Story sho(r)t: The man who couldn't love

 A man who thinks he is loved, Joe.  Each a different occasion, a different time, a different place, a different somebody - a stranger; an old schoolmate; a street dancer on her spiritual journey; the bartender at the local microbrewery; all the friends at work; now estranged family; a lover. Fast life of the day leaves little room for grand respites. But Joe is a traveler. He loves visiting exotic places, a frenzied pilgrim checking-in with his thousand deities, and meeting new strange people. Joe has explored the big world already, his family, his friends more astonished every time he comes back. Still, Joe is a average man, an optimist who understands the world.


 'We are doing it wrong.' Joe told Boss, 'You shouldn't expect people to just put their phone in the pocket because you ask nicely. A human system cannot be contained in boxes. They evolve together as participants test the rules and the enforcement. They cut corners, leverage power within different roles, and setup. Once an etiquette develops around the exchange, they would even oppose the rules together. Worst case, the rules include rules to protect the rules. Like religions...'

Boss winced slightly, adjusted his fancy black chair to face Joe and said, 'Can you please listen Joe?'

Joe halted the explanation midway, rather disappointed that he couldn't finish again.

Boss continued, 'Joe, you are the newest hire. Please put up the "No phones in corridors" flyers we got from the HR.'


  Joe spent his sweet time sticking those flyers. As he went back to report, the Boss sighed and settled himself back in his fancy black chair, and spoke, 'Do you have time?' Without waiting for an actual answer, he continued, 'We are re-organizing the department next Monday. You will be moving to the team upstairs. I know you have this condition, but try to be more normal.'

'What condition? Normal how?' Joe was confused.

'Ah. Well. How should I say this. You are quite volatile. And people find you critical and patronizing. This peer review may help.'

His hand automatically moved to take the paper thrust his way. Joe was shocked. It read:

Summary - Opportunistic. Unreliable. Aloof. Chatty;

Most employee consider as : an Aquaintance / Stranger;


Joe was stunned. He was hated by everyone. Old wounds resurfaced with the new. Each a different occasion, a different time, a different place, the same looks, the same excuses - his good friends at work who turned out to be strangers; the best friend that wouldn't accept his love; a spurned crush pushing and pulling at the threads of guilt crisscrossing his heart; Joe's brother who was embarrassed in being Joe's brother; the ever vigilant neighbors; his disappointed father; even the only lover, who got sick of the drama.


But Joe is a tourist. He looks and moves on, never stopping where he isn't welcome. He will again leave for an exciting place. Joe will meet stranger newer people, have some adventures. He knows, he's the man who is hated. By everyone else. Just like everyone else.

Story sho(r)t : Human Cyborg relations

Another rough day. You know the tears literally jump out while crying, smearing one's glasses with a translucent smattering. I notice such oddities often these days, rough as they all are. Just last night, I came across this news, "Innovations in AI : C3P0Buds for newborns approved. Available for pre-order". How the unsaid boundaries between information and advertisement vanished overnight is beyond me. Our liberty choked in silence, as media gave up its freedom, and we gulped down the paid opinions with our salads. Oh well, the pay is better now.

I have been an interpreter with the Japanese government for 10 years now. My wife used to be one too until five years ago, when Diet - the general assembly - raised the bar for interpreters from 3 to 5 languages, and introduced AI translators. These small toys, C3P0s, can imitate voice of all humans and, unlike humans, have earbuds for hands to pull on and listen. All a smart gimmick - makes them loved everywhere else in the world. Worst of all, they are amazing at the job. My wife switched to diplomatic services quite early, she couldn't compete as a translator. Language teachers have had it worse though. Wholesale market of language learning for overseas education and work has disappeared. Ripped off from the star wars - "Hello, I am C3P0, human cyborg relations. How might I serve you?"

I liked playing with the bots, testing my own skills, just like a child. Earlier, I spoke five languages, now I can proficiently speak seven - a marvelous toy indeed. Right around the beginning, I bought a couple of units out of curiosity. I configured them to sound like my favorite characters from South Park and we talked for hours into the night. I was obsessed. Until last year.

