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Osho’s Life

An Anthology of Osho’s Life
From His Own Books

Section

Title

Dates

 

Introduction

 

I

Osho’s Past Lives

 

II

Kuchwada

1931 – 1939

III

Gadarwara

1939 – 1951

IV

University Student

1951 - 1957

V

Teaching and Travelling

1957 – 1970

VI

Bombay

1970 – 1974

VII

Poona

1974 – 1981

VIII

United States of America

1981 – 1985

IX

World Tour

1985 – 1986

X

Poona-Two

1987 – 1990

XI

Epilogue

 

 

Further Reading

 

 

Glossary

 

 

Sources of Extracts

 

Home

PART IV 1951-1957 University Student

1951 Osho moves to Jabalpur

Osho confronts his professors

Osho’s experiences as a Journalist

Osho meets Poets and Musicians

Influence of the mystic, Masto, continues

Osho’sExperiences Leading to Enlightenment

1953 Osho’s enlightenment

Osho describes Enlightenment

Osho after his enlightenment

Osho’s library grows

Osho bluffs his way into D.N. Jain College

Osho is invited to Sagar University for his MA, and is aided by vice chancellor, Dr Tripathi

Osho excels in Public speaking

Dr. Harisingh Gaur, the founder of Sagar University

Osho’s professor, Dr. S.S. Roy

Osho’s professor, Dr. S.K. Saxena

Other professors

Fellow Students

1957 Osho’s final examinations, and the gold medal

 

Osho is invited to Sagar University for his MA,

and is aided by vice chancellor, Dr. Tripathi

After the B.A. I left Jabalpur because one of the professors in Sagar University, S.S. Roy, was persistently asking me, writing me, phoning me to say, "After your B.A. you join this university for your post-graduation."

From Jabalpur University to Sagar University there is not much distance—one hundred miles. But Sagar University was in many ways unique. It was a small university compared to Benares University or Aligarh University, which had ten thousand students, twelve thousand students. They are just like Oxford or Cambridge—big universities, big names. Sagar University had only one thousand students and almost three hundred professors, so for every three students, one professor. It was a rare place; perhaps nowhere in the world can you find another university where there is one professor for three students.

And the man who had founded the university was acquainted with all the best professors around the world. Sagar was his birthplace; Doctor Harisingh Gaur was his name. He was a world-famous authority on law, and earned so much money—and never gave a single pai to any beggar, to any institution, to any charity. He was known as the most miserly person in the whole of India.

And then he founded the university and gave his whole life's earning. That was millions of dollars. He said to me, "That's why I was a miser; otherwise there was no way—I was a poor man, I was born a poor man. If I were doing charity and giving to this hospital and to this beggar and to that orphan, this university would not have existed." For this university…he had carried his whole life only one idea, that his birthplace should have one of the best universities in the world. And certainly he created one of the best universities in the world.

While he was alive he managed to bring professors from all over the world. He gave them double salaries, triple salaries, whatsoever they wanted—and no work, because there were only one thousand students, which even a small college has in India; one thousand students is not a large number. And he opened all the departments which only a university like Oxford can afford. Oxford has nearabout three hundred and fifty departments.

He opened all the departments which exist anywhere in the world. There were hundreds of departments without students but with full staff: the head of the department, the assistant professor, the professor, the lecturer. He said, "Don't be worried. First create the university—and make it the best. Students will come, will have to come." Then all the professors and all the deans were all in search of the best students. And somehow this professor, S.S. Roy, who was the head of the department of philosophy, got his eye on me.

I used to go every year to the university for the inter-university debating competition. And for four years I was winning the trophy and for four years he was listening to me, as a judge—he was one of the judges. The fourth year he invited me to his home, and he said, "Listen, I wait for you for one year. I know that after one year, when the next inter-university debating competition is held, you are bound to be there.

"The way you present your arguments is strange. It is sometimes so weird that it seems…how did you manage to look from this angle? I have been thinking about a few problems myself, but I never looked from that aspect. It strikes me that perhaps you go on dropping any aspect that can happen to the ordinary mind, and you only choose the aspect that is unlikely to happen to anybody.

"For four years you have been winning the shield for the simple reason that the argument is unique, and there is nobody who is ready to answer it. They have not even thought about it, so they are simply in shock.

"Your opponents—you reduce them so badly, one feels pity for them, but what can we do? And I have been giving you ninety-nine percent marks out of a hundred. I wanted to give you more than a hundred, but even ninety-nine…. It has become known to people that I am favorable to a certain student. This is too much, because nobody goes beyond fifty.

"I have called you to my home for dinner to invite you to leave Jabalpur University and come here. Now this is your fourth year, you are finished when you graduate. For post-graduation you come here. I cannot miss having you as my student; if you don't come here then I am going to join Jabalpur University."

And he was a well-known authority; if he wanted to come, Jabalpur University would have been immensely happy to accept him as head of the department.

I said, "No, don't go to that much trouble. I can come here, and I love the place." It is situated…perhaps it is the best-situated university in the world, in the hills near a tremendously vast lake. It is so silent—such huge trees, ancient trees—that just to be there is enough education.

And Doctor Harisingh Gaur must have been a tremendous lover of books. He donated all his library, and he managed to get as many books as possible from every corner of the world. A single man's effort…it is rare; he created Oxford just single-handedly, alone. Oxford was created over one thousand years; thousands of people have worked. This man's work is really a piece of art. Single-handedly, with his own money, he put himself at stake.

So I loved the place. I said, "You need not be worried, I will be coming—but you have seen me only in the debate competitions. You don't know much about me; I may prove a trouble for you, a nuisance. I would like you to know everything about me before you decide."

Professor S.S. Roy said, "I don't want to know anything about you. The little bit that I have come to know, just by seeing you, your eyes, your way of saying things, your way of approaching reality, is enough. And don't make me frightened about trouble and nuisance—you can do whatsoever you want."

I said, "Remember that financially I am always broke, so I will be continuously borrowing money from you and never returning it. Things have to be made clear beforehand; otherwise later on you can say, `This you never said.' You will have to lend me money whenever I want. I am not going to return it, although it will be said I am borrowing—but on your part you have to understand that that money is gone, because from where can I return it? I don't have any source.

"Second, you have to make arrangements in the university for my free lodging and boarding. Thirdly, you have to ask the vice-chancellor, because I don't know him—or you can introduce me to him—for his special scholarship. He is entitled to give one special scholarship. Other scholarships are there, which are smaller scholarships given to talented people—first class, first gold medalist, this and that; I want the special scholarship which is three times more than any other scholarship.

"It is special because the vice-chancellor is entitled to give it to anyone talented, not talented, in the good list of the university, not in the good list of the university; it does not matter. It is his personal choice—because if they start thinking about my character certificates and this and that, I cannot produce a single character certificate.

"I have been in many colleges because I have been expelled again and again. So in four years time…. People study in one college, I have studied in many, but all that I can bring from them is expulsion orders. I cannot produce a single character certificate—so you have to recommend me. You are my only character certificate."

He said, "Don't be worried about that."

So I moved to Sagardark06

I moved to another city, Sagar, and gave all my certificates of expulsion to the vice-chancellor of the university. He said, "But why are you telling me all these terrible things?"

I said, "I am telling you: these are my character certificates. And I don't want to keep you in the dark; first you should know about me, only then give me admission. Otherwise it is safer not to give me admission, rather than expel me later on, because then it will be your responsibility. And you will be condemned for it, because I always do the right thing; perhaps at the right moment, the right thing done rightly is too much, and the people who have been continually doing wrong things freak out. So I am telling you these are my character certificates."

He said, "You are a strange young man but I cannot refuse you, because who else would give such character certificates? And I am the last to think of expelling you, because each time you are right. I am not going to deny you admission."

He gave me admission—not only admission, he gave me scholarships. He gave me free food, lodging, boarding, everything free. He said, "You should be given all respect, because so much injustice has been done to you."

I told him, "One thing you should remember: you are doing all these things; it is so compassionate of you; but if sometimes a problem arises then I am going to give you a tough time. I will not think of your favors—that you must keep in your mind—I cannot be bribed."

He said, "l am not bribing you, these are not bribes. I really am impressed." He was the only person who did not expel me for two years continuously. And those two years were the hardest for my professors because those were the two last years, the post-graduate years. So many complaints….

But that man, Doctor Tripathi—he was a very great historian. He was a professor of history at Oxford, and from there, when he retired, he became vice-chancellor of Sagar university. He kept his word.

He simply went on throwing all complaints into the wastepaper basket, although every day when I used to go for a morning walk, passing his house, he would tell me, "So many complaints came yesterday; they are all in the wastepaper basket." And he was so happy that he had been able to keep his word against all odds. It was really difficult for him; there were complaints from students, from superintendents, from the proctor, from professors. misery01

Every child, if left and helped to grow according to his own sensibilities, will bring something beautiful into the world, some unique personality. Right now everybody is a copy of everybody else.

This very vice-chancellor, when for the first time I entered the university, looked at me and asked, "Why are you growing a beard?"

I said, "I am not growing it, it is growing. Don't ask nonsense questions. On the contrary, I can ask why you are cutting your beard."

He said, "Settled. I will not ask anything and you will not ask anything."

