Unfinished Edges

I live in a body the world wasn’t designed for. Being a person with dwarfism means constantly negotiating a space between visibility and invisibility. I’m not “normal,” but I’m also not always included in conversations about disability. Too often, dwarfism is reduced to spectacle or stereotype—something to be stared at, joked about, or misunderstood. Rarely is it seen for what it is: a lived reality, full of complexity, pain, humour, and resilience.

I’ve lived that reality all my life.

As a child, I was known as a charmer. A tiny tornado with mischief in my eyes. Some people were drawn to me out of curiosity, others just… stayed, and became real friends. But childhood wasn’t easy. I was terrified of circuses—not because of clowns, but because I was always told that the dwarfs in the circus were kidnapped children. In school, I was often asked if I was one of Snow White’s dwarfs. The joke never changed. Only the voices did.

I didn’t accept my disability for a long time. Society didn’t allow me to. Instead, it nudged me toward shame or silence. I went through multiple surgeries as a child—attempts to straighten bones, gain height, and, hopefully, confidence. And while some of that worked, it came at a cost: physical pain and mental exhaustion I didn’t have the words for at the time.

I’ve always used humour to carry myself forward. I act brave. People often tell me I am. But truthfully? I don’t always feel it. I question it quietly, in the space between smiling for the world and sitting with myself.

And then I fell in love.

I married a "normal" man—taller than average—and for many, that was hard to compute. Upesh’s choose to love me surprised not just others, but even me—because we’re conditioned to believe the blocks are only meant to fit a certain way. People asked questions. Stared. Assumed. And the biggest, most invasive question was: Will you have children? The answer, for us, was no. A choice made out of clarity, not fear. Because I know what this world can be like. I’ve lived in the in-between space, and I’ve known both its silence and its violence. I wouldn’t want someone else to carry that unless the world was ready to hold them differently.

Inclusion is not just about building ramps or adjusting furniture. It’s about shifting mindsets. It’s about seeing people with dwarfism as full human beings—not punchlines, not props, not problems to fix. We are not unfinished versions of the norm. We are not here to make others feel grateful. We are here to live on our own terms.

My body paid the price early. Years of strain wore out my cartilage far too soon, and in 2018—I underwent a double hip replacement. It was also the year I lost my father, my mentor, my favourite person in the world. Everything changed that year. The grief was heavy, the surgery was humbling, and the recovery, exhausting. But through it all, Upesh was there—for every step, every struggle. That year taught me more about endurance, about fragility, and about what it truly means to live with unfinished edges.

That’s why I named my blog Unfinished Edges. Because nothing about life—mine or yours—is perfect. We are all a little jagged, a little raw, a little undone. But we are also whole in ways that matter. My story isn’t polished, but it’s real. It’s stitched together with truth, pain, humour, and the ongoing work of belonging.

I live in a body the world didn’t plan for. But I live fully. And fiercely. And on my terms.

https://video.wixstatic.com/video/2c8d15_2d4e3829bf1d4006953158688af20cf0/720p/mp4/file.mp4

Arosim Beach, Goa. Courtesy: Upesh Pradhan