Rei too started using my C3P0 unit she calls Eric. Everyone has a C3P0, diplomats are no exceptions. We aren't allowed to carry work units home. As a translator, it's not a problem for me. There were those who couldn't be bots reading out output from the new bots, so they quit. Others accepted their fate, thanked the fact that they couldn't be fired, and nestled their job buddy in their coat pockets. A small minority of people outperformed the bot, and we are now placed into crucial roles much younger than our predecessors. As such, we aren't required to have these bots, so most don't. I could say I was destined.

By default, a C3P0 is a personal translator and assistant, but it can copy voice as well as general behavior of any character, including frequent use of a set of words, copying the overall stance on issues. The massive amount of communications data has made us machine readable, fragments of bitstrings - 0s and 1s - that evokes a human response from Eric. And Eric tells me whatever I wish to hear.

Last June, Eric got mixed with Bella at the church, at my aunt's funeral. You see, a silent moment is impossible with chatting machines and their semi-literate owners, so the units are kept at the coat check. A doll-like C3P0, Bella led me to her owner who probably had Eric. On the way, I practiced my chinese, a force of habit. But this bot provided such childish and impeccably ignorant translations, like a perfect bubble that shields from the world. The owner turned out to be this young woman, herself named Bella. That few minutes of exchange with her is now indistinguishable from the bot, Bella.

Ever since, I have found a feedback loop of self fulfillment and personalized information filters, which is built into the design of the bots. I brought these facts to attention, urging them to discover how the biased content would change our society. Whether it redistributed responsibilities to machines, a dangerous precedent to set. It is rather difficult to motivate folks when the adversary already has their ear. I did gain fame in regressive groups around the world, and now I'm kept under supervision on my assignments. Rei left me since she couldn't risk the political backlash as a diplomat.

Once an idea makes waves into the world, a culture to the adapt it grows regardless of the rules. This idea is backed by the smartest humans and the most conscious machines. New C3P1 units are subtler, better, more fluid. Work commissions are drying up  with the machine upgrades. Jobs have become quite demanding - incessant traveling to new places with the same people, the same bots, the same culture. Another round of HR re-evaluations is just around the corner, what with mass resignations and mid-life crises drowning us middle-men of communication. My wife left me yesterday. I told her about Rei, thought she'd understand, band together to face the future. Rough nights have begun. I don't think I can stand alone.

Taruveda 1: Politically correct

"You've got amazing legs."

"Excuse me."

"I'm Shiva. Don't worry, we have plenty of time for love letters later."  Shiva nestled his back in the chair having completed his slightly inappropriate examination of his neighboring freshman, a fresh women to be precise, who was rather lost with the interaction so far.

"...", her eyes narrowed, still processing.

"Interesting." he said

"Interesting?" she said. The opening ceremony was laboriously boring so any interaction would have been welcome. The problem was, this one just left her wanting for syllables, and it is not much of a conversation without intelligible speech.

"Women around here don't respond well." The earnest tone complimented the words more than his solemn face could. Then he extended his hand around, from where he was seated to the right of her, "Let's try it again. I'm Shiva."

Still in shock, the girl recovered her wits a little to garble together necessary syllables, "Saraswati."

 "Saraswati. Great name. As I was saying, you've got great legs."

"Umm.. Thanks? That is a little inappropriate. I don't even know..."

"But you do. I'm Shiva." 

"I mean..." at this point, multiple objections fought for her vocal faculty, but they was swept aside by the continued onslaught. Probably for the better, saved her the trouble of sorting it out herself.

"As they say in my country, 'Perfect legs for hard riding, day in, day out.'"

"Oh... I see." Her agitated face was settling back to the routine of everything-under-control mask she left on. Then she realized he was still in the conversation, expecting something. "Where are you from?"

"Finally! I thought you were a 'Wordless'."

"That's stupid. They only use 'stone', 'leaf', or 'happens'." finally, she snapped back.

