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Roosh, Bikram’s Pranayama Breathing & My Family

At about 15 minutes or so into the interview, Roosh bursts out, “That ‘s why I left my country” or words to that effect. He left to avoid the coarsening of American women. I left my country for the increasing abandoning of reason, and the sacrifice of the human mind to society’s, that is, women’s vague, amorphous insecurities. I refer you to the numerous posts on Ayn Rand and her works on this blog.

As I opened the orange Bikram book*** that I sometimes read before my morning solitary practice, this is where the page fell open to:

Breathing and the Lungs

Improving the function of the lungs is almost always the first repair that needs doing. That’s why the first thing we practice is pranayama , a breathing exercise that increases your puny lung capacity. Don’t feel bad; you and your lungs shouldn’t take that personally. Most people spend their entire lives rarely using more than 50 percent of their total lung capacity.

At this point I’d that this maximum 50 percent lung capacity limitation also applies to men and women who lift weights to develop strong chest muscles. I don’t care if you feel that your lung capacity is as large as it can get when your chest dimensions increase from a skinny boy or girl’s puny chest to whatever its present dimensions have gotten to. I don’t care how many laps in the swimming pool you swim. Swimming feels better than lifting weights or any activity conducted standing on your own two feet because water is doing the work of gravity, which in turn implies that, wait for it, you are using a crutch, implying that you are practicing another type of water-supported yoga, which means your lung capacity will still not reach its full capacity, as 90 minutes in a hot room under Bikram’s copyrighted instructions.

I understand that Bikram studios are not available to everyone in the world. I can point to my family in Bombay that I visited in October, 2014. As soon as I practicing to Bikram’s instructions diligently in October 2003, I made a trip to India in December. I showed my family members, my brothers, my parents, my sisters-in-law what I learned and what I could do. I still recall my two-year-old niece coming into the room while I was standing in Posture #8, Standing Separate Leg Stretching Pose, aka, Dandayamana-Bibhatapada-Paschimotthanasana, and saying in surprise and glee, “I cannot do that!” then she’d run to her mother, who is young enough to be my daughter, drag her to my room to show her what I was doing. This is how I ended up showing them all the poses. AND YET THEY REFUSED TO PRACTICE. Why?

Posture #8 as demonstrated by Bikram at the time of the writing of what I call the "orange" Bikram book

Posture #8 as demonstrated by Bikram at the time of the writing of what I call the “orange” Bikram book

After they saw what I could do, they asked me why these poses and instructions were not available in Bombay. I answered that Indians in India and abroad consider Yoga to be in the public domain, and so it shouldn’t be copyrighted and profited from. Remember that when Indians (whatever generation Indians they may claim to be) claim this for Yoga they mean for it to cover its past, present and future. Think about that and then tell me what that means for the a modern lifestyle! I continued to explain that Bikram’s copyright only covers the instructions, that is, the dialogue used by certified Bikram teachers, and the specific sequence in which the 26 postures and 2 breathing exercises are taught. (This last point is inaccurate, but I was too full of enthusiasm and got a bit carried away). Nothing else! All of my family listening at the time understood the issue clearly. I continued with further encouragement as follows: “you live in Bombay, a humid and tropical climate. All you need is the sequence and the pictures in Bikram’s book, and you can practice it on your own. You do not need the dialogue because the heat and the moisture in the air will help you get to the pictured pose easily.” As evidence I pointed to my own practice, particularly Posture #12, Toe Stand, aka, Padangustasana.

Posture #12, as demonstrated by Bikram many years before the writing of the orange book.

Posture #12, as demonstrated by Bikram many years before the writing of the orange book.

I couldn’t do this pose in the Dallas studio but I could do it there easily. In fact, I recall getting into the full expression of toe stand in the parking lot as I was chatting with my brother while he was washing his car. In the image above, Bikram is not holding his palms together but resting it on his knees. If you recall further, he smashed his knee when young and rebuilt it without surgery with the help of his guru, Bishnu Ghosh, ignoring doctors’ prognostications that he would never walk again. Compare it to his tree pose shown below.

Posture #11, Tree pose, aka, Tadasana

Posture #11, Tree pose, aka, Tadasana

Bikram is still able to stand on one leg, thanks to his lifelong practice. But bending down to balance on one toe in toe stand continues to put the same amount of pressure as before without a corresponding increase in his knee’s flexibility.

