His beauty was pure and unpolluted and came straight from the soul of India. His eyes crackled with an inner nutrition which swept into the valleys of masculine destiny and power. His name was pure poetry, and it alone could, if spoken with the desire which he aroused, salvage the holiness of man in flesh and flesh in man.
“You are royalty,” I said, “and you should be treated as such.”
“Haha, thanks,” he replied modestly. “Your words have made my day.”
“I read an article once,” I continued, “which asked the question: ‘Is secularism un-Indian?’ My answer is a big, fat, resounding: YES! YES! YES! You are too naturally regal, and richly spiritual, for such a desolate philosophy as secularism.”
In truth, I knew very little about him other than his natural grace and royal bearing, which placed him alongside the bejeweled and turbaned princes of ancient India. So rarely acknowledged or discussed is the peculiarly modern tragedy, more tragic than most would ever suspect, of stripping a prince of his habiliments, heritage, and honor, and forcing him to dress, live, and walk among common men. The modern world’s obsession with a harsh, ridiculous, and uncompromising “equality” has topped hierarchies upon filthy, vermin-infested streets and left many a prince without his throne.