"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.'
"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.'
