Free Second Lives by Anish Sarkar Page A

boys who would kick, push or trip me every time I passed within range. They were a known pair of bullies. I wasn’t their only target. Just the most frequent one. One day, I was standing in the quad during the break when they came up from behind. And boxed my ears hard. The searing pain subsided after a few moments. But I realised with a shock that my hearing was gone. Not knowing it was temporary, I felt an uncontrollable fury rise inside me.
    I walked away until I judged that there was sufficient distance between us. They were staring at me. Still laughing. I bent my head low like a bull. And charged. The smiles slowly vanished from their faces. But neither moved. They just stood there, mesmerised. I had already chosen my target. The smaller and more vicious of the two.
    I butted him right in the balls. I guess I must have connected better than I had hoped for. My head was bullet-shaped and hard as a rock. A formidable weapon. The breath went out of him audibly. He fell on his back, whimpering. I looked down at him with the air of a gladiator who has just slain his lion for the day. He was clutching his privates. And sobbing loudly. Much to the merriment of the crowd of boys who had gathered around. Many of them had been at the receiving end of his persecution at some time or other.
    Nobody touched me again after that. It turned out to be a pyrrhic victory, though. I gained the reputation of being violent and unpredictable. Thankfully, there was no complaint. I escaped official sanction. But the few friends I had began to avoid me. I became more lonely and frustrated than ever.
    In the meantime, my height had become an obsession with me. I tried everything possible to start growing again. I ate a self-concocted protein shake of three raw eggs and soya flour every day. I did pull-ups until it felt like my arms would come out of their sockets. I even wanted to inject myself with growth hormones. But my mother would have none of it. She would keep telling me not to worry. Pointing to my father who was over six feet tall. It was cold comfort. I was old enough to understand that genetics couldn’t be taken for granted.
    By the time I turned fourteen, I had resigned myself to living the life of a midget. Then unaccountably, I began to shoot up. My school uniform, unchanged for almost three years, became ridiculously short in the sleeves and trousers. The wall where I measured my height started to get new notches every couple of months. I grew by over six inches that year. I was so used to being the runt of the class that it took me some time to adjust to the new respect I gained with my mates. It was a bittersweet feeling.
    I ended up just an inch shorter than my father. The old man must have heaved a mental sigh of relief. You see, I come from a line of big, proud men. Who have been in military service from the time of the First World War. It’s our family trade. Every male scion was expected to join one of the three armed forces. Preferably the Army. The tradition had been unbroken for almost a century.
    The problem was that I had absolutely no desire to be in the military.
    I was convinced that the concept of war would be outdated in the twenty-first century. The Kargil operation of 1999 was the first instance of direct conventional warfare between two nuclear states. I was sure it would be the last.
    All my forefathers had seen battle in its true form. Conflict between nations of differing ideology or ambition. Even my father had fought in the 1971 war against Pakistan. He received a shrapnel wound which almost killed him. The last thing I wanted was to spend my prime years training to be a soldier, and then while away my time at some remote outpost. Or be pressed into action against terrorists. Which I firmly believed was glorified police work.
    What I really wanted to be was a naturalist. I have grown up in places close to nature. Spent countless hours tramping through forests or trekking up hills. All to observe birds