buddies. Chilling out with friends whom we haven’t met for quite some time
makes it even more jubilant. Usually, the topics of conversation follow in this
fashion: regular regards, reviews about recent movies, sports (mostly cricket)
and finally girls. We guys never break traditional conventions and so stuck on
to the same routine.
When the first one was asking me if
I am committed, another guy quickly interrupted with an ‘ssssshhhhh’
tone, as if the former had spoken something which was a national secret. He continued,
“Don’t ever ask him, machi. Look how tall he is! Do you still believe he
is single roaming around here like us? Girls usually like these tall guys, don’t
you know that?”
I don’t know about the psychology of
girls, and even if they like tall guys (which I keenly expect), I ain’t going
to continue on that. I wanted to counter him with a very strong retaliation,
but since I love being called a ‘lover boy’, I let them tease me for a
while.
“Bozos, do you know how difficult
it is to be surviving as a tall human being?” – My mind was raging. “Leave
it, bud. Anyway, they’re my friends”, I replied. But, my mind is a guy who
never gives up. There he was, constantly jumping up and down inside the
cranium, and so I am forced to write on this.
Being a six – footer may seem an
advantage to the outer world. But, it is more of a hardship, a ‘challenge to
survival’. As I belong to this kind, I feel proud to represent my ‘community’
(Well, what else can I use here?). I have constantly gone through this horror,
right from the day I reminisce.
I am not aware of the present day
buses, but once, there was a 50% discount for children of height below 130 cm.
Sadly, I never enabled mom and dad to enjoy the benefits of this offer once I
crossed eight (or nine, maybe). At one or two junctures, mom had argued with
the conductor stating my age factor, but always in vain.
My age, height and the number of
problems due to my height all bear a direct proportionality. They have always
and still are increasing at a constant rate gradually. I spotted this during my
tenth standard, when I was unable to place my legs comfortably in the space between
successive seats, while sitting in a bus. This has ever since deprived me of
the bliss of enjoying sceneries through the window seat. Since I need more
ample space for my legs to have a convenient posture, I always prefer the other
corner round so that I could be free enough to stretch my legs into the
passengers standing area. In congested buses, where people stand in every nook
and corner of the bus, such that you cannot even search for a one – rupee coin
that accidentally fell off your shirt pocket, I don’t have the privilege of
stretching my legs. Alas!!! That travel would always make me ireful.
Understanding my problem, my loving
parents made an alternate arrangement, which we all thought would be a
solution. They fixed taxis for rent whenever we toured. But, I couldn’t bend my
legs sufficiently due to the ground clearance of the cars.
For travelling short distances in
buses, I would rather prefer standing in buses. Even the pain caused due to
standing is tolerable when compared to the suffering during sitting. But, private
buses do not provide this ‘welfare scheme’. They are usually shorter in
height than the government ones so I always end up hitting and banging my head
against the roof at least once or twice. Now, in MTC buses, that stance is also
not possible, as most of them have these hanging holders, which look like the ‘ropes
for hanging traitors’. I clang my head against one or two holders and it
becomes a funny spectacle. During one such awkward moment, one or two toddlers
even guffawed at me.
One pleasant day rarely goes off
without this question being asked. “Do you have any back spasms or sprain?”
Only people like me know that when you are tall beyond a certain limit, there
comes a natural hunch (Please do not recollect ‘Hunchback of Notre Dame’; this
isn’t that serious). When I try to walk normally like others, although with
much effort, I mostly end up looking like a pot – belly because when my head
becomes stiff and straight enough, the belly protrudes forward (You tend to
recollect the Raman Effect, right? ‘When a monochromatic light falls
on a………. blah blah’)
This ‘uniqueness’ (this is how I
console myself) follows even at public places like temples. When I try to reach
out to the Almighty at a shrine, somebody would shout from behind. “You…!
Stand normally. Don’t you want the others also to have a peaceful darshan?”
How could I ever find a way of standing normal when I am already doing just
that?
In movie theatres, this would get to
the supreme intensity. My hero would enter the scene and would be fighting ten
to twenty rogues at a time. When I try to be erect so as to watch the stunts
convincingly and applaud (Usually, whistles are effective only if you keep your
head and throat straight), a ‘fan’ from the back seat would yell, “***#%!!!
Sit down, bloody. I have paid for the ticket, too”. As if I bought a
ticket worth 100 or 120 bucks just to spoil his happy mood. I come out of most
of the movies only with an evil remark from someone, mostly from people
stronger than me, so I never retaliate.
This
goes on and on. ‘Comedy Nights With Kapil’ would garner at least 50
episodes if I continue talking about my problems. Do you still want to be that
guy, who is much attractive to girls, but has to face these many hardships?
