Pinaki Verma 1 The Goan sun dipped low into the Arabian Sea, painting the horizon with fiery streaks of orange and crimson as Anjuna beach slowly came alive with tourists gathering for the evening. Arjun Sen leaned back on the creaking wooden chair outside his shack, the smell of charred prawns and kingfish mixing with the salty air. Once, he had carried a badge, a gun, and the weight of justice on his shoulders; now he carried trays of seafood and glasses of feni to strangers. To most, he was just another shack owner—dark glasses hiding tired eyes, hair flecked…
