Rajiv Dubey Part 1 Monday mornings have a reputation for being soul-crushing. For Ramesh Tripathi, forty-two years old, rapidly balding, and spiritually bankrupt, this particular Monday was… something else. He woke up at 6:45 a.m., precisely two minutes after his alarm, which he had snoozed in a half-dream state. The fan was whirring, the neighbours were already arguing, and Meenakshi, his wife of seventeen mostly silent years, was banging utensils in the kitchen like she was avenging her past life. Everything was painfully normal. Until he walked into the bathroom and screamed. There, on the cold, slightly cracked, blue-tiled floor,…