In opposite cultures, clarity of humour varies. In the south Indian state of Kerala, from where I come, most people have good fun with this arguably shortest fun anywhere in circulation: A dog attempted to open a coconut. And what happened? you might ask. Well, nothing; that"s the joke. It did not work, of course.
My confront with Pandit Surender Sharma had something of a Kerala fun spread out out for hours. Nobody laughed, though, when he attempted to kill me with tantric rituals on live TV. Except me, of course.
It was in Mar 2008. The tantra master and I were college of music guest on a renouned TV show to discuss on the theme of "Tantric energy vs science". He boasted that he was means to kill any one by mantra and tantra inside of 3 minutes. I grabbed my possibility to put him in check and offering myself for a test. Caught on air, he couldn"t shun but losing face – and his high-profile clientele. So the singular examination began. The master due chanting his traffic symbol "killer" mantra that has turn utterly a strike on the internet since: "Om lingalingalingalinga, kilikilikili…"
After multiform rounds of chanting unsuccessful to hit me out, he attempted the total arms depot of his tantric gimmickry on me, patently but any outcome either. I was only laughing. In his embarrassment, he due I was stable by a autarchic God whom I served – never mind that I am an atheist! Finally, he resorted to tainted play, dire his thumbs opposite my temples, tough sufficient to kill me the required way, but was cautioned by the umpiring anchor. With no approach to escape, he upped the stakes and concluded to perform the "ultimate drop ceremony" that would kill me passed sure. With ratings soaring, the programme overran, rolling on and on in "breaking news" mode. The channel voiced an additional turn of the epic conflict for the night show.
Same game, this time in correct style: open night sky, the portentous hour prior to midnight, me sitting on the tantric altar, on fire flames, white smoke, spell doll, peacock feather, grained mustard seed and all that. The master, besmirched with remains from the tomb belligerent and after the prescribed protocol expenditure of sex, beef and ethanol at his tantric best, was assisted by a carol of powerful mantra chanters: "Om lingalingalingalinga, kilikilikili…"
Well, the pig still didn"t fly. But the small thought of it kept millions and millions of viewers all over India glued to their TV sets. I was shouting throughout. Not only since it was a stage of glorious absurdity, but especially since I felt that so most people out there in front of their screens urgently indispensable a vigilance from me that there was zero to be disturbed about. In fact, I laughed the tantric out of power. After hysteric escalation and a thespian countdown, it all finished as you would well have anticipated, with the degraded tantric silently quitting the margin – down, out and over. Reason had won the day, as James Randi after happily commented.
Life is not regularly similar to that. But this TV show incited the tables. It shabby the meridian in open debates inside and outward Indian TV studios far some-more deeply than I approaching when I held hold of Sharma. Our examination became a text e.g. for the nothing of tantra-mantra power. Prick a pin in the good fill up and it comes crashing down, that was the message. But have no mistake; it"s not regularly as easy and frequency as amusing. Recently, we were means to put at the back of bars, with the assistance of a TV documentary, a tantric who used to have his vital with a dangerous attempt of singular brutality: he trampled on the bodies of small infants brought to him in hundreds by their ignoramus relatives to good from the saintly powers of his feet. A internal statesman and high priest, to whom I talked during the programme, shielded the holy man in the name of religion. This shows the complexity of the problem.
For multiform decades, rationalists in India have been operative utterly successfully on opposite levels to teach people opposite devout fraudsters of all denominations and ranks. In progressing years singular to (still important) encampment campaigns, the radio series has non-stop up new dimensions. Last year, I privately attended a little 240 programmes on assorted channels. Some of them done an huge impact.
While Sai Baba distinguished a new birthday, as common surrounded by India"s high multitude together with tip politicians, one TV channel gave me an event to perform and insist his heading tricks for any child to try at home – a landslide success, but the aristocrat kept sitting on his throne. However, these kinds of superstitions are solemnly entrance in to the banishment line of a bold new media force ancillary the rationalist line. The subsequent era of India"s tip godmen are already starting to conclude the shift. Recently, one of them threw afar the mic and fled with bodyguards and armored cars when I came in to a TV studio. Pity.
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