"Oh." he eyed her again, as if re-evaluating the odds for a race horse, "And how would you know that?"

"I met one. In my town. We had a spirit ceremony." she told him, her eyes daring him to deny her.

"So you do have some fire." he said, grinning widely, "Pretty close there. 'stone' is for public, the actual word is 'shit'."

"What?" she wasn't done being flabbergasted, apparently.

".. and there is 'cool','fire', and 'legs'. But those monks are lower in the order and never leave the monastery."

"That can't be. I've never heard those in any of the stories." she said. Mother always told her, 'Doubt everything, it doesn't cost money.'

"I used to live with them. Real bastards. Imagine all their jokes - six words in a time series. Ironical and frustrating."

"What do you mean?"

"The details are boring. Would you rather not do something else?"

"More boring than this?" she pointed to nowhere in particular, but the meaning was clear. They were fugitives in a concentration camp sentenced to death by a langorous speech currently hovering on the kinds of vegetation found on the University campus.
 
 "Alright. Lets see it this way - 'Wordless' have no special spoken names. Their language is written. They contemplate in silence. And speak only six words. So, how do they address each other?"

"Okay... how?"

"For this, a guy has a nameword each for everyone else, also out of the six. In a conversation, you get called the nameword in a sequence, by the people part of it. So, there are potentially countless names. Those monks like to play with those names. I've known a few to invent combinations in sleep. Like, 'leaflegs!', 'cool firestone', 'shit happens'. Apparently, it eventually leads to nirvana. True story."

"I call bullshit. Interesting, but.. nope, bullshit." she looked positively doubtful, yet unexpectedly interested.

"As I said, I lived in the monastery for a few months. I am from the kingdom of Nepplas in..."

Just then, a particularly irritated voice crept up in the conversation from the other side, "Hello, would you mind keeping your travelogue confined to your circles. I would very much like to listen to what the demure gentleman has to say about local ecology around the University."

Shiva's neighbor was perched grandly, like an ancient mural on display in a museum, gathering admiration from puny humans, not deigning to dirty itself by looking at any of them. He had seemed like a likable guy in the beginning, except the fact that he believed he was important, which he couldn't have made more clear.

"Chill, man." Shiva extended a placating hand which stayed hanging in the air, unshaken, so he turned back around. "Did I tell you, you have great legs?"

"What is with you and legs?"

"I love legs. Legs show character."

"Really now?" She raised an eyebrow, "I have never heard it put quite like that before."

"Really." Then lowering his voice conspiratorially, he said "I bet my great honor if this guy doesn't want a pair around..." But before he could finish, she cut him off. It seemed the hall was quieter now. There must have been an announcement. Shiva didn't bother with such trivialities.

"I think he wants to listen to the next speech. For that matter, so do I."
The plastic voice in the distance was now calling for attention, preparing for its final moments before fading away forever. As to belie the statement, the guy got up, in tune with the same dull words that were louder now. Saraswati was certainly paying attention.

"You do? What's so great about it?"

"My boyfriend."

"You've got a boyfriend!?" Shiva cried out. It seemed the whole hall was looking his way now.

"Shhhh!" Saraswati hopelessly shushed him, then sank deep into her seat, trying to be invisible.
She did a good job of it. All eyes were on him.

--- Meanwhile : In the Hall ---

"I hope you will all sincerely learn from the example of your colleagues. Please welcome this year's freshmen representatives, who are as follows."

"Siddhartha"...
He got up to the sound of that magnificent name. It had been more grandiose in his dreams, but this will have to do. The throng of Sid-calling masses parted way as he walked toward the raised dais, for his opening speech. The purposeful gait came to a stuttering halt as the voice didn't await his arrival, but went on with the business as usual, in the same plastic tone of indifference. This part wasn't in the dreams.

"Shiva"... The announcer's voice splattered, like a water balloon, into the throngs already stirred by the first name.

"You've got a boyfriend!?" Shiva cried, completely oblivious.

"Shhhh!"