I said, "No. You can ask anything, but you have to have the courage to receive the answer. You have to say that you asked a wrong question. I am not growing it, I am not pulling my hairs every day so that they grow; I am not watering them. You are shaving twice a day. My hairs are natural and you are unnecessarily becoming a woman."

He said, "What?"

I said, "It is so easy to understand. Do you think a woman would look good with a beard? The same is true about you—without a beard, you look just like a woman. A little weird, but…"

He said, "I promise never to disturb you, but don't spread these ideas in the university, that I look like a woman, a little weird."

I looked as I wanted. I lived as naturally as I wanted. That has given me a tremendous sense of peace and integrity. There is no regret. There is no complaint against life, only deep gratitude. turnin07

I am reminded of one of my vice-chancellors. He was a world-famous historian. He had been a professor of history in Oxford for almost twenty years, and after his retirement from Oxford, he came back to India. He had a world-famous name, and he was elected to be the vice-chancellor of the university I was studying in. He was a nice man, a beautiful personality, with immense knowledgeability, scholarship, recognition—so many books to his credit.

By chance, the day he took charge as vice-chancellor was Gautam Buddha's birthday. And Gautam Buddha's birthday is more important than anybody else's birthday, because Gautam Buddha's birthday is also his day of enlightenment, and also his day of leaving the body. The same day he was born, the same day he became enlightened, the same day he died.

The whole university gathered to hear him speak on Gautam Buddha. And he was a great historian, he had written about Gautam Buddha; and he spoke with great emotion. Tears in his eyes, he said, "I have always felt that if I had been born in Gautam Buddha's time, I would have never left his feet."

According to my habit I stood up, and I said, "You please take your words back."

He said, "But why?"

I said, "Because they are false. You have been alive in Raman Maharshi's time. He was the same kind of man, his was the same enlightenment—and I know that you have not even visited him. So whom are you trying to befool? You would not have visited Gautam Buddha either. Wipe your tears, they are crocodile tears. You are simply a scholar and you don't know anything about enlightenment or people like Gautam Buddha."

There was a great silence in the auditorium. My professors were afraid that I might be expelled; they were always afraid, that any time…. And I had told them, "You don't be worried about me. I have been expelled from many colleges, universities—it has become almost my way of life, being expelled."

But now they were very much afraid. They loved me, and they wanted me…. But to create such a situation, such an awkward situation…and nobody knew what to do, how to break the ice. In those few seconds it looked as if hours had passed. The vice-chancellor was standing there—but he was certainly a man of some superior quality. He wiped his tears and asked that he should be forgiven—perhaps he was wrong. And he invited me to his house so that we could discuss it in more detail.

But he said, before the whole university, "You are right. I would not have gone to Gautam Buddha, I know it. I was not aware when I said it; it was just emotional, I was carried away. Yes, I have never been to Raman Maharshi when he was alive. And I had been very close to his place many times—I used to deliver lectures in Madras University, from where it is only a few hours' journey to Arunachal. I have been told by many friends, 'You should go and see this man'—and I always went on postponing till the man died."

The whole university could not believe it, my professors could not believe it. But his humbleness touched everybody. Respect for him grew tremendously; and we became friends. He was very old—he was almost sixty-eight—and I was only twenty-four, but we became friends. And he never for a moment allowed me to feel that he was a great scholar, that he was the vice-chancellor, that he was my grandfather's age.

On the contrary, he said to me, "I don't know what happened that day; I am not so humble a man. Being a professor in Oxford for twenty years, being a visiting professor to almost all the universities of the world, I have become very egoistic. But you destroyed everything in a single stroke. And I will remain grateful to you for my whole life: if you had not stood up, I might have remained believing that I would have done this. But now I would like it…if you can find someone, then I would like to sit by his feet and listen to him."

And you will not believe it that when I said, "Then sit down and listen…." he said, "What!"

I said, "Just look at me. Don't be bothered by my age, sit down and listen to me." And you will not believe it—that old man sat down and listened to me, to whatever I wanted to say to him. But rare are people who have so much courage and so much openness.

After that day he used to come to the hostel to visit me. Everybody was puzzled: what had happened?—and I had created for him such an embarrassing situation! He used to take me to his house, and we would sit together and he would ask me, "Say anything—I want to listen. My whole life I have been talking; I have forgotten listening. And I have been saying things which I don't know." And he listened the way a disciple listens to a master.

My professors were very much puzzled. They said, "Have you done some magic on that old man? or has he gone senile? or what is the matter? To see him, we have to make an appointment, and we have to wait on a long list. When our time comes, only then can we meet him. And he comes to see you—not only that, he listens to you. What has happened?"

I said, "The same can happen to you too, but you are not that intelligent, not that sensitive, not that understanding. That old man is really rare." bond38

One of my vice-chancellors, even though I was only a student in the university, made it a point that he should be informed whenever I was going to speak. No matter what, he would cancel all appointments and he would come and listen to me. And I asked him, "You are a great historian…." He was a professor of history in the University of Oxford, before he became the vice-chancellor in India.

He said, "I love your gaps. Those gaps show that you are absolutely unprepared, you are not an orator. You wait for God, and if he is waiting…then what can you do? You have to wait in silence. When he speaks, you speak; when he is silent, you are silent."

The gaps are more important than the words because the words can be distorted by the mind but not the gaps. And if you can understand the gaps, then you have understood the silent message, the silent presence of the divine. spirit02

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Osho excels in Public speaking

An incident happened…I was a student, but I used to go to conferences and other places to speak on different subjects. There was a meeting on the birthday of Nanak, the founder of Sikhism. The president of the meeting was the chief justice of Madhya Pradesh high court, and I was the speaker. I was just a student but this man, whose name was Ganesh Bhatt, was a rare man. I have never come across another man of his quality.

He was the chief justice and I was only a postgraduate student. After I spoke he simply declared to the assembly of almost ten thousand sikhs, "Now there is nothing more to be said. At least I cannot say anything better than has been said by this young man, so I will not deliver the presidential address, because that may spoil what he has said to you. I would rather that you go home silently pondering over what he has said, and meditating upon it."

The Sikhs were surprised, everybody was surprised, and as I was stepping down from the podium the chief justice, Ganesh Bhatt, touched my feet. I said, "What are you doing? You are of the age of my father. You are a learned man, you are a brahmin."

He said, "Nothing matters—neither my being a brahmin, nor my age, nor my prestige, nor my being the chief justice. What matters is that whatever you have said has come from the deepest being. It was unexpected…I have presided over many meetings and I have listened to many learned people, but all that they say is within quotation marks. For the first time I have heard a man who speaks directly, without any quotation marks—who speaks on his own authority. So don't prevent me. I am showing my gratitude by touching your feet."

The judges had come because the chief justice was presiding over the meeting, and the advocates of the high court had come because the chief justice was there—they were all shocked! But Ganesh Bhatt became a regular visitor to my house. It became almost a regular routine that his car would be standing in front of my house.

People whose cases were being heard in the high court started coming to me. I said, "I cannot help you."

They said, "Just a word from you, and he will not do anything against it."

I said, "I cannot do any such thing. He comes here with such respect towards me that I cannot bring up such trivia."

It became a problem. I had to keep a servant in front of my house to send these people away, otherwise everybody was coming to the house saying, "I am in much trouble, and just a little support from you will get me out of it."

After he retired from the chief justice-ship he became the vice-chancellor of Sagar University. By that time I had become a professor in Jabalpur University, and I had gone to Sagar to speak in a public conference of all religions. He heard that I had come, so he invited me to the university where he was now the vice-chancellor.

Once I had been a student in that university, and because the vice-chancellor had called the meeting, all the professors and all the students, everybody was present. I was worried about only one thing—that he may do the same act again. The professors who had taught me were there, and thousands of students were there who had also been students, junior to me—and he did his act.

As I went on the podium he stood, touched my feet, and said to the audience, "To be learned is one thing, and to know on your own experience—face to face—is a totally different thing. In my long life I have been in high positions, and I have come across so many learned people, and I can say with absolute confidence that learning brings no transformation to their being. The transformation of one's being comes through some other door, not through the doors of mind."

It was a great shock! Many of them were my teachers, many of them were students who knew me when I was a student in that university, and their vice-chancellor touching my feet…. My old professors gathered when I came down after speaking, saying, "This is a strange phenomenon. We had never expected…"

I said, "I was studying under you, but you never looked deeply into me, you never looked into my eyes. You never thought about the questions I was asking. You simply thought of one thing—that I was just creating trouble for you because you had no answer, and you were not courageous enough to say, `I don't know.'"

Intellectuals are very weak about one point. They cannot say, "I don't know."

Only an enlightened being can say, "I don't know." His innocence and his enlightenment are synonymous. tahui08

I was a student in the university, and I was winning all kinds of debates, eloquence competitions, all over the country. I had filled my head of the department's office with all kinds of trophies and cups—gold and silver. And he started telling me, "If you go on winning in this way, I think I will have to move out of my office. There is no space left."

I said, "You don't have to move out, I will move all the trophies and all the cups."

He said, "No, that is credit to the department."

I said, "Then you have to decide whether you want to be in the office or not." And finally he had to move out of the office. He created another small office on the verandah where he used to sit, because his whole office became a showplace for any guest.

