I Am Petite... I Own It

I am all of five feet. Not an inch more or less. How strange! They say 'petite' fits me the best. I scouted the dictionary to get into the sense. . . Yes. . . got it-small and trim. Trim and slim are words of compliments, but small? It is not. How can I be tall when my mom is less than five feet in height? When my friends and acquaintances referred to me as 'chhoti', 'natti' -I felt like calling them names, yet had to control myself. After all, we live in a society, and 'log kya kahenge ' matters more than 'Hum kya kahenge'. This 'log kya kahenge ' remains embedded in our heart and soul to such a degree that we often vie for validation for our actions, even to secure our emotions. The 'petite' title drove me mad. My insecurity found quaint support in high-heeled sandals and shoes. More than apparel, I started spending on shoes. The reason behind-I should look taller. I started avoiding my visit to temples and places of worship for the simple reason I had to take out shoes, subjected to prospects of being referred to as 'petite' one more time. Slowly and silently the sinewy clutches of inferiority complex overpowered me. 'Appearing tall' completely veiled 'standing tall' and my self-esteem stooped all-time low in a year's time. In a gathering, I started to get the feeling that everyone around is making fun of my height. In reality-this was not happening. Why should anyone bother about anyone else's height when there are a thousand topics to be discussed and dwelt at length!

But my lesser sense always prevailed making me timid . . . elbowing me out to my wit's end. It is so aptly said-'We live in our minds. 'I was making a hell of my own existence-not living even! Days rolled by. . . so also months. Life went on. My search for a secured job ensued after I completed my studies. One of the job interviews I faced, proved to be a game-changer. I was skeptical and apprehensive both -before the interview took place. My obsession with height was the mischief monger-a fact. The board had my vital statistics with them. One of the interviewers jovially put this question-"What are the advantages of being short?"I was taken aback. . . kept mum for a few seconds. I stretched my memory and imagination to find a suitable answer. It struck me- mom had told me about so many advantages of being short and I had dismissed them with a heavy dose of an angry outburst. "Tall people have to stoop low when they enter places with low roofs, they cannot adjust in smaller beds, they have to be careful while riding ladders else they may hurt their head. Above all, they bend in old age and have to depend on walking sticks till the end. "

Yes. . . there are advantages. Even these erudite are well versed about it. Then, why am I so sorry and sarcastic about my pedigree? Let me flaunt myself with the high heels even sans embellishments. 

I stated all the advantages. . . got selected. 

There has been no looking back since then. I have owned myself completely with all shortcomings. They are my advantages now. Just a change in mindset has spelled such ecstasy and wonder!