The swaggering walk from the richly dressed, tall boy was starkly contrasted by loose swaying stroll from the fellow now introduced as Shiva. They had been sitting not a hand's width apart. The 'Knowing' that alphabetical order was not universal registered somewhere amidst the turmoil in Siddhartha's mind, currently busy cursing the oily bastard who shamelessly harassed the girl, the bastard who had been declared his equal. Earlier, it had meant less talk for Sid, considerably less misery. Now, he was furious. And the grand schemes that habitually popped up where he saved the damsel in distress had gone haywire in the past 30 seconds.

Siddhartha - a prince without principality. Son of a man with no kingdom. Grandson of a now dead king. The king who once got too drunk on power and democracy seduced her way into his breeches. The whole nation watched the epic 'Oh shit' face, when the Republic was born and the congress moved into their palace. His father continued that awkward relationship, where the ministers flaunt him at parties but shut him in the attic when there are important guests. Nowadays, he signs the dollars and then asks for his monthly allowance. Such a graceless existence.

'No one could possibly know more shame.' he always thought. It drove him to his limits. He had perfect score on the entrance tests, so he was obviously a genius. Four of his five private instructors shared this opinion too. The fifth one was a dumbass. Hard work was needed too, he had read somewhere. It smelled like a trap, a truly remarkable one to make the cattle to all the work. He was all set.

But there was another. 'This unctuous Michael Jackson doppleganger got perfect score too?' A voice was screaming in his head. 'Preposterous. Look at him, just Look At Him I mean, how is there still an oil crisis in the world when his hair drip like that? Why must we share the same stage? Why must we share the same air?' Of course, none of this showed. The court had died, court mannerisms didn't. Lessons which put any actor to shame. Now, he turned around to glare icily at the waggish face, then turned back and briskly walked to the front like a man with a plan. The thousand undying giggles made it considerably less regal though.

Still, the voice refused to die. After the laughter died down. After resolving the confusion about his name being called, Shiva was on his way too, and the two were well on their way when there was a third name. 

"Brahma". 
Louder than prior two, the voice had all the right features of being a last burst. And it was. Thankfully.

Minutes later, they stood under the spotlights. The requirement of an opening speech had already been communicated to them by mail. Which Shiva had forgotten, and Brahma didn't bother writing. Siddhartha couldn't very well say that he was prepared. It felt dishonorable. He could be a stickler, give the speech, save the day perhaps, yet the thought of actually fighting for public appraisal gave him nausea. Cajoling people was one thing, but this was plain wrong.

In the end, they cut it down to the introductions. Siddhartha, summarized his speech to the part about leading the country as its democratic leader, stressing on the part about the university being his time to shine. Brahma, a grim boy who hailed from some far off part in India, liked reading psychology and programming computers. And Shiva, apparently in love with women, talked about some leaf and his wish to share experiences and ideas. The whole affair was over in 10 minutes, an hour less than expected. The crowd loved them for it. After all, no matter how gifted, fresh undergraduates in the co-ed dorms have other stuff lined up in their grubby holes.

Siddhartha felt odd about the whole affair. A new wrongness overtook him as cheers flowed in for not giving the speech. It seemed like nothing was simple anymore. He left while talking to Brahma, "Leaves. He likes leaves. A country bumpkin indeed." What he was specifically not thinking, with an astronomical effort of will, was the passing statement - 'Shiva is a real prince. A future king.'

Taruveda 0 : Under the tree

'Heya, pretty lady! Whatsay we go eat. I'll taste that peach and you can try some cock meat.' Shiva jibed, rolling meaningfully on the grass.

'Ew. Gross, Shiva. Go away! Go sit atop that mountain you like so much. Please don't come back.'

'Don't fume like that. You'll dry out. Did Brahma dump you already?'

'None of your business.' she bit her lips and folded her legs as she fingered through the pearls on her shiny white dress, 'He's just working on a project with Ganga.'

'Ganga, hmmmm? She's a fiesty one you know... how she tangled into my hair, damn.'

'Whatever.' Saraswati shrugged

'A laudable attitude. Let go of these meaningless complications.' Siddhartha chimed in as he entered the conversation and sat down a few feet away with his back against the aged trunk of the oak.

