amboffulhu and dhamboffulhu – it is like being confronted by one mind in two bodies. at least i can’t make out their differences, not yet. i am here at bakerloo inspecting their goods. since amboffulhu and dhamboffulhu are quite a bit younger and broker, i decide out of the goodness of my heart to buy them pizza.

‘i’m fine with whatever,’ says amboffulhu as i thumb through the menu.

‘ok, how about a margarita?’ i ask. my reasoning being that a margarita reveals the true beauty of a pizza through its austerity.

‘good,’ responds one of them. so i place the order at the counter and take a seat.

amboffulhu and dhamboffulhu are artists with a radical bent, they tell me to refrain from using the ‘a word’. no, not ‘asshole’ you ass.

i oblige.

‘what does an ideal society look like to you?’ i ask, as you might in such company.

‘stateless, moneyless, no hierarchies.’ amboffulhu responds quickly, like they’ve really thought this through.

‘what’s so bad about states?’ i ask.

‘it’s hard to describe the magnitude of their vileness,’ says amboffulhu while dhamboffulhu nods. ‘but what i despise most is that they legitimise violence.’ 

‘like how?’

‘well, through the police, through the courts, prisons,’ rattles off dhamboffulhu and amboffulhu nods in agreement.

our pizza arrives. the crust is pleasantly charred and thin. we dig in.

‘don’t you think hierarchies are natural, tho?’ i ask.

‘yeah, and we must continually struggle against them,’ says amboffulhu.

‘like how would you stop someone, like a baker, from outshining other lesser skilled bakers? don’t you think it’s futile to struggle against something like that?’

the two exchange glances.

‘that’s not really what we mean,’ says amboffulhu.

the pizza is good, but the sauce is a bit weak, i can’t taste the richness of the tomato. the best pizza so far really seems to be the riveli beach club’s.

i don’t have enough cash, we’re short five rufiyaa. i ask the cashier to give me a five MVR discount but he is livid.

‘no!’ he barks.

dear god. i somehow find change in my pockets and narrow the deficit to 1 rufiyaa, which, after much deliberation, is deemed acceptable.

we bid the place adieu and off we move into the night. the december air is still and humid after hours of rain.

‘do you believe in utopias?’ i ask.

‘that’s the end of the struggle,’ begins amboffulhu.

‘but the struggle never ends,’ finishes dhamboffulhu.

amboffulhu nods. i too find myself nodding. we all nod like it means something.