Cursing Triton

People die. Even people as despicable as Bal Thackeray. By shutting down our city because of
a glorified goon and his croaking mainducks, we have just advertised our impotence to the
world. Bravo, Mumbai. Ajinkya reads these words off his screen, just below the big blue
Facebook header, and allows himself a chuckle. Thats my girl, ever the battleaxe, he thinks. He
has always appreciated a little fire in the belly, as long as he stayed out of the firing line. And of
late, he has found Lisa to be a bit too hot to handle. He clicks the like button, thinking about
last night. The death of a bigot, or the lives of the millions under his thumb are very far from his
and Lisas minds, as they rub against each other, desperate to make an hour of hard-fought
privacy count. Rise to the occasion, she giggles. He smiles weakly at the poor joke, and wonders
if it stems from all those hours on Facebook she spends. His penis, meanwhile, has refused to
acknowledge the mirth of the situation.
What happened? Am I doing something wrong?
No, its just been a long day, thats all. My Editor went nuts after the old man kicked the bucket.
God, I know Thackeray has pulled a lot of crap, I just thought your dick wasnt part of it.
And with that stinging riposte, she clambers off his lap in a fluid movement and lights a
cigarette. On good days, they fuck like its the last time they or anybody else in the world are
allowed to fuck. These days (for it was a lean patch) he is distracted and anxious while she is
impatient and dismissive. Six months back, she would have given him a sympathetic cuddle.
Cradled his head in her arms, stroked his back. Or better still
The citywide bandh has ensured that Ajinkya will have to improvise to reach his office. He
remembers the last time he chose to indulge his sense of adventure; it had ended up costing him
three thousand rupees at the mechanics. So what if the Sena has called a bandh? I like to ride in
the rain and Ill be damned if some ghati from Ghatkopar stops me. Oh, but boss, dont you see?
He will. Apna-apna saamaan sambhaal ke chalne kaa, kya?*
He makes elaborate plans involving a bike ride through seedy lanes and questionable shortcuts.
On a last minute impulse, though, he decides to leg the five kilometers separating his office from
his low-rent filth pit. Cant be too careful when youre up against the Shiv Sainiks. Today, theyll
be out in full force, all saffron and steel. He has only ever seen tridents on television, despite
living in Mumbai for an year now. They remind him of Triton, Lord of the Seas and father of
Ariel the Little Mermaid. Triton has twinkling eyes, a jovial voice and a luxuriantly long white
beard. And a super-powerful trident to go with them. In an alternate universe, Ajinkya sees

Thackeray as a similarly benevolent monarch, fiddling with his beard and twirling his trident. In
an alternate universe, he sees himself rising to the occasion last night.
When he reaches his office, there is a strangely muted atmosphere in the newsroom. He cant
quite shake off the feeling that there is a lot which is unsaid, a lot which people want to get out of
their systems. The fact that nobody finds it within themselves to unload makes it a room full of
puffer fish. There are news flashes of Shiv Sainiks in a procession, marching through the city in a
show of strength.
His reverie is broken when someone turns up on the volume on the screen closest to his desk. A
whole posse of cops, both male and female, are perp-walking a young girl who has covered her
face with a cloth. He can see her eyes and the rest of her. In any case, he has no doubts
whatsoever about the Winnie-the-Pooh T-shirt. Its Lisa, and his mouth suddenly feels dry. The
affectless voice of the newsreader pricks him in a thousand and one places.
Mumbai Police has arrested 23-year-old Lisa DMello for posting a message on Facebook
which protested against the Mumbai bandh called by the Shiv Sena. According to our
correspondent at the Mahim police station, Miss DMello has been detained under Section 64(a)
of the Information Technology Act and Section 295(a) of the IPC, for hurting religious
sentiments.
Bummer.
Ajinkya decides he has heard enough. He suddenly feels an overwhelming desire to vomit.
Before the bile reaches his gullet, he heads for the toilet and lets it go in two massive retches. As
he washes up, he looks at himself in the mirror. It seems that he has paled a little in these past
few minutes. Returning to his desk, he stuffs his belongings in his bag and rushes out of the
building. He wants nothing more than to rush back to his room and stare at his ceiling fan for a
few hours.
He walks in a feverish haze. Hes walking faster and faster without quite knowing why. As he
takes the shortcut he had skipped earlier in the day, he remembers that night with Lisa, when a
group of drunken louts had almost cornered them in one of these lanes. They had escaped with
great difficulty, and only after hed forked out hooch money. Before that day, he had fancied
himself as a cool customer, unflappable under pressure. But in the face of a leering, inebriated
asshole, he had chickened out of a fight. Tu kiti vela ghetlays heela? (How many times have you
done it with her?) the man had taunted him, his eyes fixed at Lisas chest.
Afterwards, they had fucked like mad at his place. Like it was the last time they or anybody
else in the world were allowed to fuck. Its almost like you got off on those goons undressing
me with their eyes, Lisa had complained.

By the time hes outside his building, he feels like crawling on all fours. He sees a garish-looking
orange poster somebody has pasted just outside the main gate. Its one of those fliers, preferred
by quacks, witch-doctors and other small-timers peddling aphrodisiacs everywhere. GUPT
ROG SE NIZAAT PAYEIN (Rid yourself of venereal disease) it screams in big black lettering
on an orange background. The next line reels off the list of sexual ailments Dr Moinuddin Haque
claims to specialize in, including PROTEST (prostate). How about that, thinks Ajinkya. If you
have the bad habit of excessive, um, protesting; your dick will wither and fall off before long.
Best to keep your feelings within you, all bottled up safely. In other words, grin and bear it,
pretend that your dick had fallen off long ago, rendering you incapable of protesting against
anything.
When he is lying down in bed minutes later, the electricity comes back, switching the TV on
suddenly. Its the same newsreader with the flat voice, only this time she has an added urgency
about her. Its an update, he realises as he reaches for the remote.
.according to the Mumbai Police, they are also on the lookout for the individual who liked
Miss DMellos status update. This person, who Facebook lists as Ajinkya Megalomaniac, is a
24-year-old man living in Mumbai. The police are currently investigating this matterAjinkya switches the TV off, breaking into a cold sweat. The silence of the room comforts him,
but not for long. Outside his window, the foot soldiers of the city are marching on, their chants
colouring the air like an industrial fog.
Jai Jai Gatha Veer Maratha Jai Jai Gatha Veer Maratha Jai Jai Gatha Veer Maratha
Very carefully, Ajinkya climbs down the stairs and towards the gate of his building. Nobody has
seen me, he keeps reminding himself. He discreetly snaps a picture of Dr. Moinuddin Haques
orange poster with his phone, making sure that he got the number being advertised. Inhe ab
dawaa ki nahi, dua ki zaroorat hai, (What he needs now is prayer, not medicine) went a line
from the movie he was watching only last week, with Lisa. They had laughed about it in bed,
tears streaming down their faces. There, in the darkness of Ajinkyas flat, the TV fed the walls
with flickering shadows black and blue, even as two flowers kept bumping against each other
onscreen.

THE END

* Saamaan literally means stuff or possession. However, it is also a euphemism for male
genitalia.

AUTHOR BIO: Aditya Mani Jha is a 25-year-old writer based out of New Delhi, currently
working with The Sunday Guardian. His articles, poems and stories have also been
published in Helter Skelter, NewsYaps and the Dead Beats Literary Blog. He feeds stray
animals whenever he can, wanders about town in search of used books and thinks that
James Spader is the best thing since sliced bread.