Recycle

drivers are far more important than the driven:nasreddin's driver is his donkey krishna's driver is satyaki ~ curiosity what is truth; mother of krishna is debaki ~ is it divinity; father of krishna is basuki ~ is it divine guide? arjuna's driver is krishna ~ the black one the background that holds the foreground dhritarashtra's driver is sanjay ~ indifferent ~ can blind make any difference sun moon sky stars light dark tree animal good bad numbers .... knowledge is limited by noise or sound or words Bhishma's drove his own horses winds reigned by celibacy and his weapons are gayatri, mantra metre 24 syllables, savitri, devotion, saraswati, vidya.  Drona drove his own chariot karna's charioteer was Shalya, counselor. listener depends on counselling! two  names and two questions come from ramayana ~ valmiki what is society? janaki what is knowledge?

I wish I had the voice of Homer To sing of rectal carcinoma, Which kills a lot more chaps, in fact, Than were bumped off when Troy was sacked. Yet, thanks to modern surgeon’s skills, It can be killed before it kills Upon a scientific basis In nineteen out of twenty cases. I noticed I was passing blood (Only a few drops, not a flood). So pausing on my homeward way From Tallahassee to Bombay I asked a doctor, now my friend, To peer into my hinder end, To prove or to disprove the rumour That I had a malignant tumour. They pumped in BaS04. Till I could really stand no more, And, when sufficient had been pressed in, They photographed my large intestine, In order to decide the issue They next scraped out some bits of tissue. (Before they did so, some good pal Had knocked me out with pentothal, Whose action is extremely quick, And does not leave me feeling sick.) The microscope returned the answer That I had certainly got cancer, So I was wheeled into the theatre...

Opinionated, small-minded NL from abroad is lecturing an audience of engineers, business men, politicians, collection of mutual back scratching academicians, and over painted fancy dressed women intellectuals. He is lecturing on Naya and Niti. He always talks on subjects’ matters as if they are invented first time by him. As hours went by Mulla saw this man's thoughts ran in pattern. He is aged 75 plus but remains a victim of vanity and pride. Mulla saw how minor points of unrealistic intellectualism for its own sake were magnified by him and applied in every situation. Subjects after subjects were discussed, and the intellectual cited books and precedents, false analogies and extraordinary presumptions without intuitive reality. In Sonorous voice he would repeat 'Naya' 'Niti'. As if there is so much melody in his voice even if reality is missing. At length he produced a book - his latest that contained his life time scholarship wisdom and earned him prize and fame...

It was a very dark night. Mulla was crossing a desert. He heard some sound coming from somewhere. He followed the sound and found it is coming from a ditch. It was dug by Darbesh who was making that sound Mullah asked "can I be with you I am very afraid". Darbash, "You may but do not disturb me. I have to finish quite a few things." Once in the ditch Mullah pulled away Darbesh' rug and wrapped himself shivering out of fear. After sometime he started making gurgling sound. Darbesh asked, "what are you doing?" "I can't stop chattering! More over my throat is dry, I want to drink." "Take this tumbler about 200 yards on the left you shall find well." Darvesh said. "No you go and get me water, I am afraid to go out of this Ditch". Reluctantly Darbesh got out with tumbler and his dagger to fetch water for Mullah Nasiruddin. Mulla pulled Darvesh back asked for the Dagger, "If someone comes how do I defend myself?" ...

Ahangar   Ahangar was a mighty swordsmith who used to live in the Eastern valley of Afghanistan. In peacetime, he used to make plows and horseshoes. Above all he sang. Many used to come from a distant land to hear his song – ‘Valley of paradise’. While he sang, all, as long as he sang, listened transfixed; and heaven could be felt in the surroundings. After the song is over when silence is broken - all would ask 'Is this paradise real?' The song had a strange lilt and haunting quality; most of all it had a story distantly familiar and people felt they knew this valley. Many came from a distant land beyond Hindu-Kush, from Herat and Paghman, from Qataghan and Badakhshan, from a forest of Walnut trees, from snow-capped mountains and Central Asia to hear this song. 'As real as real could be', Ahangar would answer. 'How do you know?' they would ask, 'have you ever been there?' 'Not in an ordinary way,' Ahangar would answer. They would ask where that...

".... You can do it, but not when you presume that you can do it without any practice, without any training, in the midst of being quite uncertain as to what it is you are why you like or dislike anything. When you have found yourself you can have knowledge. Until then you can only have opinions. Opinions are based on habit and what you conceive to be convenient to you. The study of the way requires self encounter along the way. You have not met yourself yet. Only advantage of meeting others in the meantime is that one of them may present you to yourself. Before you do that, you will possibly imagine that you have met yourself many times. But truth is that when you do meet yourself, you come into a permanent endowment and bequest of knowledge that is like no other experience on earth."