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Kayo was surprised. DM had not picked up the call that they had scheduled. He wondered if he should call again or leave a message using the clunky BotIM interface.

He was typing in the message when he saw the calling coming in from DM.

“Hi man.”

“Hello. What’s up?”

“Man did you see the photos from the kallu shappe?”

“The what?”

“The coconut alcohol and the food.”

Kayo sat back in his wicker chair, legs up on the marble as his five dogs lazed around in the March heat of Kerala.

“Oh yeah, looked great. Sorry I got late. I was on a debate show.”

“About crypto?”

“No.”

“Aesthetic medicine?”

“No, not that. I was on this show about parental rights.”

“Oh yeah you were saying that they’d brought in that hotline in the UAE to report child abuse.”

“Yeah. A website too.”

“Man the way you said that guy was beating his kid at the mall and you had to watch. Good thing.”

“Thing is, I was on the opposite side in the debate.”

“Wait what?”

“Yeah. I think the whole thing went too far. Now you can even report someone for not asking a baby consent before changing the diaper.”

“What the fuck.”

“Yep, that’s what I said.”

“I ah, didn’t think UAE would go hard left like that. Well, I guess it is trendy, and they are all about the trends there.”

“Yeah, this bitch went on some US TV show and said babies should give consent, and that started the whole thing. UAE said good idea and now we’re in this hole.”

“How’d you end up on the debate show though – wait, they let you debate government policy in the UAE?”

“Yeah, unusual right? They’ve had a lot of pushback so the government is asking for feedback from people. I really hope they end this bullshit. This shouldn’t have to happen to anyone else.”

“Wait, you mean…”

“Yeah, some cocksucker reported me to them.”

“For?”

“Apparently I didn’t ask my kid when he was a baby for permission to change his diapers.”

“Man, that was 12 years ago.”

“Their liability term is 15 years, so that falls in there.”

“Damn.”

“I’d like to know who the fuck did this shit.”

Kayo put his feet down and sighed.

“Listen man.”

“Yeah?”

“It was me.”

“What the fucking fuck man?!”

“I just wanted to see if the website worked. Who knew they’d take a complaint like that seriously. I didn’t know about this whole diaper consent thing.”

“Of all the things you could have complained about.”

“I’m sorry man. I had no idea it would escalate like this.”

“So you knew about the website before I mentioned it?”

“Yeah, you know I keep up to date on weird shit that goes on there.”

“Fuck it; it’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, if it were just one complaint against me, it would have just been a warning call or visit from the Ministry of Child Happiness and Protection. But thing is, someone else called in with the same complaint, which corroborated yours.”

“Okay that’s weird as fuck.”

“Yeah, and now I have this fucking woman from the Ministry living in my house, watching my every move.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yep, she’s in the living room right now watching some Arabic soap opera so I can’t switch to watching Aussie sketch comedy.”

“That sounds awful.”

“She eats all the meals with us, and complains there isn’t enough salt.”

“So just give her the salt shaker.”

“She said it’s not the same as when the salt is cooked in with the food.”

“Man this sucks.”

“If I knew who’d made that second call, I’d wring the fucker’s neck.”

______________________________

DM sat a few minutes after the call, staring from his balcony as the shouting from the soap opera blasted behind him.

His phone rang. He looked and saw a number he had not seen in years – Amrit’s. DM’s first reaction was to pick up; his second was to let the phone ring till it ended.

Finally he picked up, just since it had been two years at least since he had spoken to his former friend.

“Haaaiimaaa,” the familiar whiny voice went.

“Hi Amrit, long time,” DM said, smirking since the long time was because he had made it know that he wouldn’t pick up the latter’s calls.

“Aaaasorrryyymaaa,” the voice blubbered over the phone.

“About what?”

DM thought hard. What could the miniature idiot be sorry for if they were no longer in contact?

“It’s meeemaaaaa. Aaaaa callllthaaa Ministreeeeeeaaa!”

“Oh fuck you.”

“Yes maaa fuck maaaa. Aaaabaaad maaa.”

The dwarf was crying on the line.

“Why the fuck would you do such a thing?”

“Maa, I called to complain about maaa dad beatmaaa. But they said more than 15 years ago so aaa panic told them.”

“The fuck did you come up with the diaper consent thing?”

“Aaa saw some white bitch TV maaa.”

“Well that solves the mystery of who else made the complaint?”

“Who else maaa?”

“Hey listen, I want to tell you to watch out with anything you post politically,” Kayo’s boss warned him one day out of the blue, as they stood in the passport control line at Istanbul airport, “They’re canceling the OCI of academics who post these kinds of things.”

Kayo just nodded, wondering why his boss was telling him this now of all times as they stood way outside of India.

It wasn’t until they were flying through Saudi airspace into the UAE that Kayo suddenly thought to himself how fun it would be to write “Modi mere lund” somewhere.

Particularly in the repressed climate of India where any anti-government thought was attacked with gusto, it seemed like something that should be done.

The opportunity came up oddly within India itself, once Kayo was home. As part of continuous braggery about the smallest things, Kayo was accosted over WhatsApp to give feedback about some scheme the government had put in place.

Kayo typed the magic words in reply and hit send, not much thinking of what might happen next.

Incidentally, the WhatsApp message was one that was flagged as spam and became news because it was sent to Indians overseas, as well as for some reason, Pakistanis.

The Indian government did not much care about being flagged as spam. It did however not like anti-government messages.

Kayo was pulled aside the next time he flew back into India via Delhi (the staff in Cochi and Trivandrum usually ignored directions from the central government).

Sitting in a room, he faced a man with a large handlebar moustache who was chewing paan.

“You put message saying bad word to Modi ji,” the man said, getting right to the point without dancing around.

Kayo, being of criminal mind, had a response. He showed that the message was not inflammatory since he had actually sent a dick pic to Modi.

“You don’t have PM Modi number,” the moustachioed man said with confidence.

Kayo showed that he had in fact somehow required Modi’s number (or the number of someone whose name he had saved as Modi with a familiar DP) and sent a picture of his penis, unfurled with foreskin pulled back, to it.

After due deliberation, the security staff had to let Kayo go since he had not actually broken the cyber crime law since what he had said about Modi being his lund was factually true. They did have to look into cyber sex crime laws, but that would take some time.

However, the Modi government was not the sort to let this kind of thing go. Even before Kayo was apprehended at the airport, the cyber task force had caught that a Pakistani had applied for a visa to India to visit the man – the visa was duly denied.

“How ironic, with partition and all,” the head of the cyber task force said for some reason to himself, sitting in a dark room.