Octlantis

I was reading an essay on octopuses when friend John walked in. When he is bored of his usual activities – babysitting and gardening – he would come over. Politics was the favourite concern of our conversations. We discussed politics so earnestly that any observer might think that we were running the world through the politicians quite like the gods running it through their devotees.

“Octopuses are quite queer creatures,” I said. The essay I was reading had got all my attention. Moreover, I was getting bored of politics which is irredeemable anyway.

“They have too many brains and a lot of hearts.”

“That’s queer indeed,” John agreed.

“Each arm has a mind of its own. Two-thirds of an octopus’s neurons are found in their arms. The arms can taste, touch, feel and act on their own without any input from the brain.”

“They are quite like our politicians,” John observed. Everything is linked to politics in John’s mind. I was impressed with his analogy, however.

“Perhaps, you’re right, John,” I said. “Our politicians seem to have more brain in their posteriors.” But I didn’t want the conversation to be swallowed by politicians anymore. They are swallowing the country. We should save our conversations from them.

“You said they have a lot of heart too?” John asked.

“Yeah, every octopus has three hearts; two for pumping blood to their gills and one for keeping the circulation flowing to the organs. And the most curious thing, perhaps, is the colour of their blood.”

“Saffron?” John snickered. One of his problems with contemporary politics was its dominant and domineering colour.

“Blue!” I said.

“What! Octopuses are blue-blooded creatures! Then they must be quite nasty too.”

“They are!”

“Don’t tell me! I was just joking.”

“But they are, John. They are indeed nasty. They are quite selfish, greedy and very much antisocial.”

“Are you sure you aren’t talking about human beings?”

I tell John about a particular type of octopuses found in the seas of Australia and New Zealand. They are known as gloomy octopuses. They are very solitary, living lives confined to their own protected hide-outs like caves. They are so antisocial that they can hurl missiles at others who approach them.

“Missile?” John is baffled.

“They convert discarded shells, silt, and other things lying around into missiles by shooting them with the help of their siphon, the organ for propelling themselves. There are two areas off Australia and New Zealand where such octopuses live together and yet separate: Octopolis and Octlantis.”

“Octlantis,” John was struck by that name. “Sounds like Antilia.”

I ignored the insinuation. “The only purpose of the existence of an octopus seems to be reproduction. The male dies a few weeks or months after mating. The female lays as many as 400,000 eggs and protects those with her whole life. She too dies shortly after the hatching of the eggs.”

John sat thinking for a while. Then he said, “The octopuses’ life is as absurd as ours!”

PS. This post is part of #BlogchatterA2Z 2023

Previous Post: Nineteen Eighty-Four

Coming up next: Palimpsest