One day he asked me—because in my own university there was going to be a national university competition—"Why do you go on unnecessarily traveling long distances? What is your purpose?"

I said, "I don't have any purpose. I love it—that's my way of playing. That's my way of telling stories which have no purpose at all. Just the sheer joy, overflowing life. I am not old enough to think about purposes."

He said, "What?"

I said, "Yes, I am not old enough, and I will never be old enough to think about purpose and meaning. I rejoice in whatever I am doing. There is no purpose…."

I told my head of the department, "There is no purpose. I enjoy talking. I love a heart-to-heart talk."

And that day the competition was going to be held…There used to be two persons from each university—one opposing the subject and one supporting the subject. I was opposing the subject, but my partner became so nervous…it was his first time to come to the stage.

The student who used to come with me around the country had died in an accident, so I had to find a new partner, and that was his first time. I tried hard to prepare him…to repeat his speech many times, but finally when the time came he disappeared.

So the vice-chancellor asked me what to do? I said, "I can manage. First I will speak in support—because my partner is missing, and I don't want to lose that prize—and then I will oppose."

He said, "My God! You will do both the things?"

I said, "Just try. It will be a great enjoyment."

So I spoke for it, and I spoke against it, and I had both the prizes, first and second.

And as I was going out, the vice-chancellor took me into a corner and said, "It was a miracle. When you were speaking in favor of it, I was thinking what will you do? You are giving such a great argument in favor, I don't think you will be able to oppose it. But when you started opposing, I thought, My God!—your arguments are so clear. What happened to the other arguments…?"

He said, "But I want to ask you one thing, that's why I have pulled you out of the crowd. Do you have any convictions of your own?"

I said, "I just love talking. You have heard only two sides—there are many sides. And if you want some day I can speak from many points of view. These are only two polar opposites, but there are middle positions and there are at least seven positions on each subject."

He said "That would drive me mad. Just these two positions drive me completely out of my mind. I don't think I am going to sleep, because I am wondering what is right."

I said, "That is your problem. I enjoyed the whole game, and I have got both the prizes. And this is far better. If you can convince other vice-chancellors that only one person is coming and he will represent both the sides, it will be far easier for me because I won't have to prepare the other person. It is better and easier. I don't have any belief, I don't have any prejudice. I am utterly open. And because I love, it is a game."

Your life should be a playfulness, not a purpose.

Your life should be a fun, not goal oriented.

It should not be business, it should be pure love. celebr05

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Dr. Harisingh Gaur, the founder of Sagar University

I was a student, and the man who had founded the university, Harisingh Gaur, was still the vice-chancellor. We became friends, because I used to go for a morning walk on a lonely street early in the morning before sunrise and he also used to go on the same street, alone. We were the only persons, so naturally…it started with saying "good morning" to each other. By and by we started walking together. He started asking about me, what subject I was studying, what I was doing, and slowly, slowly the distance of age disappeared. He started inviting me for tea after the walk. And he became interested in my ideology, because whenever I saw that he was saying something which I could not accept I simply rejected it and produced every possible argument against it. He loved it.

He said, "You should not have joined philosophy." He himself was a legal man, he was a world-famous law expert. He said, "You should have gone into law because you, without knowing law, argue with me and I can see that if we were in a court you would win."

But I said to him, "It is just a mind game. I can argue for, I can argue against; mind is ready for both."

He said, "Strange…that reminds me of one of the incidents in my own life." upan05

He was a lawyer, a very great, famous, world famous authority on law; but he was a very forgetful man, very absent minded. Once it happened that in a privy council case in London he was fighting the case for one Indian maharaja. It was a big case. He forgot—and he argued for one hour against his own client. Even the judge became worried. The opposite party advocate couldn't believe what was happening: "Now what is he going to do?"—because all the arguments that he had prepared, this man was making. The whole thing was topsy-turvy, and the whole court couldn't believe what was happening. And the man was such an authority that nobody dared to interrupt him; even his own assistant tried many times to pull his coat and tell him what he was doing. When he finished then the assistant whispered in his ear, "What have you done? You have completely destroyed the case. We are not against this man—we are for him!"

This lawyer said to the judge, "My lord, these are the arguments which can be given against my client—now I will contradict them." And he started contradicting, and he won the case.

Logic is a prostitute. You can argue for God, and the same argument can be used against God. harmon05

Doctor Harisingh Gaur, one of the great legal experts of the world, used to say to his students that, "If you have the law in your favor, speak very silently, slowly, be mild, polite—because the law is in your favor, don't be worried. But if the law is not in your favor, then beat the table, speak loudly, with a strong voice. Use words which create an atmosphere of certainty, absoluteness, because the law is not in your favor. You have to create an atmosphere as if the law is in your favor." dh0302

When I was a student in the university, I used to receive two hundred rupees per month from someone, I knew not who. I had tried every way to find out who the person was. On the first day of each month, the money order was there but there was no name, no address. Only when the person died…and he was no one other than the founder of the university in which I was a student.

I went to his home. His wife said, "I am worried—not because my husband has died; everybody has to die. My concern is, from where am I going to get two hundred rupees to send you?"

I said, "My god, your husband has been sending it? I never asked, and there was no need because I am getting a scholarship from the university, free lodging, free boarding—everything free."

The wife said, "I also asked him many times: Why do you go on sending two hundred rupees to him? And he said, `He needs it. He loves books but he has no money for books. And his need for books is greater than his need for food."'

But he was a rare man. In his whole life, whatever he earned he donated to create the university in his town.

India has almost one thousand universities. I have seen many. His university is small; it is a small place. But his university is the most beautiful—on a hilltop surrounded by great trees, and below it such a big lake full of lotus flowers…the lake is so big that you cannot see the other shore. And I came to know that he had given everything to the university. Nobody was asking, nobody was even expecting that in that small place there would be a great university.

He was a world-known legal expert. He had offices in London, in New Delhi, in Peking; he was continuously on the move.

I had asked him, "Why have you chosen this place?"

He said, "I have gone all over the world and I have never seen such a beautiful small hill, with big trees, with such a beautiful lake, with so many lotuses…." The whole lake is covered with flowers and lotus leaves. In the early morning, on all the lotus petals…dewdrops gather in the night…in the morning you can see—that lake is the richest in the world because each dewdrop shines like a diamond.

He had taken me around the place and he said, "It is not a question of my town, it is a question of the beauty of this place."

But I had never imagined that he would be sending me two hundred rupees per month, unsigned. So I cannot even send him a thank you note. mess110

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Osho’s friend and professor, Dr. S.S. Roy

I am reminded of one of my professors. He is a very beautiful man: Professor S.S.Roy. Now he is retired as head of the department of philosophy from Allahabad University. The first day I joined his class, he was explaining the concept of The Absolute. He was an authority on Bradley and Shankara. Both believe in The Absolute—that is their name for God.

I asked him one thing which made me very intimate to him, and he opened his whole heart to me, in every possible way. I just asked, "Is your 'absolute' perfect? Has it come to a full stop or is it still growing? If it is still growing, then it is not absolute, it is imperfect—only then can it grow. If something more is possible, some more branches, some more flowers—then it is alive. If it is complete, entirely complete—that's the meaning of the word absolute: now there is no possibility for growth—then it is dead." So I asked him, "Be clear, because 'absolute' represents to Bradley and Shankara, God; that is their philosophical name for God. Is your God alive or dead? You have to answer me this question."

He was really an honest man. He said, "Please give me time to think." He had a doctorate on Bradley from Oxford, another doctorate on Shankara from Benares, and he was thought to be the greatest authority on these two philosophers because he had tried to prove that Bradley, from the West, and Shankara, from the East, have come to the same conclusion. He said, "Please give me time to think."

I said, "Your whole life you have been writing about Bradley and Shankara and 'the absolute'—I have read your books, I have read your unpublished thesis. And you have been teaching here your whole life—has nobody ever asked you such a simple question?"

He said, "Nobody ever asked me; not only that, even I have never thought about it—that, certainly, if something is perfect then it has to be dead. Anything alive has to be imperfect. This idea has never occurred to me. So please give me time."

I said, "You can take as much time as you want. I will come every day and ask the same question." And it continued for five, six days. Every day I would enter the class and he would come shaking, and I would stand up and say, "My question."

And he said, "Please forgive me, I cannot decide. With both the ways there is difficulty. I cannot say God is imperfect; I cannot say God is dead. But you have conquered my heart."

He removed my things from the hostel to his house. He said, "No more, you cannot live in the hostel. You have to come and live with my family, with me. I have much to learn from you—because such a simple question has not occurred to me. All my degrees you have canceled."

I lived with him for almost six months before he moved to another university. He wanted me to move with him to another university, but my vice-chancellor was reluctant. He said, "Professor Roy, you can go. Professors will come and go, but we may not find such a student again. So I am not going to give him his certificates and I am not going to allow him to leave the university. And I will write to your university, where you are going, that my student should not be taken in there either."

But he remained loving to me. It was a rare phenomenon: he used to come almost every month to see me from his university, almost two hundred miles away from my university. But he would come at least once every month just to see me, just to sit with me. And he said, "Now I am getting a better salary and everything is more comfortable there, but I miss you. The class seems to be dead. Nobody asks questions like you, which cannot be answered."