My family understood the issue fully by then. But I didn’t have books for them. So when I saw them again in two or three years I took one or two copies for them. So now they had all they needed to practice in private. YET THEY REFUSED TO PRACTICE.

When I’d ask them they’d plead lack of time, or the difficulty of memorization (this from Brahman brothers and father who regularly recite their secret mantras daily), and my mother who taught us all our prayers as she remembers hearing it, and my sister-in-law who knew and taught Bharat Natyam, one of the Indian Classical dances.

OF COURSE I DID NOT MAKE ANY OF THESE CONNECTIONS AT THE TIME. I took their statements at face value like I always do. In either 2006 or 2007, I created self-recorded home videos showing me performing each pose and reading out its benefits from Bikram Studio websites for my mother and emailed them to her in bits and pieces. But even though each posture was its own file, I recall labeling them sequentially which probably added up to more that 28 postures, but I was not counting. As soon as I was assured that she had received and was able to look at all of them, I saved them to portable drives and deleted them from my computers. At the time I had two computers – a desktop and a laptop. Remember that the sequence of poses is available on Bikram’s main website. So I don’t recall feeling a sense of violating his copyrights on the sequence. It’s also in all the books.

BUT NONE OF MY FAMILY INCLUDING MYSELF REALIZED THIS CONTRADICTION BETWEEN MY INITIAL EXPLANATIONS AND THE SEQUENCE CLEARLY OUTLINED IN BIKRAM’S BOOKS. Very Strange!

Let’s continue with more from Bikram Choudhury..

”… In the beginning your lungs will feel tight and small, which is perfectly normal. With each additional class, you will find that your breath becomes deeper and fuller. Your lungs are like balloons – they must be properly inflated and stretched to become more flexible and capable of holding and processing more oxygen with greater efficiency.

The lungs are a high-powered purification plant, separating environmental pollutants from the essential oxygen in the air. If the lungs failed to filter out carbon monoxide, for example, death would result almost immediately. When the lungs do their job, they send fresh oxygen throughout the body, purifying the blood and allowing it to travel more efficiently via the arteries and the heart. But when the lungs aren’t functioning optimally, they’re unable to keep up, to constantly purify 100 percent of the supplied air. Maybe they are only capable of purifying 40 percent of the air supply, leaving a full 60 percent unfiltered. To add further insult to injury, you may even insist upon smoking cigarettes! At this stage, your immune system goes into a veritable coma, paralyzing your defenses. …”

Here I’d like to add another perspective that agrees with Bikram overall perspective. My father is a lifelong smoker. So are at least a couple of my brothers and one uncle that I know of. While they exhibit some evidence of asthma, meaning shortness of breath, their immune systems remain active and intact. Is this a contradiction?

When my father visited the US in 2000 – 2001, I couldn’t stand the smell of cigarette on his breath. When he visited the second time, I didn’t notice it as much, but I attributed that to the cold climate up North where I am less sensitive to alcohol and cigarettes. But when I visited Bombay in October 2014, I still didn’t even notice my father smoking, my brothers smoking and or drinking. In fact, I shared a nice glass of port wine with them on my 50th birthday on October 7. On the one hand I was older, visiting Bombay at the worst possible time and the entire trip was laced with smells of spicy Indian food or the tastes of salty Italian food from the plane trip onwards. I barely ate a thing throughout my flights. Yet I did not experience the same revulsion to cigarettes and alcohol as I did ten years ago, when I was ten years younger, duh!

WHAT IS THE MISSING INGREDIENT IN THE CONNECTION BETWEEN CIGARETTES AND THE ROBUSTNESS OF AN IMMUNE SYSTEM?

Let’s finish with today’s excerpt from Bikram Choudhury.

”… This creates all sorts of problems such as asthma, bronchitis, and emphysema and even accelerates the aging process.

That’s right: People are aging much faster than they should because of this slow death by oxygen deprivation. … “

Some more rounding of Bikram’s perspective is called for, in my opinion. I promise I’ll finish today’s excerpt.

