People in general are usually concerned about various things like money, jobs, relationships, health et cetera. And all such things are related to each other – like – an employed person is usually financially secure and hence, is ‘healthy’ socially and physically. Earlier, physical health was a sign of well-being, as opposed to today’s monetary status. A well toned body was the key to success then. Soon man realised that this is a trait of animals in the wild (survival of the physically fittest) and he decided to change the criterion for well-being. A bulging bicep gave way to a wider wallet when a person’s position in society was judged. Now I think I was the reason behind this shift of focus.
I am about eight feet tall and eight inches wide. I weigh fifty-five kilograms with thirty kilograms of clothes on. And still, I’m noticed by everyone and everyone and also everyone. I wonder how anyone can spot such a fine piece of thread in daylight.
I’m reminded of my dimensions every 28 seconds (intentionally or unintentionally). “You are so thin, you fit in only one arm. And your shirts are too loose no matter how tight they are. Your belt goes around your waist twice.” The most common question asked is “Why don’t you eat enough?” I do eat as much as a normal person does. In fact, I eat as much as any alpha-male in any human colony. “Where does it go then?” I have no clue. I think it evaporates. Or maybe I have a really high rate of metabolism (probably why I’m a degree above the optimum osmoregulated temperature). But I can assure you, It’s not because of lack of food I’m this heavy(?).
There is more to public assumptions. “Why don’t you feed your son?” Well, they do feed me. They actually feed me – stuff mouth with food. As I said, I do eat enough to be regarded above average. “Your son is so weak.” (This is occasionally preceded buy a loud bout of laughter.) Yes, my body is not worth ostentation. But I am not weak. I may not be Hercules. But I can carry three fifteen kilogram bags and run the stretch of six railway coaches on stony rail-track (proud achievement at Makhu, Punjab). So, my dear people who care for me, I am not weak (not too strong though).
And there are advantages to being what I am (I am not anorexic). Like I can easily guide my way through crowded and conjested places with relative ease. A seat meant for a normal human is more spacious for me, like the fourth seat in a local train, so comfortable. And I can pass through a passage, wide enough for one person, alongside a friend just about as healthy as me. And of course, strong men don’t want to beat me up fearing that they may snap my back or neck with a single flick. Disadvantages include: I won’t be allowed in the armed forces and a number of adventure sports. (I have to start gaining mass… mass transplant anyone?)
There I am. That is me. There is no place on Earth I’d rather be. Now all I need to do is earn/steal/rob/acquire money to widen my wallet. Then I shall rise from the lowly depths of society to the dizzy heights of mediocrity. Survival of the fittest? I still like the old criterion.