"My God!" one reporter said to his cameraman. "His arms are big around as my waist."

It was an exaggeration, but hardly.

Singh's body most resembles a testosterone refinery, distilling human growth hormone.

His voice is like a bear's growl, his neck tree-trunk in size, and his absurdly large hands like a wicket-keepers mitts. His jaw juts out at an impossible angle, and his head's a dead-ringer for an Easter Island statue.

It's difficult to imagine him playing a piano or riding in a Mumbai taxi. He's just too big. Hell, it's difficult to imagine him doing anything but breaking stones or skulls, both of which he's done for a living.

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