And I had told him, "This is an agreement between me and you, that I only call a question a question which cannot be answered. If it can be answered, what kind of a question is it?"

God—perfect, absolute, omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent; these are the words used for God by all the religions—is dead, cannot be alive, cannot breathe. No, I reject such a god, because with such a dead god, this whole universe will be dead.

Godliness is a totally different dimension.

Then the greenness in the tree, then the flowering of the rose, then the bird in flight—all are part of it. Then God is not separate from the universe. Then he is the very soul of the universe. Then the universe is vibrating, pulsating, breathing…godliness.

So I am not an atheist, but I am not a theist either. And there is a third term also, which is 'agnostic'. Socrates, Bertrand Russell, people like this are agnostic. An agnostic means one who says, "I don't know whether God is, or God is not." unconc03

One of my professors, Professor S.S. Roy, did not agree with me, that something can be created by other people when it is not there at all. So I said, "I will show it to you."

I was very much loved by the man; his wife was also very loving towards me. I went to his wife and told her, "Tomorrow morning when the professor gets up, you have to pretend that you are shocked, and say to him, `What has happened to you? When you went to bed you were perfectly okay; now your face is looking pale. Are you sick or something?'"

The next morning the professor simply denied it. He said, "What nonsense are you talking? I am perfectly okay."

I had told his gardener, "When he comes into the garden, you simply say, `My God! What has happened to you? You cannot walk, you are wobbling. Something is wrong with you. Just go inside and rest and I will go and call the doctor.'"

And I had said to both these people, "Whatsoever he says, exactly in his own words, you write it down. I will collect those notes."

To the gardener he said, "Yes, it seems something is wrong. Perhaps I should rest, I should not go to the university. But I don't see any need to call the doctor." He was perfectly healthy and there was no problem, so finally he decided that at least for half an hour or an hour he would go to the university.

On the way I had said to many people whom I trusted…. On the way there was the postmaster. I told him, "Even if you are busy, don't miss: when the professor passes by you shout at him, `What are you doing? Where are you going? Are you mad? Your body is absolutely sick! You come into my house, rest. I will call the doctor.'" I collected all these notes. The professor said, "Yes, since last night I have this feeling that something is going wrong. I am not exactly sure what is going wrong, but something is wrong. I feel a certain trembling inside, a fear, as if I am not going to last long."

His house and the university philosophy department were almost one mile apart, and he had always walked—but that day, in the middle, he stopped another professor's car and told him, "I don't think I will be able to reach the university department."

The university was on a hilly place, up and down. From his house it was an uphill task to reach the department; the department was on the top of the hill and his house was in the valley.

He said, "I am huffing, huffing…my body is trembling. I think there is fever, and there is much more which I cannot figure out." So he wanted a lift.

And the professor who had passed him was sent by me: "Just when he is in a very bad situation, you stop your car and ask, `What is the matter?'" In the car he said, "You should not have come, you should have called the doctor. Your eyes look as if they have lost all luster. Your face looks dry, faded; you look like a faded painting. Just in one night! Had you a heart attack in the night? It must have been serious."

And he said, "It seems that I had a heart attack and I was not aware because I was asleep, but now I know. All the symptoms are showing that my life is at the very end."

When he entered the university department, the peon who used to sit in front of the department…. I had told him, "When he comes, you simply jump and hold him."

He said, "But he will be very angry. And what kind of thing are you asking? You have never asked anything before."

I said, "We are doing an experiment—me and the professor. Don't interfere, you simply do what I say. You just hold him and tell him, `You are going to fall.'" He did that and the professor thanked him. And the peon had no need to tell him that he was going to fall; the professor said himself, "If you had not been here I would have fallen."

Inside the department I was waiting for him. I said, "Jesus! You look like a ghost! What calamity has happened to you?" I took hold of him, put him in a reclining chair.

And he said, "Just one thing I want to tell you. My children are small"—he had only two children—"my wife is young, inexperienced. I don't have any family; my father is dead, my mother is dead. I don't know anybody who can take care of them when I am gone. I can think only of you."

I said, "You don't be worried. I will take care of your children, your wife—better than you are doing. But before you decide to leave the world, I have to show you a few notes."

He said, "A few…what notes?"

I said, "I will have to go and collect them."

He said, "From whom?"

I said "From your wife, from the gardener, from the postmaster, from the professor who drove you here, from the peon who saved you from falling."

He said, "But how do you know?"

I said, "It was all planned. And you say that man cannot be deceived by something nonexistential?"

I went down, collected all the notes, and I showed him them one by one. And I said, "Look how you are getting caught up. To your wife you absolutely denied there was anything wrong. To the gardener you said `Perhaps something is wrong.' But it was "perhaps," you were not certain yet. But the idea was getting in. To the postmaster you said, `Yes, something must have happened. From the very evening I was feeling bad, sick, apprehensive.'

"With the professor in the car you accepted that you must have had a heart attack while you were asleep. You were feeling so weak"—and he was a strong man—"that you could not conceive yourself walking uphill to the department. And to the peon who jumped and took hold of you, you said, `I am grateful to you. I was just going to fail, to collapse.' Now this is a simple idea," I told him, "that has been implanted in you."

Now do you see the point? This man can even die, you just have to keep on going. I was only proving a point on which he was not agreeing, so this was only an argument—I did not want him to die. Otherwise, I would have talked to the doctor and had him say to him, "Your days are finished, so whatever you want to do—write your will or anything—do it quickly. It is not something that I can help with, your heart is simply finished; any moment it is going to stop." I could have killed that man just by an idea.

Seeing the notes, immediately he was back, perfectly healthy. He walked down the hill laughing, and told the peon, "You should not listen to this man, he is dangerous. He almost killed me!" He told the other professor, "This is not right, that you suggested to me that I must have had a heart attack." He told the postmaster, "You are my neighbor, and is this right, to push me towards death?"

He was very angry with his wife. He said, "I can think that he persuaded other people—he has everybody impressed by him—but I cannot believe that my own wife deceived me, listened to him. We were in an argument; it was a question of my prestige, and you destroyed it!" But the wife said, "You should be grateful to him. He has given proof that man can be programmed for something which does not exist at all."

You think you are a Christian? It is just an idea implanted in you. Do you think there is a God? An idea implanted in you. Do you think there is a heaven and hell? It is nothing but programming. You are all programmed.

My work with you is to deprogram you. And I am showing you all the notes—day after day, continuously—that these are the things that have made you almost dull, stupid, even attracted towards suicide, towards death. My religion is unique in this way: all the religions of the past have programmed people; I deprogram you, and then I leave you alone, to yourself. false19

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Osho’s professor, Dr. S.K. Saxena

I used to walk in an Indian sandal which is made of wood. It has been used by sannyasins for centuries, almost ten thousand years or perhaps longer. A wooden sandal…because it avoids any kind of leather, which is bound to be coming from an animal who maybe has been killed, killed only for this purpose—and the best leather comes from very young children of animals. So sannyasins have been avoiding that, and using a wooden sandal. But it makes so much noise when the sannyasin walks, you can hear from almost half a mile away that he is coming. And on a cement road or walking on the verandah in the university…the whole university knows.

The whole university used to know me, know that I was coming or going; there was no need to see me, just my sandals were enough. ignor21

When on the first day I entered the university's philosophy class, I met Doctor Saxena for the first time. Only for a few professors did I have really great love and respect. These two were my most loved professors—Doctor S.K. Saxena and Doctor S.S.Roy—and for the simple reason that they never treated me like a student.

When I entered Doctor Saxena's class the first day, with my wooden sandals, he looked a little puzzled. He looked at my sandals and asked me, "Why are you using wooden sandals?—they make so much noise." I said, "Just to keep my consciousness alert."

He said, "Consciousness? Are you trying to keep your consciousness alert in other ways too?"

I said, "Twenty-four hours a day I am trying to do that, in every possible way: walking, sitting, eating, even sleeping. And you may believe it or you may not, that just lately I have succeeded to be aware and alert even in sleep."

He said, "The class is dismissed—you just come with me to the office." The whole class thought I had created trouble for myself the first day. He took me into his office and took from the shelf his thesis for a doctorate that he had written thirty years before. It was on consciousness. He said, "Take it. It has been published in English, and so many people in India have asked to translate it into Hindi—great scholars, knowing both languages, English and Hindi, perfectly well. But I have not allowed anybody, because the question is not whether you know the language well or not; I was looking for a man who knows what consciousness is—and I can see in your eyes, on your face, by the way you answered…you have to translate this book."

I said, "This is difficult because I don't know English much, I don't know Hindi much either. Hindi is my mother tongue, but I know only as much as everybody knows his mother tongue. And I believe in the definition of the mother tongue. Why is every language called the mother tongue?—because the mother speaks and the father listens—and that's how the children learn. That's how I have learned.

"My father is a silent man; my mother speaks and he listens—and I learned the language. It is just a mother tongue, I don't know much; Hindi has never been my subject of study. English I know just a little bit, and that is enough for your so-called examinations, but for translating a book which is a Ph.D. thesis…. And you are giving it to a student?"

He said, "Don't be worried—l know you will be able to do it."

I said, "lf you trust me, I will do my best. But one thing I must tell you, that if I find something wrong in it then I am going to make an editorial note underneath, putting a star on it, that this is wrong, and how it should be. If I find something missing, I am going to put a star again and a footnote that something is missing, and this is the part that is missing."