When I visited my family members each of the time mentioned above and many more times, I noticed them putting on weight but mostly around the chest area. Ah! Their skins remained clear, always a good sign that they were not accumulating excess toxins in the body. So the other explanation was that they were feeling stressed and this stress was increasing day by day. As a result, their bodies automatically started accumulating fat, but this fat, instead of migrating around the hip area was gathering solely around the chest. Aha! I recall a Bikram teacher named Farki, stiff as a board like all men, commenting about what this might mean. We had a conversation where I recall complaining to him about my family including my aunts and uncles (on my father’s side), who still refused to practice at home from the Bikram book I had taken to them, and he suggesting that if the fat was accumulating around the chest then it wasn’t a good sign because it indicates growing uncontrollable anger unable to express itself effectively. I have been thinking about it since then. I understood his point, but I couldn’t pinpoint precisely what the source of anger might be.

Recall that at one point in Roosh’s interview on Ukrainian Talkshow, there was a gentleman in a pale green long-sleeved T-shirt who feeling threatened, insults Roosh, doubting his sexual capacity, specifically its longevity, at around 3:00 minutes in. His build fits to a tee what Farki’s was talking about. More importantly, I recall Roosh doubting the meaning of being detached from the outcome of an interaction two years ago in a few of his blog posts. I think this interview amply demonstrates that he practices being detached from the outcome, as you will see if you watch the interview all the way through to the end.

All right, I am being a prima donna here who keeps coming back for her swan song, but I promise to finish this excerpt.

“… Doctors don’t know how to help people breathe properly to prevent disease. They do their limited best by providing medication, but that’s not nearly enough. Only the yogis know this. Proper breathing and control of the breath are parts of the yogic discipline and have been for thousands of years. …”

VERY TRUE. MY FAMILY KNOW THIS WELL.

When I visited my family in October 2014, I was on a mission to find the truth. I know that practicing Bikram yoga in private has progressively removed obstacles from my mind, long enough to reveal old abandoned truths – those pertaining to my mind and how it lead me to my husband. In short, what did I have in common with him? Irreverence for established religions and doctrines that depend on their power merely on unquestioning obedience to the word of authority. Did not and does not mean that we don’t have sympathy for those who choose to belong there, we do. Who else do I have this in common with? Where else do I see it exhibited in my every interaction? Why! My family, of course. My parents, my brothers, their wives and their children.

After the good food, wine, cake and lots of picture taking, one of my brothers decided to show me his yoga practice. He practiced daily for half an hour where he’d take a series each day – so one day it would be the lotus series, the next day it would be the inversion series. Earlier I had noticed that he had achieved a strange combination of calmness of mind and strength of purpose. His eyes were shining with joy when he came to fetch me for lunch at his home. He immediately touched my feet, something he had never, never done in his life. We are not that sort of a family. So when he started showing me how his practice was shaping up, (no Bikram mind you – no copyright violation), I took it as a sign that it was okay for me to suggest improvements and maybe add a posture that might take his practice further. I suggested improvements that would help him build and strengthen his courage – typically the back bending postures – but didn’t suggest any new postures to his repertoire. I was still concerned about copyright violations.

WE ARE A STRANGE FAMILY WITH A PASSIONATE AVERSION TO STEALING COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL. YOU CANNOT BUY THIS QUALITY IN ANY MARKET PLACE!

What I had said in my explanations remained with them while what they could see with their eyes they ignored. I think this is because they have a strong core of practice consisting of listening attentively. This went equally for both men and women. They couldn’t practice from the literature I had left for them. If they did, they soon got bored, or suffered hardships, including life threatening ones.

To conclude, as you watch Roosh’s interview you can see how as the truth comes out from separate individuals, each of whom know only a small part of the truth, the gentleman in the green long-sleeved T-shirt comes around to empathize with Roosh’s situation as an American unable to communicate in the local language, especially when the regional Playboy representative joins in, followed by the guy with a mission to expose the “victimization” of Ukrainian women. This last raises hackles everywhere with his scam tactics using counterfeit money, no less, that threaten the nation’s image in Western eyes. Roosh is quick to pounce on this opening, comparing his wily courting that give women exactly what they want with that of the guy who takes from women in return for fake money, that is, he offers nothing in return.

As for me I finally feel comfortable enough to quote from the Bikram book I use in my solitary practice. It is that third book that I resisted buying until last year. The practice recommended in it is not quite what is taught in the studios. It is biased towards the masculine perspective. I include the first example here and the remaining few in the next several blog posts. I start with the excerpt and will add my comments at its end.

Posture #12:
Toe Stand
Padangustasana

The knees are the weakest link in the human body and one of the most difficult parts to strengthen. By doing this powerful posture you not only strengthen them, but also develop the yogi’s discipline, determination and patience. Toe Stand looks intimidating, but you are now sufficiently warmed up and focused to do it, and I promise you, your knees will not break. (Note: If you have a very recent injury or an acute knee problem, just do a Second Set of Tree instead.)

