Tall tales of woe

A freakin' giraffe

A freakin' giraffe

Being tall is no joke. No, really. It isn’t. I am 6’2″ and often stared at like I am the freakin’ Empire State Building or something. If a dog is not paying attention, I might very well be a lamppost for it to relieve itself. There are so many problems associated with being tall… sigh. Where do I even begin?

Being tall reduces your general awareness of what is going on at ground level. You stub your toe more often and miss doorsteps. Or in some cases, entire bicycles. (Don’t ask.) Every foot related response is late because it takes additional time for signals to reach the brain. The worst part is when you see a notice that says “Watch your step” – you look down to save your toe, but you bump your head against the very same notice that told you to watch your step. For the benefit of tall people, they should have a notice near the foot that says “Watch your head too“. In my parents hometown, I cannot stand up straight completely because the ceiling fan might take my head. And those fans are fairly dirty and they have spiders. Not only will I lose my head, I will also have spiders on me.

Then comes the package of woes that are travel related. In a bus/plane, your knees touch the seat in front of you and all the vibration/turbulence shakes you from deep within. After a point (about 5 minutes) you think you are part of the bus/plane and it is your duty to vibrate along with it. When you get off the bus/plane, you wonder why everything is so shaky. You don’t fit in train berths at all. Either your legs are sticking out to face the wrath of every dude who passes the aisle, or your head is sticking out and you can hear every conversation between the chai-waala and the customer who does not want to pay Rs 5 for a cup that small. At 7:00 AM in the morning. You don’t fit in small cars and in order to drive, you need to push the driver’s seat far away just so you can get in the car. Later when your friend wants to drive, he feels very laid-back.

What if you had acrophobia? Being tall adds a foot or so to normal viewing, and that, when accompanied by the fear of heights DOES NOT HELP. You are walking down the street minding your own business, you happen to look at your feet – aaaargh! Too much height! Well, I do not have acrophobia… but what if I did?

And of course, the eternal problem of finding clothes that fit. Every T-shirt on me looks like it was originally designed to playfully display waist line assets of pretty girls. No, I DO NOT buy those tees because I value my privacy and I don’t want accidental onlookers to go “Oh, my eyes! My eyes!”. Trousers don’t reach all the way to the bottom, showing off some glorious ankle. And shoes! Oh my god, shoes. Big height needs big foot. Big foot needs big shoe. More than size 10, actually. And you don’t get that size easily.

I don’t fit in photographs! You will never find me standing absolutely straight in a picture with someone else, or a group. It’s either me or the rest of the crowd. And since we go by democracy, I need to bend weird and awkward to fit into the frame, finally giving my illustrious look of constipation.

And finally, what I call “the hug wind”. When you hug someone tall, and talk at the same time, your words are directed at his torso and they find way into his clothes. And they exit from the shirt sleeves in gusts of wind. Seriously! As a tall person, when I am hugged, all I get to hear is some buzzing and well ventilated sleeves.