He said, "l agree to that. I know there are many things missing in it. But you surprise me: you have not even seen the book, you have not even opened it. How do you know that things will be missing in it?"

I said, "Looking at you…in the way you can see by looking at me, that I am the right person to translate it, I can see perfectly, Doctor Saxena, you are not the right person to write it!"

And he loved that so much that he told it to everybody. The whole university knew about it—this dialogue that had happened between me and him. In the next two-month summer vacation I translated the book, and I made those editorial notes. When I showed him, there were tears of joy in his eyes.

He said, "I knew perfectly well that something is missing here, but I could not figure it out because I have never practiced it. I was just trying to collect all the information about consciousness in Eastern scriptures. I had collected a lot, and then from that I started sorting it out. It took me almost seven years to finish my thesis." He had done really a great scholarly job—but only scholarly. I said, "It is scholarly, but it is not the work of a meditator. And I have made all these notes—that this can be written only by a scholar, not by a meditator."

He looked at all those pages and he said to me, "If you had been one of my examiners for the thesis I would not have got the doctorate! You have found exactly the right places that I was doubtful about, but those fools who examined it were not even suspicious. It has been praised very much."

He was a professor in America for many years, and his book is really a monumental work of scholarship; but nobody criticized him, nobody has pointed…. So I asked him, "Now what are you going to do with the translation?"

He said, "I cannot publish it. I have found a translator—but you are more an examiner than a translator! I will keep it but I cannot publish it. With your notes and with your editorial commentary it will destroy my whole reputation—but I agree with you. In fact," he said, "if it were in my power I would have given you a doctorate just for your editorial notes and footnotes, because you have found exactly the places which only a meditator can find; a non-meditator has no way to find them."

So my whole life from the very beginning has been concerned with two things: never to allow any unintelligent thing to be imposed upon me, to fight against all kinds of stupidities, whatsoever the consequences, and to be rational, logical, to the very end. This was one side, that I was using with all those people with whom I was in contact. And the other was absolutely private, my own: to become more and more alert, so that I didn't end up just being an intellectual. misery01

One of my professors, Dr S.K. Saxena, he was the head of the department of Philosophy and I was his student. But he won't allow me to live in the hostels and it was a little embarrassing for me, for the simple reason because he was a drunkard, gambler, a very nice man and has never lived with his family…his family was living in Delhi, because he could not tolerate anybody.

And I feel embarrassed because he will take me to his house and then he will not drink, just out of respect and love for me. And I knew that it will be too difficult for him, he is an old man and he is not just occasional drunkard, he is a drunkard, he needs every day otherwise he cannot live.

So I told him that, "I can come with the condition that you will not change anything in your life because of me. You will have to continue whatever you do…if you want to drink, you drink, just the way, as if I am not there."

He said, "That is the difficulty. I take you there because when you are there I don't need the drink. You are a nourishment to me. When you are in my house I feel my house has become your home otherwise I am just living in a house. I have never had a home. My wife is there, my children are there, but somehow that atmosphere never happened that becomes immediately possible the moment you enter into my house.

"You are sleeping into another room, I am sleeping into another room but I sleep so deeply when you are in my room, and without drinking. So don't think that I am making any obligation on you to take you from the hostel to my bungalow, which is more comfortable in every possible way…no. You are making an obligation on me. I feel so nourished."

He said to me, that "When you are there I don't eat so much as I eat every day and my doctor goes on telling me: `not to eat too much, you are old, you have diabetes, you are a drunkard. That drinking is killing you, that drinking is making your diabetes worse and you go on eating and you love sweets and you love delicious food.' But when you are there, simply my appetite is not there, I feel full. What the doctor has not been able to do in years, you have not even told me."

In fact, I used to tell him, that "Doctor you should eat something. Only I am eating and you are just sitting there."

He said, "I know, but there is no appetite and I am feeling very good."

Not only you will start feeling changes, others will start feeling changes. All that is to be remembered is a simple word: witnessing. last511

Jabalpur has one of the most beautiful spots in the world. For two to three miles continuously a beautiful river, Narmada, flows between two mountains of marble…just three miles of pure white marble on both sides, high mountains. And the river is deep. On a full-moon night, when the moon comes in the middle and you can see those rocks also reflected into the waters, it creates almost a magical world. I don't think there is anything in the world which can be compared to that magic. It is simply unimaginable.

I insisted again and again to my professor, Doctor S.K. Saxena…I had loved him very much because he was the only teacher I came across who never treated me as a student. We argued, we fought on small points, and if he was wrong he was always ready to accept it, and he was grateful….

I said, "…now you have to come with me to Jabalpur." It was one hundred miles from the university where he was professor, to the marble rocks. "I would not let you die without seeing it."

But he said, "Howsoever beautiful it is, I have seen the whole world"—he had been a world traveler—"I have seen everything that is worth seeing. What can be there?"

I said, "I cannot describe…you just come with me." And I took him there. He was asking again and again, when we were moving in the boat, "Do you call this the most beautiful place?"

I said, "You just wait. We have not entered into it yet." And then suddenly the boat entered into the world of marble, the mountains of marble. And in the full-moon night they were just so pure, so virgin-pure, and their reflections…The old man had tears in his eyes. He said, "If you had not insisted, I would have missed something in my life. Just take the boat close to the mountains, because I would like to touch then. It looks so illusory! Without touching I cannot believe that what I am seeing is real."

I told the boatman to come close to the mountains. He touched the mountains, and he said, "Now I can leave—they are real! But for three miles continuously…!"

This man wrote beautifully, spoke beautifully, but still was miserable. And I said, "Neither your writings mean anything, nor your speeches mean anything. To me what is significant is whether you have been able to drop all the causes of misery. You are so miserable that you drink, just to forget. You are so miserable that you smoke, just to forget. You gamble, just to forget."

Now, this world is not to be renounced. There are beautiful people, there are immensely capable people; they just have never come across a person who could have triggered a process of mutation in their life….

I told you about this beautiful spot because in Jabalpur there are thousands of people who have not seen it. It is only thirteen miles away, and I have asked those people—professors, doctors, engineers—"Just go and see!"

And they say, "We can see it anytime. It is there; it is not going to go away." Psycho17

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Other professors

I had once a friend who was a professor, and I have been his student also. For my postgraduate studies I was his student, and then when I also became a professor in the same university we became colleagues. But our friendship was old, since my student days. He had the idea that to see a woman is the greatest sin. Now he was a well-qualified professor…. He used to walk with his umbrella covering his eyes, so that he could see only two or three feet ahead. And he used to run so fast—his bungalow and the department were not very far apart. With his umbrella touching his head he would run almost to his house and lock his house from inside.

In the class I was the only male; there were two female students. There were only three persons in his class. He could not look at women; it was against his religion which believed that celibacy is the foundation of religion.

So he used to teach with closed eyes. Seeing him teach with closed eyes, I thought this was a good opportunity to have a good sleep. So I was also sitting with closed eyes. Those two girls wondered…and they felt strange also: the teacher is asleep—with closed eyes he is speaking; the only male student is listening with closed eyes….

The professor thought that I must be following the same ideology of celibacy. He was very happy, because in the university he was laughed at. Now at least there were two persons belonging to the same idea. He took me aside one day and he said, "You are doing it perfectly well. But how do you manage on the road?—because I don't see you carrying the umbrella."

I said, "To tell you the truth I don't belong to your madness. I'm simply sleeping; this is my time to sleep. My whole life I have slept from twelve to two without any exception."

Even in school I used to disappear for those two hours. In the university I used to disappear, and when I became a professor I asked the vice-chancellor, "These two hours are absolutely sacred to me. You can give me periods before or after, but these two hours you cannot touch."

He said, "What is the matter?"

I said, "The matter is that these two hours are devoted to sleep. If you give me a period I will sleep—and I will tell all the students to fall asleep, to just keep quiet and silent and enjoy."

So he gave me periods after two o'clock.

I told the professor—Bhattacharya was his name—"You are under a wrong impression. I don't believe in such idiotic ideas, because with your closed eyes you are seeing the woman more. What are you seeing with your eyes closed? And in fact, why have you closed the eyes? You must have seen the woman first, then only can you close your eyes. And if in seeing a woman your celibacy is disturbed, it is not much of a celibacy. What will you do in a dream?"

He said, "You are right. In a dream I cannot do anything. Neither is the umbrella there…and the eyes are already closed—the women are inside. Do you have any suggestion?"

I said, "Because of this umbrella and because of these closed eyes your dreams are disturbed by women. If you drop this idiotic discipline that you have imposed upon yourself…Women have their own business. Who is bothering to come into your dreams?"

He said, "No, my father followed the same ideology, my forefathers…"—he was a brahmin from Bengal—"and I cannot drop it, although I know the whole university thinks me mad."

But others have their own madness. It may be different, may not be detectable if everybody has it, but to be sane there is only one possibility and that comes out of meditation; otherwise, whatever you do is going to be insane because it will be coming out of your unconsciousness. You will not be doing it in your alertness, in your awareness. invita29

One of my teachers was a very rare being. He was a little eccentric as philosophers tend to be. He was one of the greatest philosophers of this century in India. Very rare, not much known—a real philosopher, not simply a professor of philosophy. He was very much eccentric.