To begin: Stand with your feet together, and focus your attention on a spot on the floor 4 feet in front of you. Like in Tree Pose, shift your weight onto the right leg and life your left foot up onto your right thigh. Bring your hands to prayer position in the middle of your chest. (Whether or not you actually chose to pray is your business, and nobody else’s.)

Now bend the right knee and lower yourself on one leg as far as you can go with your hands still together. Bend forward from the lower spine, reaching down and placing the fingertips of both hands on the floor for support. Then continue to sink down slowly until your coccyx bone is sitting on your right heel. Your right foot isn’t flat on the ground; you’re balancing yourself on the ball of the foot. Keep your chin down and your eyes on the floor in front of you.

Now straighten the spine, and suck in your stomach. Pick up the right hand and put it back in prayer position on your chest. Stabilize yourself again and then move the other hand to meet the first. Slowly look up, then raise your chin to parallel. Stay here for 10 seconds. (Start counting after you achieve your balance.)

Put both hands on the floor in front of you. Come up by reversing the way you went down, straightening the right leg until the leg is locked. Then lower the left foot from the right thigh and shake out the left leg.

Other side: Find your concentration spot on the floor again and, raising the right foot onto the left thigh this time, repeat the posture. Ten seconds. (No Second Set.)

Bikram’s Key
If you still can’t do this after trying the right way for a few weeks, try this alternate technique: Squat down, put your foot up on the opposite thigh, and only then try to balance. Put the fingertips of both hands on the floor, on either side of the body, at first, then try with one hand. Then none.

Benefits
Toe Stand strengthens the knees and is therapeutic for rheumatism of the knees, ankles, and feet. It also opens up the knee and hip joints, and helps cure hemorrhoid problems. As noted earlier, it develops mental strength as well.
Ready for a nice rest? Prepare to enjoy two full peaceful minutes of Savasana, Dead Body Pose, next in our Sequence. This is the ultimate in rest and relaxation.

Toe Stand was the first post I noticed that was different from the way it was practiced in a studio setting. So far in all the one-legged balancing postures we first balance on the left leg and then the right leg. This is the first pose where we do the opposite – we balance on the right leg first. I spent at least 30 minutes re-reading it and then everyday I’d open the book to this section and examine it with fresh eyes to make sure I had not made a mistake in reading it. Nope. That’s what he says. I have two copies of the same book and they both say the same, just to make sure that I hadn’t landed with an extra special copy.

The practical reason for this switch was Bikram’s knee injury. By this time the shattered knee would have reached a strange stage of elasticity where the knee joint and surrounding tendons keeping it in position lose most of their strength and become like a rubber band – not stable enough to support the torso on its own. Its time to relieve it of these demands and let the other side lead for a short while.

The romantic reason for this switch is as follows: “she works and works and works and then he takes the ball and rushes the final yards to score the touchdown while she rests on his shoulder. Then she repeats his actions and scores their second touchdown because now she sees how it can be done. So both together score two touchdowns. She is rejuvenated by seeing him score! That’s all she needs to score on her own!

What ever the case may be, it is useful to switch the order of legs to be balanced upon. Classroom dialogue does not follow this pattern. Bikram probably brought in this respite due to his responsibility to the needs of his shattered knee.

I first realized the import of this issue upon seeing the picture of Bikram holding Posture #6, the Standing Bow Pose, aka, Dandayamana-Dhanurasana. On March 14, 2014, I wrote the following in the margins of page 127:
“While most practitioners have to keep the knee joint in tension with muscles on either side, including tendons and ligaments pulling the patella from both the top and bottom, with Bikram it is a different problem. Bikram’s knee was smashed when he was in his teens or early 20s. He has to constantly keep the elements of the knee joint together. With the crushing of the knee, the number, shapes, joints, configurations of the pieces have multiplied dramatically. He has to focus on keeping a degree of compression in the knee joint that us lucky practitioners do not have to worry about. Yet he also has to lock his knee, in the sense of keeping muscles engaged. But he does not have a backup plan in a manner of speaking. We can focus on kicking high, pushing ourselves without worrying about the knee joint falling apart. But for Bikram he has to in some small corner of his mind, be thinking of “what if the knee comes apart”. Kick yes, lock yes. But remember the knee. A completely different set of problems.”

