OINK BREAK
Surfing Pigs, Lost Journals, and the Myth of Rajiv Das
by Ben Millar Cole
It started as a rumor. Pigs, real pigs, surfing the waves off a remote cove in the Andaman Islands. No guidebook mentioned them, but locals whispered stories—of shipwrecked pigs who learned to ride the sea, of a wandering filmmaker who vanished chasing their legend. I went looking for them. What I found was Oink Break: a fever-dream of surf, myth, and lost cinema.
The Pigs Surf at Dawn
The first time I saw them, it was sunrise. Three pigs, sleek and salt-crusted, paddled into the lineup, their snouts slicing through the glassy water. One—Bodhi Pig, as the locals called him—dropped into a wave, his body low, steady, perfectly balanced. Onshore, a teenager pumped his fists like his favorite team had just scored. A dreadlocked surfer named Arif shook his head.
"They surf better than me," he laughed.
"They surf for freedom," an old fisherman muttered.
Legends clung to them like barnacles. Some swore they carried the souls of lost sailors, others claimed an exiled Australian surfer trained them decades ago. But the truth didn’t matter. They were here. They rode waves. They were better than we deserved.