Students had long dropped coming to his classes when I came across him. For many years nobody had entered into his class because sometimes he would talk continuously for three, four, five, six hours. And he used to say: 'The university can decide when the period starts, but the university cannot decide when it stops, because that depends on my flow. If something is incomplete, I cannot leave it. I have to complete it.'

So it was very disturbing. He would take the whole time sometimes. And sometimes he would not say a single thing for weeks. He would say: 'Nothing is coming. You go home.'

When I entered his class, he looked at me and he said: 'Yes. You may fit with me. You also look a little eccentric. But remember: when I start talking, whenever it stops, it stops. I never manipulate. Sometimes I will not be talking for weeks; you will have to come and go. Sometimes I will talk for hours. Then if you feel uneasy, if you want to go to the bathroom or something, you can go—but don't disturb me. I will continue. You can come back. Silently, you can sit again. I will continue because I cannot break it in between.'

It was a rare experience to listen to him. He was completely oblivious of me, the only student. Rarely would he look at me. Sometimes he would look at the walls and talk. And he was saying profound things with such a deep heart that it was not a question of addressing someone; he was enjoying. Sometimes he would chuckle and enjoy, his own thing he would enjoy. And many times I would go out and talk to people. After minutes, after even hours sometimes, he was there. And he had been talking. sage05

One of my professors, a professor of economics, was built almost like a wrestler, a very big man, but inside a chicken. I was very friendly with him. In fact, he had to be friendly with me, because that was the time when the medium of expression was changing. From English it was becoming Hindi. So he was accustomed to speaking English, but many times he would get stuck with some word, and I was his only hope—that I would supply him the right word in Hindi.

I used to give him right words, but once in a while I would…

Once he got stuck with the word `haggling'. He looked at me, and I was in the right mood, so I said, "It means chikallas." Chikallas really means joking with each other, not haggling. Haggling is debating over the price.

So he started using the word chikallas: "When you go into the market and you start chikallas…" and the whole class laughed. He looked at me, "What is the matter?"

I said, "I don't know what is the matter. Why are these people laughing?"

He said, "There is something, because whenever I say 'chikallas' they start laughing."

I said, "This is chikallas—when you say something and people start laughing!"

He said, "I thought you were my friend! I have been depending on you for translations, and you give me such a word?"

I said, "I was in the right mood! When I am in the right mood, you should not ask me anything." christ08

I had a professor when I was a student at university. He was a world-famous chemist, and his idea was this: that chemistry is the only real science. And one day will come when all other sciences will disappear, because chemistry can explain everything. It can explain life, it can explain love, it can explain poetry—because reduced to facts, all is chemical. Existence is chemical.

One day I was following him—he was unaware—he had gone for a walk. It was a full-moon night. He was holding his wife's hand, and I followed him. I didn't allow him to know that I was there. It was a full-moon night, and he forgot that he is a chemistry professor and a great chemist, and he kissed the wife…and I said "Stop!" He was shocked. And when he saw me he said, "What do you mean by 'stop'? It is my wife."

"That is not the point," I said. "But what are you doing?—this is just chemistry. And a man of your understanding kissing a woman? Just a small chemical transfer from here to there? Just a few germs from her lips to your lips, from your lips to her lips? What are you doing? Are you affected by the moon? Have you become a lunatic or something? And why are you holding her hand? How can you explain it chemically?"

But there are people who are trying to explain things chemically, physically, electrically. They only destroy life's mystery.

I told the professor, "Whenever you kiss your wife, remember me, and remember your philosophy."

After three, four weeks, I saw him again and I said, "How are things going?"

And he said, "You have disturbed me very much—because it really happens. When I kiss my wife, I remember you…. "

Life is not reducible to chemistry, is not reducible to logical syllogism. Life is far bigger. Its mystery is infinite. Only love can understand it. Only love has that infinity to cope with it. Everything else is very finite. Only love can dare to move into the indefinable, to move into the subtle. perf205

I myself have been very interested in painting. From my very childhood I started many paintings but not a single painting have I left intact. I have burned all of them.

One of my professors was a painter himself. I used to visit his studio, and I used to say sometimes, "This seems to be wrong. If you do a little change here then the whole impact of the painting will be different."

He started asking me, "Are you a painter?—because whatsoever you suggest, reluctantly I do it, and certainly it improves the painting. And by and by I have dropped my reluctance. I simply accept your suggestion. But this is possible only if you are a painter…because there are so many people coming here. Even my own students who are painters never suggest that this is wrong; just a slight change will do a miracle. And it does. So you have to explain to me the truth."

And I don't know why Sagar University in India…. I have traveled all over India continually for thirty years, but I have never seen such colors in the sky as happens over the lake by the side of the university in Sagar. Never have I seen anywhere such splendor; the sunrise, the sunset, are just divine…without there being any God.

I painted, and destroyed my paintings. Only a few friends have seen them. I allowed this professor to see a few of my paintings. He said, "You are mad—these paintings are far superior to mine. You can earn so much money, you can become world famous.

I said, "I accept your first statement. You said, `You are mad'—I am! That's why I am not going to leave these footprints of a madman for others to travel and follow." I have destroyed all those.

I love poetry. I have written poetry. But I continued to destroy it. My basic standpoint was that unless I am no more, whatever I do is going to harm others. This is the Eastern way.

Now it is unfortunate that when I disappeared, the desire to paint or to make a statue or to compose poetry all disappeared too. Perhaps they were just part of that madman who died. And I am happy that nothing of it survives. dark27

The scholars are so clever in destroying all that is beautiful by their commentaries, interpretations, by their so-called learning. They make everything so heavy that even poetry with them becomes non-poetic.

I myself never attended any poetry class in the university. I was called again and again by the head of the department, that 'You attend other classes, why you don't come to the poetry classes?"

I said, "Because I want to keep my interest in poetry alive. I love poetry, that's why. And I know perfectly well that your professors are absolutely unpoetic; they have never known any poetry in their life. I know them perfectly well. The man who teaches poetry in the university goes for a morning walk with me every day. I have never seen him looking at the trees, listening to the birds, seeing the beautiful sunrise."

And in the university where I was, the sunrise and the sunset were something tremendously beautiful. The university was on a small hillock surrounded by small hills all around. I have never come across…I have traveled all over this country; I have never seen more beautiful sunsets and sunrises anywhere. For some unknown mysterious reason Sagar University seems to have a certain situation where clouds become so colorful at the time of sunrise and sunset that even a blind man will become aware that something tremendously beautiful is happening.

But I have never seen the professor who teaches poetry in the university to look at the sunset, to stop even for a single moment. And whenever he sees me watching the sunset or the sunrise or the trees or the birds, he asks me, "Why you are sitting here? You have come for a morning walk—do your exercise!"

I told him that, "This is not exercise for me. You are doing exercise; with me it is a love affair."

And when it rains he never comes. And whenever it rains I will go and knock at his door and tell him, "Come on!"

He will say, "But it is raining!"

I said, "That's the most beautiful time to go for a walk, because the streets are absolutely empty. And to go for a walk without any umbrella while it is raining is so beautiful, is so poetic!"

He thinks I am mad, but a man who has never gone in the rains under the trees cannot understand poetry. I told to the head of the department that, "This man is not poetic; he destroys everything. He is so scholarly and poetry is such an unscholarly phenomenon that there is no meeting ground between the two."

Universities destroy people's interest and love for poetry. They destroy your whole idea of how a life should be; they make it more and more a commodity. They teach you how to earn more, but they don't teach you how to live deeply, how to live totally. And these are the ways from where you can get glimpses of Tao. These are the ways from where small doors and windows open into the ultimate. You are told the value of money but not the value of a rose flower. You are told the value of being a prime minister or a president but not the value of being a poet, a painter, a singer, a dancer. Those things are thought to be for crazy people. And they are the ways from where one slips slowly into Tao. ggate06

We have been given such a beautiful existence with such glorious seasons. In the fall, when the leaves start falling from the trees, have you heard the song? When the wind passes through the dead leaves which have gathered on the ground…even the dead leaves are not as dead as man has become; still they can sing. They don't complain that the tree has dropped them. They go with nature wherever it leads. And this is the way of a true religious heart: no complaint, no grudge but just being blissful for all that existence has given to you—which you had not asked for, which you had not earned.

Have you danced while it is raining? No, you have created umbrellas. And it is not only against the rain…you have created many umbrellas to protect you from the constant creativity of existence.

When I was a student in the university, whenever it used to rain it was an absolute certainty that I would leave the class, and my professors became aware that "When it is raining, you cannot stop him. He has to go." And I had found the loneliest street, with tall trees reaching and touching the clouds. On that silent and deserted road, there were only a few bungalows belonging to professors and deans, and the vice chancellor. It was a silent place and it was a dead-end street.

The last bungalow belonged to the head of the department of physics. His family had become accustomed to it, that if I was there, the rain was bound to come; or if it was raining, I was bound to come. We had become simultaneous, to the family.