NOTES:
***Bikram Yoga: The Guru Behind Hot Yoga Shows the Way to Radiant Health and Personal Fulfillment by Bikram Choudhury. Copyright 2007.

ADVERTISEMENT DETAILS

I was and am unable to capture screen shots from Exotics.com into a file to put up on this blog. So I have copied individual images and comments separately into a single new file. Even after multiple submissions for approval, photos remain unverified. I am not sure if they expect me to present myself in their offices so they can verify I am who I represent here in these images. The only conclusion I can draw is that these images are considered sinful. You judge for yourself.

INTRODUCTION PARAGRAPH (which is not what I had edited over two days):

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What you see is where the software decided to end the message. I’ve forgotten what I had edited it to.

Updated introduction paragraph:

A time comes when we wonder if someone
Would listen to the doubts that plague us
I would ..

I’ve had trouble putting up this ad,
Email me if you still want to ..

Under STATISTICS this is what I have (unfortunately I had to retype the whole thing because I cannot screen capture what I see in front of me. You’ll just have to take my word for what’s on there.

Thumbnail image used throughout Exotics.com website

Thumbnail image used throughout Exotics.com website

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Email: dagnypence@mindspring.com
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Weight: 110 lbs (50 kgs)
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Hair Color: Black
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Age: 50
Measurements: 34 – 27 – 34
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Detailed Message Visible on the Public Page of my Advertisement:

My truthful fantasy seeker

A time comes when we wonder if someone out there
Would listen to the doubts that plague us
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Now the time has come for us to question
If our old calculations left out something crucial
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Four photos are allowed on the public pages. Only the first one below is visible. The following three with boxed captions are still not visible to the public.

Photo taken November 26, 2014

Photo taken November 26, 2014

 Smile at myself in a fuzzy hat; Photo shot on November 26, 2014.


Smile at myself in a fuzzy hat; Photo shot on November 26, 2014.

Smile at myself; Photo shot on November 25, 2014

Smile at myself; Photo shot on November 25, 2014

 Age: 50. Photo taken November 25, 2014


Age: 50. Photo taken November 25, 2014

Standing in my highest red heels, body held at backbend and twist to look over my shoulder, oiled, washed and finger-combed hair, lipsticked mouth, eyes kajal lined, grinning at the thought of leaving religion behind; photo shot on Nov 27, 2014

Standing in my highest red heels, body held at backbend and twist to look over my shoulder, oiled, washed and finger-combed hair, lipsticked mouth, eyes kajal lined, grinning at the thought of leaving religion behind; photo shot on Nov 27, 2014

Same shot as Image #3, but zoomed in and cropped at closeup; photo shot on Nov 27, 2014.

Same shot as Image #3, but zoomed in and cropped at closeup; photo shot on Nov 27, 2014.

Standing in my highest red heels, body held at slight backbend, left foot forward revealing crotch area, oiled, washed and finger-combed hair, lipsticked mouth, eyes kajal lined, smilng at my own truth; photo shot on Nov 27, 2014.

Standing in my highest red heels, body held at slight backbend, left foot forward revealing crotch area, oiled, washed and finger-combed hair, lipsticked mouth, eyes kajal lined, smilng at my own truth; photo shot on Nov 27, 2014.

Sitting in full lotus pose, oiled and washed hair, unmadeup face, smiling at myself in closeup at my own truth; shot on November 25, 2014

Sitting in full lotus pose, oiled and washed hair, unmadeup face, smiling at myself in closeup at my own truth; shot on November 25, 2014

Sitting in full lotus pose, oiled and washed hair, unmadeup face in almost a profile, smiling at myself; shot on November 25, 2014

Sitting in full lotus pose, oiled and washed hair, unmadeup face in almost a profile, smiling at myself; shot on November 25, 2014

Sitting in full lotus pose with pulled back hair oiled and washed, looking slightly downward at my own self - never a good idea; shot on November 25, 2014

Sitting in full lotus pose with pulled back hair oiled and washed, looking slightly downward at my own self – never a good idea; shot on November 25, 2014

Sitting in full lotus pose , oiled, washed and fuzzy-hatted hair finger combed, lipsticked mouth, still looking at myself in the mirror; shot on November 26, 2014

