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Anand David, That's the only thing that will be missed if all these churches, moralities, puritanic attitudes disappear from the world– the only thing that will be missed is the jokes, because jokes need a certain background. Without the popes there will be no jokes, because the background is absolutely essential.

In the day you cannot see the stars– they are there. They don’t simply evaporate in the morning; they are not like dewdrops evaporating in the sun. They are far bigger than your sun; suns millions of times bigger are there. Those stars look small because they are so far away; actually our sun is a very mediocre sun, bigger suns are there. They don’t disappear, but in the light you cannot see them– the background disappears. The background is the darkness of the night; against the darkness of the night those stars shine forth.

So that much I also feel, that once all these fools disappear– the popes, the ayatollahs, the imams, the shankaracharyas– and this whole nonsense is no more there, one thing will certainly be missed: jokes will be missed. The best jokes arise around the priests, the rabbis, the popes.

You are right, David, in saying: 'I have just realized that some of my laughter at your jokes comes because of my old-fashioned Christian morality'.

Not some of it– all of it!

You say: "A 'saintly' man would never say 'fuck' or 'shit'"

That is true, but I am not a saint! I don’t want to be categorized as a saint. I don’t want to stand with those long faces, with those stuffed tomatoes, with all kinds of rubbish. And they have only one idea in their heads: ’holier-than-thou’. That’s why they cannot use these words– otherwise these words are there. They cannot use them, but the words are there.

At a southern Californian school for underprivileged Mexican children, the brightest boy in the class was named Jesus Christ Gonzalez. In preparation for the coming visit of Monsignor O’Brien, the teaching nun rehearsed with the boy, ”My name is J.C. Gonzalez and I am going to spell ’rose’.” The nun warned him against using his full name.

When the Monsignor arrived, the boy got up and said, ”My names is J.C. Gonzalez and I am going to spell ’chrysanthemum’.” The bewildered nun remarked, ”Jesus Christ, you can’t spell ’chrysanthemum’!” ”Goddamit!” snapped the clergyman, ”Let him spell ’chrysanthemum’ if he wants to!”

They are human beings just as you are, they are just hiding behind masks.

I have heard:

A Pope– maybe this Polack Pope– was going for a morning walk with a rabbi. The rabbi stumbled on a stone, hurt his foot, and said, ”Shit!” The Pope said, ”This is not right, because God is everywhere and he must have heard you.” They walked a little further and again the rabbi stumbled and again he said, ”Shit!” The Pope said, ”Enough is enough! God will punish you.” And the third time it happened suddenly there was great thunder in the clouds, a lightning came, and then somebody in the clouds shouted, ”Shit! I missed!” The Pope was killed.

There is nothing wrong– even God uses these words! I don’t know about your saints, I know about God, and who cares about your saints?

David, are you English or something?

Judge: ”You are accused of making love to a dead woman in the desert.” Drunkard: ”Who me, Mr. Judge?” Judge: ”Yes, you!” Drunkard: ”But that woman... hic... that woman... hic... was she dead?” Judge: ”Are you trying to tell me that you didn’t know?” Drunkard: ”I swear to God, Judge, Your Honor, Sir, I... hic... didn’t know. I thought... hic... she was English!”

You say: "A 'saintly' man would never say 'fuck' or 'shit'"

Then after me you will have to change the definition of the saintly man.

One Indian friend has written– his name is Iqbal Kureshi– he says:"Bhagwan (Osho), What you say between the jokes is beautiful, religious and spiritual, but the jokes destroy your image in the public eye. After all, what is the purpose of all these jokes?"

Iqbal Kureshi, that’s exactly the purpose: to destroy the image! I don’t want to be known as a saint– that’s exactly the purpose. And I am not worried about what others think of me– I am not a politician. Only politicians are worried, continuously worried, about what others are thinking about them, because they have to depend on others– the others have the votes. I don’t depend on anybody’s votes, anybody’s opinion. I am simply whatsoever I am. Why should I be bothered about my image?

The very worry about the image is egoistic, but your saints are worried, I know that. I have known all kinds of your saints– Hindu, Mohammedan, Christian, Sikh Jainas, Buddhists– I have come across all kinds of your saints. They are far more political than your politicians, because this very idea is politics: what people are thinking, remain respectable. Respectability is nothing but nourishment for the ego.

I don’t want to be respectable. Either you love me or you don’t love me; respect is simply meaningless. Respect and the desire for it is egoistic. So those who love me, they will love me as I am. I am not going to compromise, I am not going to accommodate. And I could create that accommodation so easily: I could not use a few words– ’fuck’ and ’shit’– and I could become a saint. You see how cheap it is! But I am not interested in such cheap saintliness.

If I am a saint then whatsoever I say is saintly; if I am not a saint then I may go on reciting the Gita and the Koran and the Vedas but I am not a saint, I am just a parrot. I am not interested at all in mirrors. I know my original face– and the original face is not known through mirrors. Public opinion is only a mirror.

Iqbal Kureshi must be worried about my image. He says, ”It puts your image upside-down.” What is wrong with being upside-down? That’s what they call in yoga sirshasan– the headstand. And as far as I am concerned, I know that you are upside-down, so when you see me upside-down that simply means I am standing on my legs and you are standing on your head!