The whole family used to look—"What kind of crazy boy is this?" Soaked in the falling rain, in the dancing winds…and because that was the dead-end, I used to stay under a tree as long as it continued to rain. The family was certainly curious. They wanted to inquire, "Who is this boy?" But the head of the department of physics had become interested in me for other reasons. He was a lover of books and he always found me in the library. There were days when we were the only two persons in the library.

He started becoming more and more loving and friendly towards me and he said, "You are a little strange. You should be in your class, but I see you most of the time in the library."

I said, "In the class, the professor is almost always out of date. He is saying things which he read when he was in the university thirty years ago. In these thirty years, everything has changed. I want to keep pace with the growing wisdom, knowledge, science. In fact, in the library I am more a contemporary, in touch with the latest findings. So I go to class once in a while when I feel a desire to argue. My professors are happy that I remain in the library because whenever I visit their classes, it is always trouble. There is a gap of thirty years and I have all the latest information."

He said, "One day I would like to take you to my home. I want you to be introduced to my children, my wife, to show them that here is a student who has come to the university not for degrees but to learn; not for certificates and gold medals but to keep in tune with the explosion of knowledge in all directions, in all dimensions. Sometimes, even although I am the head of the department of physics and you have nothing to do with physics, you know more than I know. Now it is too late to cover the gap of thirty years; I have lost contact."

So one day he invited me. He was feeling that his family would be immensely happy to meet me, to talk with me, to listen to what I had to say. But he was very much shocked—as we entered his house, the whole family started laughing, and they escaped inside the house!

He said, "This is very strange. They have never done this before. My wife is a postgraduate, all my children are getting educated. This is not a behavior…. "

I said, "You don't know; I know your family, we are well acquainted. Although we have not spoken to each other, we have known each other for two years."

He said, "This is strange. I wasn't even aware of the fact."

I said, "Don't be worried and don't feel sad and sorry and hurt by the behavior of your family. What they have done is absolutely right."

We entered, and the family gathered. He asked them: "What was the reason for you all to start laughing and why did you all escape? Is this a way to welcome a guest? And I had informed you that I was bringing a guest that you would all love."

They said, "But we are almost in love with the guest already. He's the craziest fellow in your university. Not only does he waste his time, when it rains, he wastes our time too because we cannot go inside until he leaves. He's an interesting fellow."

Then I explained to him that I loved running miles against the wind—one feels so alive—going for long walks without any umbrella, particularly when it is raining. Even when it is a hot day and the sun is throwing fire, it has its own beauty—to perspire and then to have a jump in the lake. The water feels so cool, just the contrast.

One who understands life will not be left behind. mess113

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Fellow Students

It happened…I used to be a roommate in my university with another student. We had lived together for six months, and he had never stuttered. I had never even thought…. And then one day his father came to visit, and he immediately started stuttering. I was amazed. When his father had gone I asked, "What has happened to you?"

He said, "This is my problem. From my very childhood he has been such a hard disciplinarian, such a perfectionist, that he created only fear, never love. And because we used to live in a very small village where there was no school, he was my first teacher too; and that is my undoing—my whole life he spoiled, because of his fear. Under his fear I started learning language, speaking language, and everything was wrong, because everything was imperfect."

A small child is not to be expected to be perfect. He needs all kinds of support. Instead of getting support, he was beaten. The stuttering became a fixed phenomenon in him—not only about the father, but about any father-figure. In the temple—because God is called "Father"—he could not pray without stuttering. He was a Christian, and he could not speak to the bishop without stuttering, because first he had to address the bishop as "Father." The moment the word "father" came into his mind, all the associations of fear, of being beaten….

I said, "You do one thing. You start calling me `Father.'"

He said, "What?"

I said, "I am trying to help you. I am certainly not your father, neither am I a bishop, nor am I God the father who created the world—I am just your roommate. You start calling me father, and let us see how long the old association continues."

He said, "It looks absurd to call you father—you are younger than me."

I said, "It doesn't matter."

"But," he said, "the idea is appealing."

I said, "You try." And he started trying. In the beginning he stuttered, but slowly, slowly—because he knew that I am not his father, and it became just a game that he would call me father—after three to four months his stuttering disappeared. Now, I was not his father; it was just a device, very arbitrary, it was not in any way true—but it helped.

When next time his father came he looked at me. I gave him the indication, "You start."

His father was amazed, and he said, "What happened to you? You are not stuttering."

He said, "I don't stutter even in the church, I don't stutter even praying to God the Father. Why should I stutter before you? But my real father is sitting here. The whole credit goes to him. He has suffered my stuttering for four months continuously, but he went on encouraging me, `Don't be worried. It is ninety-nine percent now, it is ninety-eight percent now.' And slowly, slowly it disappeared. And one day he said, `Now there is no need; you can speak to anybody without stuttering. Your fear has disappeared—by a false device." mess211

In the university I had to live for a few days with a roommate. I had never lived with anybody but there was no space and the vice-chancellor said to me, "For a few days you manage and I will find some other place for you. I can understand that you will not like anybody to be in the room, and it is good for the other fellow also that he is not in your room, because you may drive him crazy. I will arrange it."

But before he arranged it, it took four, five months. And that man was a very good boy; he just had one problem—just one, so you cannot say that it was a big trouble—he was a kleptomaniac. Just for sheer joy he would steal my things. I had to search for my things in his suitcases, and I would find them, but I never said anything to him.

He was puzzled. He would use my clothes. When I was not in the room he would just take anything. He would take my shawl and go for a walk, so when I came back the shawl would be gone. I would say, "It will come back, soon it will return." To save money from being taken by him I used to deposit it with him and say, "You keep this money, because if I keep it you will take it anyway. And then it will be difficult to know how much you have taken and how to ask you for it. It looks awkward. You just take it. It is this much: you take it!"

He said, "You are clever. This way I have to return the whole money whenever you need it."

But after four, five months…because whenever and wherever he was, with whomsoever he lived—his family or friends, or in the hostels—everybody was condemning him. But I never said anything to him—instead of looking into my suitcases I just looked into his. It was simple! It was not very different; my suitcases were in this corner, his suitcases were in that corner.

He said, "You are strange. I have been stealing your things and you never say anything."

I said, "It is a very small problem. It can't create distrust in me for a human being. And what trouble is there? Rather than going to my suitcase, I simply go to your suitcase, and in your suitcase I find whatsoever I need."

He said, "That's why I was wondering…that I go on stealing from you, you never say anything, and those things disappear from my suitcases again! So I was thinking that perhaps you also are a kleptomaniac."

I said, "That is perfectly okay. If you stop taking from my suitcases, I will stop taking from your suitcases. And remember, in this whole game you have been losing."

He said, "What do you mean?"

I said, "I take a few things that are not mine"—because he was stealing from everywhere, other rooms, professors' houses; anywhere he would find any window open, he would jump in. And there was no intention of stealing, just the joy of it, just the challenge; an opportunity and challenge that nobody could catch hold of him.

I said, "I will never prevent you. You can go on moving my things, you can move my whole suitcase under your bed; it doesn't matter. In fact I am perfectly happy with you. I am worried now that soon the vice-chancellor is going to give me a single room. Where will I find a person like you?—because you provide so many things which I need. And I trust you perfectly!" ignor23

I am reminded of one of my friends. He was an average human being—l mean just an idiot. All the students were continuously talking of falling in love with girls, and this and that and they were asking him—and he was very cowardly, nervous… You cannot conceive of the conditions in India. Even in the university, the girls and the boys are sitting separate. They cannot talk openly, they cannot meet openly…But his heart was beating; he was coming of age. One day he came to me because he thought I was the only person who had never laughed at him, who had never joked about his nervousness, that seeing a girl he starts trembling—actually trembling, you could see his pajamas shaking—and perspiring. Even if it was winter and cold, he would start perspiring.

He came to me, closed the door, and said, "Only you can help me. What can I do? I would like to love a girl but I cannot even say a single word to a girl. Suddenly, I lose my voice and I start trembling and perspiring." So I had to train him.

I knew a girl who was in my class, and I told her, "You have to be a little helpful to this poor man. So just be a little kind and compassionate, and when he perspires, you don't mention it. Rather you should say, 'People say that you start perspiring seeing girls, but you are not perspiring, and I am a girl—have you forgotten?—and you are not shaking…' And he will be shaking, but you have to say, 'You are not shaking.'"

I had to write love letters for him, and he would send those letters. And the girl was prepared by me, and just because I have told her, she was answering him. She would answer the letters, and he would come running to show me the letter and he was so happy just with the letters. And again I said, "Now you start on your own. How long am I to be writing letters for you? And do you know, the other letter also I have written…because the girl says, 'I don't love him, how can I write? So you please do this one too!' And she shows your letter to me and you show her letter to me, and I am the one who is writing both the letters!"

And this phony business, this love affair…but this is what is happening in all the synagogues, temples, churches.

Your prayers are written by somebody else, perhaps thousands of years before. They are not part of your being; they have not arisen from you. They don't carry any love from you. They don't have your heartbeat.

You don't know whom you are addressing, whether there exists anybody on the other side or not. That too is written in the same book from which you have taken the prayer: that He exists.

It is a very circular thing. The same book says God exists, the same book gives you the prayer, the same book says that if you do this prayer you will receive this answer. unconc03

When I was a student in the university in my final master's course, one girl was very much interested in me. She was a beautiful girl, but my interest was not in women at that time. I was crazy in search of God!

