BEING A SIX - FOOTER.....

            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?