Upanishads, Talks on the Isha Upanishad. I Am That Chapter 6: Absolute Love, Absolute Freedom, Question 4

The fourth question:

Question 4

OSHO,

WHY ARE YOU NOT GETTING BORED WHILE YOU ARE TELLING THE SAME STORIES AND THE SAME JOKES?

Divakar Bharti,

THE FIRST thing to be understood is that Divakar Bharti is an Indian, and Indians are absolutely unable to understand jokes! They don't have any jokes in India. I have not come across a single Indian joke. Indians are serious people -- spiritual people, religious people! They talk only of great things: God, heaven, hell, the theory of karma and rebirth.

When you tell a joke to an Indian he feels offended... you see? He feels offended, insulted! You look at his face -- he feels embarrassed. Talk about something esoteric -- bullshit him! -- and then he is perfectly happy. He never laughs, he cannot; laughter is beyond him. He has forgotten laughter.

That's why, Divakar, the question has arisen in you. Otherwise each joke, in a different context, is different. The joke in itself may be an old one -- and in fact, there are no new jokes in the world. The proverb that there is nothing new under the sun may not be right about other things, but about jokes it is absolutely right. If Adam and Eve come back to the earth they will recognize only the jokes and nothing else! The same jokes, but the context goes on changing, and in a different context the same joke has a different meaning.

But because you cannot understand the jokes you must be feeling bored.

G.C. Lichtenberg has a profound statement. He says: A person reveals his character by nothing so clearly as the joke he resents.

I have heard:

It is said: The gravest fish is an oyster, the gravest bird is an owl, the gravest beast is a donkey, and the gravest man is an Indian fool.

There are fools of all kinds, they come in all shapes and sizes, but the Indian is the best! Each race reacts, responds differently about jokes...

If you tell the German a joke, he laughs once, just to be polite. If you tell the same joke to a Frenchman he also laughs once because he understands immediately. If you tell the same joke to an Englishman he laughs twice: first to be polite, and second when in the middle of the night he gets it. If you tell the same joke to an American he laughs, but not loudly, and says that "I have heard it before!" If you tell the same joke to a Jew, instead of laughing he says, "It is an old joke, and what is more, you are telling it all wrong! "

And I don't feel bored because I cannot feel bored -- it is simply impossible for me. I have completely forgotten how to feel bored! You can go on telling me the same joke again and again and I will always find some new meaning, some new nuance, some new color, some new dimension to it, but I cannot feel bored because I am no more. To feel bored you need the ego; it is the ego that feels bored. When the ego is no more there it is impossible to feel bored.

A simple-minded old woman had a cow that fell sick. In her distress she called the rabbi to pray for its recovery.

To comfort the poor woman, the rabbi walked around the cow three times intoning, "If she dies, she dies, but if she lives, she lives." Happily the cow recovered.

Some time later the rabbi became ill and the woman, recalling how he had cured her cow, visited him. She walked around his bed three times, solemnly repeating, "If he dies, he dies, but if he lives, he lives." Whereupon the rabbi burst out into sidesplitting laughter which soon led to his recovery.

I cannot feel bored -- I am no more there. And I don't remember what I have said to you yesterday, so how I can say the same joke again? It is never the same, it cannot be.I never remember what has been said by me, and I have been telling to people thousands of things for all these last twenty-five years.

I never read any of my books, I never listen to any of my lectures -- why should I feel bored?

But Divakar, you are in a wrong place here. This is not the place for serious people like you! You should find some old Hindu monastery.

The little red man woke up, opened up his little red curtains and looked out at the little red sunrise. He showered in his little red bathroom, put on his little red clothes and left his little red house. Getting into his little red car, he drove through the little red town to his little red office block. There he went up in the little red elevator to the tenth floor, walked along the little red corridor and entered his little red office. He sat down at his little red desk and read his little red newspaper. Deciding that his life was too boring to live any more, he took out a little red knife and slashed his little red wrists.

Ten minutes later his little red secretary entered his little red office and found her little red boss covered in little red blood. She grabbed the little red telephone and phoned the little red hospital. Soon a little red ambulance arrived. The little red attendants rushed into the little red office, put the little red man on a little red stretcher and raced across the little red town to the little red hospital. Quickly they carried the little red man into the little red operating theater and placed him on a little red table.

One minute later the door to the little red operating theater opened and in walked a little green man. "Sorry!" he said. "I seem to have walked into the wrong joke!"

This is not a place for you -- little red world, and you are a green man here! You have walked in a wrong joke, Divakar -- walk out!

Upanishads

I AM THAT

Chapter-6

Absolute Love, Absolute Freedom