Sitting in full lotus pose , oiled, washed and fuzzy-hatted hair finger combed, lipsticked mouth, still looking at myself in the mirror; shot on November 26, 2014

Sitting in full lotus pose with pulled back hair oiled and washed, not my best look but gotta take care of my crowning glory – for both the hair and the brain behind it; lipsticked smile; shot on November 25, 2014

Sitting in full lotus pose with pulled back hair oiled and washed, not my best look but gotta take care of my crowning glory – for both the hair and the brain behind it; lipsticked smile; shot on November 25, 2014

Sitting in the full lotus pose, oiled and washed hair finger combed, lipsticked smile, looking forward with a smile at myself in the mirror; shot on November 26, 2014

Sitting in the full lotus pose, oiled and washed hair finger combed, lipsticked smile, looking forward with a smile at myself in the mirror; shot on November 26, 2014

Sitting in full lotus pose, a quick half smile at the camera after setting up the smile in the mirrored reflection ahead of me; portrait shot on November 26 2014

Sitting in full lotus pose, a quick half smile at the camera after setting up the smile in the mirrored reflection ahead of me; portrait shot on November 26 2014

Sitting in full lotus pose, I had to get a shot of my unlined eyes to test a lipsticked smile; again I shot a quick look at the camera after setup in the mirrored reflection ahead of me; shot on November 26 2014

Sitting in full lotus pose, I had to get a shot of my unlined eyes to test a lipsticked smile; again I shot a quick look at the camera after setup in the mirrored reflection ahead of me; shot on November 26 2014

 Sitting in full lotus pose, oiled and washed hair, unmadeup face but with a smile looking at my own reflection; shot on November 25 2014


Sitting in full lotus pose, oiled and washed hair, unmadeup face but with a smile looking at my own reflection; shot on November 25 2014

Practitioner’s Instincts

Practitioner’s Instincts

Here are two examples of how a practitioner’s instincts work, one real and one fictional, with a surprisingly similar orientation:

First, I present the real instance from Roosh. You find it in part 2 of a five-part post called “She is Bitch”, published July 31, 2012.

… We walked to the front of a tourist club called Scandal, debating whether we should go in or not. Then a pretty brunette said hi to us. Wow, I thought, being with a friend really improves things. Luigi took over the conversation and asked what her and her tall friend were up to. They said they couldn’t get in because the brunette was too young and the bouncer she knows wasn’t working. They asked if we wanted to go to another club where she could get in. Luigi enthusiastically accepted.

I always do research on a country before I fly in. one thing I read about Riga is that a girl will lead you a bar of her choosing where prices are grossly inflated. She gets a cut of the proceeds and slowly drains your wallet while pretending she likes you. I’ve read some horror stories where a guy unwittingly buys a bottle, gets a bill for an absurd sum, and isn’t allowed to leave until he pays up. Burly Russian types escort him to nearby ATMs to make the withdrawal.

The two girls were extremely friendly, asking questions interview-style, where during the previous two weeks I had trouble finding more than one girl who acted that way. I was skeptical. I didn’t want to discount the power of being with a friend, but their vibe seemed off. While walking to their club, the brunette hooked Luigi’s arm and the tall girl, who wasn’t at all attractive, hooked mine. Without any doubt in the world, I knew something was wrong. …

Further along in part 5, published on August 3, 2012, we have this realization from Roosh on what makes Luigi tick.

… “I already told you I’ve been burned here many times. One time I take home a girl and when I come out of the bathroom she made two drinks. She made a toast ‘to our health.’ All I remember next is waking up the next morning with the worst headache of my life. She stole my phone and passport. Another time some guy on the street stole my passport, and then there was the girl who stole my laptop.”

“Jesus,” I said.

“Yeah but it’s part of the game. You fuck her before she fucks you. I’m good at this. Well, at least now I am.”

“You were walking directly into a trap on Wednesday night, dragging me with you. I saved your ass,” I said with a laugh. “Are you sure you’re good at this?”

“Last night I was good!” he said, smiling broadly.

When our burgers came I realized why Luigi loved Riga so much: he was a scammer himself. He got joy out of tricking girls at their own game, even though he had lost the game many times. For him the fun wasn’t just fucking a girl, but tricking her in the process. He made me feel prudish in that I wanted to be honest and just have some fun sex without any scams, tricks, or money attached. …”

Next, I present an excerpt from Chapter 10, “Advanced Studies” from the novel, “You Only Live Twice” by Ian Fleming.

