This Potentially Dangerous Missing Leg of Mine

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This Potentially Dangerous Missing Leg of Mine

Illustration: Juergen Dsouza/ Arré

I

f I were filmy, I’d say my life is like a bad Bollywood movie. Since I am, in fact, quite filmy, I’ll reiterate that my life is indeed like a bad Bollywood movie. I am the bumbling but intelligent, short-term unfortunate but long-term lucky, not-exactly-Deepika-Padukone but pretty-damn-close kind of a heroine of my life, with several villains, including the financial gods, chauvinist internet trolls, and airport security officials stacked against me. While the financial gods and chauvinist internet trolls are the common denominator villains, my pet villains are airport security officials.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have a huge problem with being occasionally felt up on my way to a holiday but you see, going through airport security for me is more traumatic than a lingering touch on my butt. I have a prosthetic leg, which makes me a security threat. It means that every time I go through a scanner, it beeps maniacally, like I’m a ticking 9/11 waiting to happen.

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