There is a story:

Once a donkey went to see Pundit Jawaharlal Nehru when he was the Prime Minister. The guard was on duty and, as guards are supposed to, he was snoring. And when the donkey went in he opened one eye and saw: ”Only a donkey is there– there is no need to worry. A donkey cannot be a spy, a donkey cannot kill the prime minister, he cannot bring weapons with him. So there is no need to worry– a donkey is a donkey– let him go. What can he do? At the most he may eat a little bit of grass here and there.” So he closed his eyes and started snoring again.

Pundit Jawaharlal Nehru was very much interested in sirshasana, the headstand, so early in the morning he was doing a headstand on the lawn. The donkey went close, looked at him and said, ”Punditji, why are you standing upside-down?” Jawaharlal said, ”Am I standing upside-down or are you standing upside-down?” But he jumped onto his feet the moment he realized that the donkey had spoken. He said, ”Am I hearing right? Have your really spoken?” The donkey said, ”Don’t get so upset. I am only a donkey– I have just learnt the art of reading and speaking, In my spare time I have nothing else to do, so I go on reading newspapers. Don’t get so upset.”

Jawaharlal relaxed and he said, ”I am not upset, because I have seen many speaking donkeys in my life. In fact, nobody else comes to see me except speaking donkeys!”

But the first idea in Jawaharlal’s mind was that the donkey was standing upside-down. He had completely forgotten that he himself was doing a headstand. The whole of humanity is standing upside-down, but because all are standing upside-down whosoever tries to stand on his feet will look upside-down– he will be a minority. The Buddha is always a minority.

Iqbal Kureshi has asked in a friendly way... he must be in love with me so he is worried. He says: "What you say between the jokes is beautiful, religious and spiritual"

I don’t think so– that is really bullshit! Only the jokes are beautiful, religious and spiritual. But we cannot agree. I cannot agree with you because you are absolutely unconscious, and you cannot agree with me because I am absolutely conscious. We are living in totally different dimensions.

He asks: "What is the purpose of all these jokes?"

I also ask, ”What is the purpose of all these religious and spiritual things that I go on saying?” Just old habit, I think. Otherwise there is no point! And sooner or later you will see– I will only tell jokes. His background is Indian, Mohammedan, and people think according to their background..

Mr. Bates first introduced his wife, Mrs. Bates, to President Lincoln. Then he introduced his son and said, ”I would like you to meet my son, Master Bates.” President Lincoln said, ”Oh? I’m so sorry to hear that!”

People hear according to their background! Now, Kureshi is hearing according to his Indian background. Otherwise what I am saying is very simple: I am using these jokes to bring a little sense of humor to religion. Religion has lacked a sense of humor so much so that H.G. Wells reported to have said that a religion had never been founded by a man who had any sense of humor. I want to prove him wrong so later on nobody can say that!

And a sense of humor has its own spirituality. If you cannot laugh you cannot understand life. If you cannot laugh you are not open. Laughter opens you towards existence. When you are not laughing, when you are sad and serious, you are closed; your doors, your windows are all closed. In laughter, heartfelt laughter, all your senses function at their optimum. You experience life entering you, touching you at the deepest core.

But Kureshi is worried because he thinks the jokes are sometimes dirty. I have never come across a dirty joke. The idea of the dirty comes from your interpretation, otherwise what is dirty? If you think sex is dirty, then any joke which implies some sexuality becomes dirty. It is your idea that makes it dirty. To me sex is as sacred as anything else– to me the whole of life is divine. And these so-called saints have always been telling you that the whole of life is divine, but it seems they don’t mean it. I really mean it!

The annual contest for the best joke had been won for five consecutive years by the same person, Rabbi Abe Cohen from Brooklyn. Each year he sent in his entry and four weeks later he received the cheque and the winner’s certificate from the sponsors, a world-famous glossy magazine. This year, however, two months had passed since the closing date for entries and he had heard nothing. Feeling a little worried lest the letter had been lost in the post, he phoned the editor and asked what had happened to his winnings.

”I’m terribly sorry, Abe,” sympathized the editor, ”but surprisingly enough, you only made second place this year.” ”I don’t believe it!” roared Cohen. ”My jokes have always won. Who on earth could beat me?” ”Some new entry from India, a chap called Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh,” the editor informed him. ”Look,” said Cohen, ”I find it hard to believe that anyone could tell a juicier joke than me. You must have made a mistake. But let me hear this joke so I can judge for myself.”

The editor hesitated. ”I’m sorry, Abe, but this joke is so juicy that I don’t dare to tell it over the phone. It’s really juicy!” Cohen was indignant. ”If you don’t even let me hear the joke, I may have to take legal advice before I accept your decision!” The editor thought for a few moments. ”I tell you what,” he offered, ”let’s compromise. I’ll censor it a little to make it acceptable, and you use your imagination to fill in the gaps. Where the joke gets too juicy I’ll say ’ladi-dah’.” Cohen agreed enthusiastically and the editor began, ”Ready? Okay, here it goes: ’la-di-dah-di-dahdi-dah, la-di-dah-di-dah, da-di-dah-di-dah-di-dah... fuck!’”

Enough for today.