… Back on the open dusty road, some instinct made Bond glance through the rear window between the dainty lace blinds that are both the hall-mark of a truly sincere hired car and a dangerous impediment to the driver’s vision. Far behind, there was a solitary motor-cyclist. Later, when they turned up a minor road into the mountains, he was still there. Bond mentioned the fact. Tiger shrugged. “He is perhaps a speed cop. If he is anyone else, he has chosen a bad time and place.”

Obviously Tiger (fictional) is designed to have more experience that Luigi (real) at his craft. And then Fleming has to get on with the story quickly. Roosh’s intent was to illustrate the character of Latvian girls in Riga. The insight on Luigi’s level of craftsmanship is a bonus that considerably enlivens the travelogue. But both Tiger and Luigi have the same approach to danger – it’s good to be able to sense it’s presence but it’s equally, if not more important, to continue with the plan and adapt rapidly, trusting to one’s instincts, because it is this adaptation that improves competence, tests the limits and accuracy of one’s instincts and simultaneously reveals the enemy’s abilities for use the next time around. That is a lot of useful information for the next encounter, which is usually just around the corner.

It is not always wise to back away from danger.

AN ANNOUNCEMENT

I am running out of money to continue staying home and help out my husband with our business concept. It is very vital that work on it continues AND IT IS EXTREMELY VITAL THAT I REMAIN HERE WITH HIM TO KEEP IT ON THE RIGHT AND THE DIFFICULT PATH.

SO I AM LINKING THE VAIN YOGI TO MY ADVERTISEMENT ON EXOTICS.COM WHICH WILL ENABLE YOU TO SEE MY AD, ALL 70 ODD FOLLOWERS OF THIS BLOG THAT I RUN.

When you get there, you’ll have to use my login and password to see all pictures I’ve spent hours posting and making notes on, all the while keeping scrupulously to the truth. Those images and THE FOUR PUBLIC PICTURES I POSTED ARE GONE. ALL THAT IS LEFT IS THE FIRST ONE I EVER PUT UP TO TEST IF THIS THING ACTUALLY WORKS.

LOGIN: TheVainYogi710

PASSWORD: Gayatri710

Go-By Name: Charlee

ANSWER TO SECRET QUESTION: Toyota Camry

—-

—-

LET’S SEE WHAT HAPPENS.

IF YOU HAVE BETTER LUCK THAN I IN CHECKING OUT MY AD WITHOUT HAVING TO ENTER THE ABOVE SUPPOSEDLY CONFIDENTIAL CRAP, DROP ME A LINE AT ANY OF THE FOLLOWING EMAIL ADDRESSES I HAVE COLLECTED:

dagnypence@mindspring.com

cbaltimore64@gmail.com

sharmilarao64@gmail.com

sharmilarao@att.net

IF YOU HAVE NO LUCK OR I DO NOT RECEIVE A SINGLE EMAIL IN RESPONSE TO THIS ANNOUNCEMENT, I’LL HAVE PROOF POSITIVE THAT THE WORK I DO HERE ON THIS WEBSITE AND THE WORK MY HUSBAND AND I HAVE BEEN LABORING OVER SINCE 2008 IS MUCH MORE IMPORTANT THAN EITHER OF US CAN DREAM ABOUT.

LET’S SEE WHAT HAPPENS!!!

MEANWHILE ENJOY THE FREE CHEESECAKE PICTURES OF HOT BABES TAKEN BY PROFESSIONAL PHOTOGRAPHERS. COMPARE THAT TO WHAT I HAVE ON BOTH THE EXOTICS.COM WEBSITE AND ITS ORIGINALLY ASSOCIATED BLOG, TRUTHFUL FANTASY.

CHEERS, HAVE A DRINK.

WE BOTH DON’T SO HAVE AN EXTRA ONE!

The Liberator’s Salvation

By every act of liberating
A lost soul, a tortured spirit,
You, dear father, have achieved salvation
You, dearest father, never have to walk to Kailaasha
Kailaashaa walks to you, wherever you are!

Every failure you encountered
Through sheer bad luck!
Yet pushed it behind you
And gave Namaskaaraa!
Made that Vithal Manek, his ilk,
That much more envious!

Every betrayal you suffered
Through obscure machinations!
And drank your way
To a deeper integration!
Enabled that Vithal Manek, his ilk,
To steal your ideas, solutions,
Even pain,
Your lucre turning filthy in his hands!
Your fortunes turning sour in its distribution!
What else could a Vithal do
But regurgitate stale ideas!