After the examinations, when she was leaving the university…. She had waited—I knew it—she had waited and waited for me to approach her. That is the usual way, that the man approaches the woman; it is graceful for the woman not to approach the man. Strange idea…I don't understand. Whoever approaches, it is graceful. If fact, whoever initiates is courageous.

When we were leaving the university she said, "Now there is no chance." She took me aside and said, "For two years continuously I have been waiting. Can't we be together for our whole lives? I love you."

I said, "If you love me, then please leave me alone. I also love you, that's why I am leaving you alone—because I know what has been happening in the name of love. People are becoming imprisoned, chained; they lose all their joy, life becomes a drag. So this is my parting advice to you," I said, "Never try to cling to a person for your whole life."

If two persons are willingly together today, it is more than enough. If tomorrow again they feel like being together, good. If they don't, it is their personal affair; nobody has to interfere. false15

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Osho’s Final Examinations, and gold medal

While I was doing my postgraduate studies the government passed a law that every student has to go for army training, and unless you receive a certificate from the army you will not be given your postgraduate degree.

I went directly to my vice-chancellor and I said, "You can keep my postgraduate degree, I will not need it. But I cannot go to any kind of idiotic training."

The army training is basically to destroy your intelligence, because you cannot say no, and if you cannot say no your intelligence starts dying. In the beginning it is a little hard to say yes, but reluctantly you say it. Slowly, slowly you become accustomed to saying yes without thinking at all what you are saying yes to.

I said, "I am not going to any army training. I don't care about the postgraduate degree, but I cannot conceive myself with somebody ordering me, `Left turn!' and I have to turn left—for no reason at all. `Right turn!' and I have to turn right. `Go forward!…Come backward!' This I cannot do. And if you want me to do it, then inform the military officer that he will have to give me an explanation for everything. Why should I turn left? What is the need?"

The vice-chancellor said, "Don't create trouble. You just remain silent. I will manage, I will tell the military officer that he has to give you attendance—but don't create trouble, because if you start creating trouble others may start creating trouble. Right now you are the only one who has come to me; others have filled in the forms."

I said, "It is up to you. If I am to go to the army training I am going to create trouble there, because I am not a person who can obey something without sufficient reasons."

But the society in every way teaches you to be obedient, to be humble, to be meek, to be respectful to the elders. That is not the way of spiritual growth, that is the way of committing spiritual suicide. zara209

And you will be surprised that before deciding on my examiners, vice chancellor Doctor Tripathi, enquired of me, "Do you have any preference for whom you would like?"

I said, "No, when you are deciding I know that you will decide on the best people. I would like the best, the topmost people. So don't think whether they will pass me or fail me, give me more marks or less marks; that is absolutely irrelevant to me. Choose the best in the whole country."

And he chose the best. And strangely, it turned out to be very favorable. One of my professors that he chose for Indian philosophy, the best authority, was Doctor Ranade of Allahabad university. On Indian philosophy, he was the best authority. But nobody used to choose him as an examiner because he had rarely passed anybody. He would find so many faults, and he could not be challenged; he was the last person to be challenged. And almost all the professors of Indian philosophy in India were his disciples. He was the oldest man, retired. But Doctor Tripathi chose him, and asked him as a special favor, because he was old and retired by then, "You have to."

A strange thing happened—and if you trust life, strange things go on happening. He gave me ninety-nine percent out of a hundred. He wrote a special note on the paper that he was not giving a hundred percent because that would look a little too much; that's why he had cut the one percent, "But the paper deserves one hundred percent. I am a miser," he wrote on his note.

I read the note; Tripathi showed it to me saying, "Just look at this note: 'I am a miser, I have never gone above fifty in my whole life; the best I have given is fifty percent.'"

But what appealed to him were my strange answers, that he had never received before. And that was his whole life's effort—that a student of philosophy should not be like a parrot, just repeating what is written in the textbook. The moment he would see that it was just a textbook thing, he was no more interested in it.

He was a thinker and he wanted you to say something new. And with me the problem was I had no idea of the textbooks, so anything that I was writing could not be from the textbooks—that much was certain. And he loved it for the simple reason that I am not bookish. I answered on my own.

He appointed, for my viva voce, one Mohammedan professor of Aligarh university. He was thought to be a very strict man. And even Doctor Tripathi told me, "He is a very strict man, so be careful."

I said to him, "I am always careful whether the man is strict or not. I don't care about the man, I simply am careful. The man is not the point: even if there is nobody in the room, I am still careful."

He said, "I would love to be present and see it because I have heard about this man that he is really hard." So he came. That was very rare. The head of my department was there, the vice-chancellor was there, Doctor Tripathi. He asked special permission from the Mohammedan professor, Sir Saiyad, "Can I be present? I just want to see this, because you are known as the hardest examiner, and I know this boy—he is also, in his way, as hard as you are. So I want to see what happens."

And my professor, Doctor S.K. Saxena, who loved me so much, just like a son, and cared for me in every possible way…. He would even go out of his way to take care of me. For example every morning when the examinations were on, he would come to the university, to my hostel room, to pick me up in his car and leave me in the examination hall, because he was not certain—I may go, I may not go. So for those few days while the examinations were on…and it was very difficult for him to get up that early.

He lived four, five miles away from the hostel, and he was a man who loved drinking, sleeping late. His classes never began before one o'clock in the afternoon because only by that time was he ready. But to pick me up, because the examination started at seven-thirty, at seven exactly he was in front of my room. I asked him, "Why do you waste thirty minutes?—because from here it is just a one-minute drive to the examination hall."

He said, "These thirty minutes are so that if you are not here then I can find where you are—because I am not certain about you. Once you are inside the hall and the door is closed, then I take a deep breath of relief, that now you will do something, and we will see what happens."

So Doctor Tripathi was there at the viva voce, and he was continually hitting my leg, reminding me that that man was really…. So I asked Sir Saiyad, "One thing: first you prevent my professor, who is hitting my leg again and again, telling me not to be outrageous, not to be in any way mischievous. He told me before, 'Whenever I hit your leg, that means you are going astray, and this will be difficult.' So please stop this man first. This is a strange situation that somebody is being examined and somebody else is hitting his leg. This is inconvenient. What do you think?"

He said, "Certainly this is inconvenient," but he laughed.

And I said, "My vice-chancellor has told me the same: 'Be very careful.' But I can't be more careful than I am. Just start!"

He asked me a simple question, my answer to which my professor thought mischievous. The vice-chancellor thought it mischievous, because I destroyed the whole thing…. He asked, "What is Indian philosophy?"

I told him, "In the first place philosophy is only philosophy. It cannot be Indian, Chinese, German, Japanese—philosophy is simply philosophy. What are you asking? Philosophy is philosophizing; whether a man philosophizes in Greece or in India or in Jerusalem, what difference does it make? Geography has no impact; nor have the boundaries of a nation any impact on philosophy. So first drop that word "Indian", which is wrong. Ask me simply, 'What is philosophy?' You please drop it and ask the question again."

The man looked at my vice-chancellor and he said, "You are right; the student is also hard! He has a point, but now it will be difficult for me to ask any questions because I know he will make a mockery of my questions." So he said, "I accept! What is philosophy?—because that question you have put yourself."

I said to him, "It is strange that you have been a professor of philosophy for many years and you don't know what philosophy is. I really cannot believe it." And the interview was finished.

He said to Doctor Tripathi, "Don't unnecessarily let me be harassed by this student. He will simply harass me." And to me he said, "You are passed. You needn't be worried about passing."

I said, "I am never worried about that; about that these two persons are worried. They somehow are forcing me to pass; I am trying my best to undo what they are trying to do, but they are pushing hard."

If you take anything as mischief, you have a certain prejudice. Once you understand that whatsoever I have done in my life…it may not be part of the formal behavior, it may not be the accepted etiquette, but then you are taking your standpoint from a certain prejudice.

All things—and so many things have happened in such a small life that sometimes I wonder why so many things happened.

They happened simply because I was always ready to jump into anything, never thinking twice what the consequences would be. ignor21

I came first in the university and won the gold medal. But I had promised, so I had to drop the gold medal down the well in front of everybody; the whole university was there, and I dropped the gold medal. I said to them, "With this I drop the idea that I am the first in the university, so that nobody feels inferior to me. I am just nobody." person04

You will not believe me, but I only remained at university because I had promised Pagal Baba to get a master's degree.

The university gave me a scholarship for further studies, but I said no, because I had promised only up to this point.

They said, "Are you mad? Even if you go directly into service you cannot get more money than you will get with this scholarship. And the scholarship can extend from two to as many years as your professors recommend. Don't waste the opportunity."

I said, "Baba should have asked me to get a Ph.D. What can I do? He never asked me, and he died without knowing about it."

My professor tried hard to persuade me, but I said to him, "Simply forget it, because I only came here to fulfill a promise given to a madman."

Perhaps if Pagal Baba had known about the Ph.D. or D.Litt. then I would have been in a trap. But thank God he only knew about the master's degree. He thought that was the last word. I don't know whether he really wanted me to go for more scholarship. Now there is no way. One thing is certain: that if he had wanted it, I would have gone and wasted as many years as necessary. But it was not a fulfillment of my own being, nor was the master's degree. glimps34

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