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This is an archive article published on June 21, 2009

Vertically challenged

When you’re 10,there’s always some fantastic fantasy that you nurture.

When you’re 10,there’s always some fantastic fantasy that you nurture. You want to be a rock-star or an astronaut or you want to time travel. My fantasy? To be over five feet tall. No jokes. I’m 17 (as of yesterday) and the fantasy hasn’t faded. At 4’10”,(you read that right) I’m only just learning to love my ‘petite-ness’.

Trust me,being a woman of small stature is not the ideal situation. I know the best things,like expensive diamonds,come in tiny boxes not gigantic cartons. That doesn’t mean I haven’t had my share of wishing I was a gigantic carton. Or,at least a normal-sized one.

Picture me. This shy 13-year-old in a new school. I’m filled with nervousness. The first words I hear,“Are you in the right class? The fifth standard is on the third floor.”

Embarrassing? Yes. Needless to say we didn’t become fast friends. Cut to four years later,and simple things like shopping can become quite tedious. “I’m sorry but this is the smallest size we have. Perhaps,we can alter it for you?”

“Madame,the kid’s section is that way.”

“We don’t make adult shoes in that size. I’m sorry”

Yeah,I’ve heard these lines so often I can actually pre-empt the conversation based on the expression of the salesperson. I’ve even mastered the art of self-deprecating humour on being short. But don’t get me wrong,it’s not all a tragedy. In fact,being ‘vertically handicapped’,as I fondly put it,has its perks.

For example,people automatically assume that because you’re tiny,you’re incapable of lifting heavy,or even light,stuff. You never ever have to carry a shopping bag; somebody will predictably volunteer and really,who are we to diss chivalry?

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My greatest fear is not being able to get my enormous-seriously,enormous suitcases-off the baggage carousel at airports. It’s an irrational fear. For,that never happens. There’s always a gallant young man or old man or even muscular woman who’s willing to help a poor little girl such as myself. Sometimes,they’ll even wheel your luggage to the car and help you load it. It’s a free porter service and you don’t even have to ask for it.

And heels. Oh,how I love to hear my Amazonian friends complain about being limited to flats because they don’t want to tower over their boyfriends. Me? I can wear any kind of heel I like,even the six-inch variety,and still be perfectly within the non-intimidating height range that won’t dent any male ego.

See,the divine revelation I’ve had is the realisation that being short is not a bad thing in any way. It’s actually a fabulous thing. I mean,who wants to be average?

There are over six billion people on earth,all fighting to stand out,to make their mark. I,for one,am waving my unique height like a banner of individuality.

(sameera.196@gmail.com)

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