Sub-Continental Humor
A sense of humor is a terrible thing to waste. Anyway, this sadhu was explaining the ultimate nature of the world to a neophyte. "The world is only a dream in the mind of the sleeping god, Vishnu," he said.
"But then where is Vishnu sleeping?" asked the young man.
"Vishnu is sleeping on a lotus pad, which floats in the void," he told him.
The youngster thought for a moment, then asked, "But what does the void rest upon?"
The elder sadhu tisk-ed and said, "The void rests on another lotus pad."
"But what does that lotus pad rest on?" asked the youngster.
The sadhu pressed his lips together and waved his hand in the air, saying, "My dear boy, it’s lotus pads all the way down."
K’CHING!
A guru greatly revered by his many western followers was found in bed with the wife of one wealthy disciple. Before the man could utter a word of accusation, the holy man propped himself on one elbow and said, "Just stop and think, what are you going to believe, me or your eyes?"
But really, folks...
The eighty-nine year-old Walli of Swat had three hundred wives. The youngest, aged eighteen, had just told him that she was going to bear his child. Greatly pleased, he allowed her to kiss his cheek and sent her away so that he could retire for his nap. As he settled down, Shaharazad, his eldest wife, only slightly younger than himself, helped adjust his cushions, so he proudly told her the good news.
"Would my lord like me to tell him a story as he prepares to slumber?" his eldest wife asked. She was a famous story-teller, so he agreed happily to listen to her tale.
She began, "Once there was a great raja who set out to hunt the tiger with his Mantri, all of his nobles, advisors, shikari, many brave sepoy haru and ten hathi with brass-bound tusks. But, although everyone was armed with powerful hunting rifles, the raja, who was very near-sighted, though he was too proud to admit it, took up the gardener’s hoe by mistake. Now, this lord was powerful and had a terrible temper. What he disliked more than anything was to be told that he was in the wrong, so none of his courtiers, not even the bravest sepoy, dared mention his error. Suddenly, a tiger leapt out of the bushes and the noble raja placed the wide blade of the kodalo against his shoulder, aimed the handle of his hoe and shot it dead."
The sleepy Walli could not help interrupting. "Dear wife, that can not be how it happened. Some one the courtiers or shikari, even one of the sepoy must have shot the tiger. The raja could not have done it, however noble he may have been. It may even have been his good and faithful Mantri. But with a useless kodalo, not even a maharaja could shoot a tiger."
"Noble husband, you have taken the moral of my story," said his eldest wife, bowing as she left him to his nap.
All right, all right! We all know that with reincarnation, everything is possible.
Mrs. Uppadya is walking down the street with her two little grandsons, just arrived from foreign. At that moment, her friend, Mrs. Shah, comes up and asks what are the boys ages.
Mrs. Upadhya told her, "The doctor is three, the engineer is five."
I know, I know, grandmothers, ya gotta love ‘em.
But when Ram Das reached sixty-five, he decided to give up business, leave his family, and devote himself to asceticism, so that he could receive the blessings of religion. He practiced yoga for hours daily. He not only became a strict vegetarian, he ate only six ounces of unpolished rice with a little salt each day. As a result he lost sixty pounds and had to take his dhoti in eight inches around the waist. He grew a beard and had his head shaved, all except for a single lock of hair. He painted wide bands of color on his forehead. As he was out in all weather, his skin darkened in the sun and rain.
Then he made the pilgrimage to Calcutta in order to worship at the Jagannath festival. Thousands of devotees pushed the huge figure of Jagannath through the streets on an enormous wooden cart fifteen feet high. As Ram Das stepped forward to touch the side of the holy vehicle he was accidentally shoved by the crowd beneath the enormous wheels. Crushed and dying, he reproached the god, looming above him on the great wagon. "How could you let this happen to me, after all I have sacrificed in your name?" he moaned.
Seen only to Ram Das, the god leaned over the side of the cart and said, "Frankly, old man, I didn’t recognize you."
(rim-shot)
Taking the newly arrived Siddhartha around to meet all the bhikkus, sadhus and philosophy majors in the sangha, Ananda introduced him to a pair of elderly gentlemen sitting together. "This is Brahmacharya, the greatest optomist in the world. And I want you to meet Brahmaputra, one of the world’s all time greatest pessimists."
"How do you do?" said Siddhartha, politely.
"How do I do?" asked Bramacharya. "I’m great, what do you expect. This is the best of all possible worlds and I’m as good as can be."
Bramaputra just looked down and sighed, "I fear that it is so."
Everybody loves a sadhu, don’t they?
The sadhu who sat on a deer skin gazed at the skull-cup on the ground before him and said, "My skull-cup is half-full of soma."
The sadhu who sat on a tiger skin nearby said, "My skull-cup is half empty of soma."
The Buddha, passing at that moment said, "Anyway you look at it, half the space in both of your skulls is wasted."
Ohmmmmmm...
A little down over results of the last election, losing his position as Commander in Chief of the armed forces, being outsted from his life-tenured position as head of state, insurrection in the northwest provinces (again), and pressure from Bill and Hillary, ex-Prime Minister Pervez Musharrif felt as if he just couldn’t put up with another thing when along came a spectacular loss by the Chudley Cannons, his favorite team. Donning his wife’s chhador in order to muffle his voice, he made a call to the new suicide hotline, which he had heard very good things about from a number of his military advisors before leaving office .
"Hotline here, can we help you?"
"I don’t know," the XPM said.
"Well, what is you name?"
"I don’t like to say, it’s just that..."
"So, you are not feeling tickety-boo, is it?"
"You could say..."
"Not suicidal, are you?" asked the hotline worker.
"Well, sometimes it all gets too much for me, you know. I don’t know what to do. Do you know what I mean?" said the General.
"Hmm, yes, I think I do," said the voice on the other end of the line. "Say, do you think you could drive a truck while wearing a heavy vest?"
A vest is what they call an undershirt, I think. Anyway...
Three engineering students at Tribhuvan University, in Kathmandu, were standing around, smoking, between classes. Upadhya, the Brahmin student, had a thought. "You know, we should be able to tell something about the sort of engineer Brahma must be by examining the human body, which he designed."
Rana, a wealthy student of mechanical engineering from Okhaldhunga, quickly said, "Arré, just look, all the joints, Brahma must be a mechanical engineer."
"I am not thinking so," Upadhya, responded. "I am reading electricals and I think it must be that Brahma is electrical engineer. Dekhe, all crores-crores electrical connections."
Adkhari, a humble student from the poorest part of old Patan, who rarely expressed an opinion, finally said, "No, Brahma is having to be civil engineer. That is it, khatam!"
Upadhya and Rana looked at him in amusement. "And how are you reaching that remarkable conclusion, Adikhari sahib?" Upadhya asked.
"You can be sure, cent per cent," Adikhari answered. "Who but civil engineer is running toxic waste pipeline through major recreational area, sidhe straight?"