Chapter 2
Staring at the ceiling Rahul has a thousand things racing through his mind and nine hundred ninety nine are about Amanda.
He smiled, thinking about that impromptu date he had with her two days ago. He took her to the Wadi, it was pricey, but it was worth it.
Rahul showed her the picture.
The arrest photo hit 3,000 likes on Instagram on the first day.
Amanda’s arrest photo,
The very attractive arrest photo.
The Lady Justice Toga drapes clung to her body in every right way,
Hair tossed perfectly like a fashion magazine photo shoot,
Manhandled by two cops as face contorts in lustful ecstasy.
If those designer fashion boutiques in Park Avenue advertise this, their showrooms will be cleared in one night.
It was Rahul’s crowning achievement as a photographer.
The messages were pinging all night since he posted it.
Between that and rescuing Amanda, Rahul was in cloud nine.
Rahul felt like a celebrity. It was nice to feel wanted. The mass protests with its action and drama is a place where one could thrive.
Rahul then recalls his first experience with teargas, how those nasty white clouds burned his corneas and how they were cured by milk. Now he has a collection of spent teargas canisters and grenades on his computer table.
But all his recollections go back to Amanda.
“Ok don’t think about her now. Concentrate,” Rahul whispers to himself, half embarrassed.
A new message pings on his phone.
Parami: “Good work on that last protest. We got another assignment for you. The transport unions are going to launch another strike in a couple of hours. Can you cover it machang?”
Some excitement at last!
With ten minutes of preparing Rahul says bye to his grandmother, mom and housecat and heads to the bus stop without a moment to lose.
On his way he keeps scrolling the comments under his famous picture.
‘This is the state of justice in this country’
‘You are a hero Amanda’
‘Fight for the country. Don’t let those politicians win’.
Rahul stopped and stared at one comment.
‘Slut. Stay at home without ruining this country with your skimpy dress’.
His blood started to boil.
He frantically typed a large comment with all the profanities he could muster.
But before he could hit ‘send’ a large bus coasted to a stop right in front.
A dark bus conductor listed the stopovers in a split second before chanting the final destination three times like a mantra:
“Kotuwa”
“Kotuwa”
“Kotuwa” . . .
Rahul deleted his angry reply and boarded the bus. He had better things to do.
The better things to do on a bus is Spotify and looking out the window at the cloudy skies. But Rahul’s mind wandered to Amanda.
Rahul didn’t look at Amanda’s Instagram stories or messages for two days. Boys’ advice each other not to constantly check out a girl’s social media, failure which will make you look desperate. The girls are happy to oblige on this detail.
Parami didn’t agree with this notion. “Why all this tension? Why hesitate and build suspense, guys and girls should get right at it if you ask me? We call ourselves progressives but we want to police even more”.
Rahul smirked. What does Parami know about girls? Rahul unlocked his phone and checked Amanda’s Instagram.
She had shared so many pictures of her ‘lady justice manhandled’ picture. Rahul had been contacted by several news agencies for this photo. He had already earned around 150 dollars during the weekend and was feeling really content.
But this contentment didn’t last long. The last three reels from Amanda’s Instagram reel was the sum of all Rahul’s fears.
His camera felt four tonnes heavier. His mind went reeling.
Amanda was in Sulo’s arms. Underneath their picture was a missive.
“Never did I think I would find love in such a friendship”.
