‘you seem a bit lost,’ says moosaalhu. ‘finally, clawing your way out of the grand delusion, eh?’

where are we? we’re near the beach. is it rasfannu? is that villingili in the distance?

‘you ok?’ asks moosaalhu.

i nod. of course. now that i’m vulnerable, this hawk of a man is going to swoop down on me, bend me to his will, force me to accept the flatness of our world and renounce once and for all the great glober conspiracy.

‘what are you muttering?’ he asks. ‘what conspiracy?’

‘you know,’ i begin. ‘do you think people can be friends if there’s an imbalance of power?’

‘what do you mean?’ moosaalhu is smiling, reminding me of a horse.

‘i mean, you and me, right? we’re basically the same, i mean. equally smart, equally talented,’ i say.

moosaalhu grins.

‘really? is that how you see yourself?’

‘you know what i mean,’ i say. ‘we’re not much different, you and i, and that’s why we’re friends.’

‘is that so?’ moosaalhu drinks the coffee he brought from a shop nearby. ‘didn’t you flunk out of college?’

‘anyway, the point is. you can’t be friends with someone who is better than you in some crucial aspect that really matters to you.’

‘is that right?’ moosaalhu is still grinning. ‘let’s sit in the shade, i think the sun’s getting to you.’

‘i mean imagine me being friends with salman rushdie.’

‘didn’t he die or something?’

‘he’s alive goddammit. anyway, the point is, salmon will have too much power over me because i look up to him.’

‘why would you look up to him?’

‘because he’s the best writer to emerge from south asia you moron.’

‘is that so?’ says moosaalhu, enjoying himself. ‘and you can never be friends with him because you can’t write like him, yes?’

‘there’d always be that imbalance of power,’ i tell him. ‘i’ll know it, he’ll know it, i’ll know he knows it, he’ll know i know he -‘

‘alright, calm down,’ says moosaalhu. ‘just, chill out a bit, look at villingili over there.’

‘don’t you -‘

‘shhh! just look.’

and so i sit there and i look. there it is, villingili, male’s backward sibling who traded high rises and hipster cafes and busy streets for trees, single storey houses, and buggies that run on electricity. of course, male will go down in history as the island metropolis of south asia, but villingili? it’s almost half forgotten already. the two can never be friends.