'Thanks Sid.' 

Shiva turned around to speak to the newcomer. 'Dude, where were you? Vishnu was so pissed. Have you ever left that canopy of yours this semester?'

'I don't care, man. Everything is futile. All Vishnu does is tie us in pointless classes with fictional floating number awards to make us compete. It's stupid.'

'There he goes. The cool prince Siddhartha. Come to Manthan some time, man. It's a tug-of-war out there, one can use a smart wingman.'

'Nah. The mood is too dark for my taste. And the bartender is shady, to say the least. No wonder you look so blue.' 

Slowly, Saraswati got up, 'Well, if you'll excuse me. Unlike you guys, I have to study. Tell Brahma I said "Hi". Ummm... nevermind.'

She left. They watched her striking figure cut through the green field under the bright blue sky, until she turned into the stone corridor of the dorms.

'Such a shame.'

'Yeah.'

'Oh. Sid, we need to talk. I need your opinion on this idea. There is this worldbuilding project I've been working on.'

'I'm cool, man. I like you, but projects don't interest me.'

'Hear me out. Here, smoke this blunt. It is grand. Or it'll be, big enough to burn through all my supply of Purple haze for months to come. So big that Mahabharata will just fit in like a speck of sand.'

'Hmmm.. Okay.'

--- 10 minutes later ---
 
'Alright, pass the light.'

'So, you see. It is literally 'world building'. A few weeks back, looking around from my place, I looked at the valley. I was at a high place, literally, above the whole planet. That's when I thought to myself, 'That'd be fun!'. Brahma and I already did some major work with the crowd AIs, good enough for Vishnu. What if we make a model evolutionary universe with well defined scale free laws? Start with a framework and add millions of AI in a world like ours. Best part, we - you, me, and others, will guide them. Our minions. We will feature in their world. The AI won't even know. Can you imagine that?'

'Hmmmm. Ssssssssss..... phhhhhheeew... Totally. I can see, me, living there. Brahma, the creator and architect. You, the destroyer with a crazy third eye.'
Shiva sat up, 'Woah! I like that, destroyer of the worlds.' As the spiff passed through hands, creativity flowed in, "I'll have my own mountain, watch over the world from atop it, show some nice moves to the hardworking pilgrims. We can convince Vishnu to mod, he can do the boring work. He'll butt-in anyway. We'll be like gods, man.'

'Yeah. Gods. We need women too. Saraswati can be the goddess for learning. Oh, and Laxmi will be the Goddess of Wealth, gold digger that she is. That bitch.'

'Pffft. That's hilarious. She doesn't seem very useful, as such. If you want, I'll work something out. Probably make her Vishnu's underling, serving his whims.'
'Much appreciated.'

'She'd have weaseled her way in for grades, once she heard. And I bet she's pretty handy with Vishnu, these 3 oz on that.'

'I raise you 6. We are on the same side though. And not my business anymore anyway.'

'What's your role?'

'Well, I'll be me. A prince. I'll leave home, attain nirvana, and become god.'

'Lame. What kind of backstory is that?'

'Dude. I've worked on those AI too. They won't take shit from us gods for long. However, if I posed as them, I could manage the population from within. We could take turns. It would be fun. Take my word, you've got a gold-egg here.'

'You mean gold-egg laying hen?'

'What's the difference?'

'Gold-egg is only one gold-egg, hen will potentially lay countless such eggs.'

'But the gold-egg will hatch and give us the gold-egg laying hen.'

'Damn. The chicken-and-egg problem. I'm too baked to do the math right now. It feels we went off the track somewhere.'

'Yeah. Talking of chicken makes me hungry. Let's go. My treat.'
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The text here refers to (and parodies) Indian mythology. This will be expanded later. Check out Lord Shiva, Lord Brahma, Lord Vishnu, Goddess Saraswati, Goddess Laxmi, Gautam Buddha (Siddhartha). 
It's a work in progress. Comments welcome.