Your every loss, every tragedy,
Enabled him to create his
Growing gossip-fueled empire
Of Morality, A Raam-Raajya,
Wherein a Sita gets banished
Merely upon cheap talk of a
Washer-woman, magnified through
The usual undifferentiated rumor channels!
Truth and lies mixing indiscriminately!
What else could a Vithal do
But regurgitate stale ideas!

When you liberated Leelavati
From Krishna’s ignorant clutches
As you took your first steps
To that enlightened manhood,
Your journey laid tracks of a
Strange and perilous path to be
Taken with grit and tiny steps
Daily with hope and patience;
And you attained Kailaashaa
Your mother devoted to your cause,
A strange, frightening endgame Leela
Who died with the Gayatri on her lips!

When you included me
In your random cogitations
As you drank your way
To that deeper integration,
Those thoughts sowed seeds
Of directions to be explored
With rigor and dedication;
And you attained Kailaashaa
Your first born at your feet,
A strange, misshapen Umaa-sutam!
While Umaa lay resting, her daily chores complete!

When you showed compassion
After the death of Leelavati, for Krishna
In his toils as a single separated father;
Bringing him into your new family,
Including prayers he was unaware of,
It was part of honoring an abandoned god
In exchange for wealth and property,
That Krishna was illegally deprived of,
As a frightened young boy in peril for his life;
You attain Kailaashaa;

When you abandon your father’s name,
Yet honor his spirit annually with expensive rituals;
Hoping to free any strange obligations on his patriarchal soul;
When you keep your mother’s name and honor her spirit,
Annually with rituals conjoined with your father’s
You attain Kailaashaa;

But when you include new prayers, modifying established ones,
And you conduct rituals with ignorant forgetful priests,
Adding new illegible ones discovered by these very same priests,
Who get paid only when they discover more of the same,
Every year; hoping to propitiate increasing annual demands,
By taking dwindling resources away from your family,
To give to these ignorant, forgetful, illegible clan priests,

Are you not allowing them to diminish that Kailaashaa
You built so lovingly, with diligence and grit over the years?

But when you take pains to discover an unknown,
Abandoned temple on a undiscovered hill top,
Seen in your persistent mystical dreams over several years,
After due consideration of your own true means, and
After eliminating unrelated and unhealthy influences,
Dearest father, you are still attaining Kailaashaa,
For you, your ancestors, your descendants!

When you allowed me
To help you with your work,
Yet insisted that I pursue
Art and knowledge seeking,
Teaching me how to accept help,
Not slavish devotion;
Showing me how to set free
Recalcitrant spirits from lost souls,
And you attained Kailaashaa
For a strange, misshapen Muse!
Living in Liberty set in common law
And the first Constitution!

By every act of liberating
A lost soul, a tortured spirit, an imprisoned mind,
You, dear father, have achieved salvation
You, dearest father, never have to walk to Kailaasha
Kailaashaa runs to you, wherever you are!

About that Alpha Male

… and his creation Leelavati.

In my end …
Lies my beginning …
I leave no account
Of either;
That’s not my way
So you beta-s
Can scram, skedaddle,
Whatever you crawling maggots
Use these days,
To express ‘scurrying’,
Into your maggot holes.

I’ve seen a lot of you,
In my time,
Try to kill me,
And especially you,
Hiding behind that robe of yours,
I remember your scrawny arse,
(‘Ass’ to you American children)
I saved from catching fire in Deepavali,
Do you remember,
Dab-Dabba-Dab-Dabbe-Dab-Dabbu?
When you pointed a lighted fire-sparkler
Towards your own belly?

Rolled you on the ground, I did
Didn’t you know you actually caught fire?
All neighbors staring open-mouthed
Not one raising a finger to save you?
Just like they did
When my Leelavati walked
In front of an accelerating train!

I know, I know, I know,
You’re too young to have been there,
It was your father who saw
And did nothing!
That’s your story and you’re sticking to it?
Bah! Humbug!
All you Maneks are liars, plain and simple!
Go change your names
Before this day ends!

I’ve seen a lot of you,
In my time,
Try to kill me,
And my own,
Especially you Uneasy one,
Wearing that Crown
On a Head much too small!

Didn’t I hear my first born,
Grandchild, a grand-daughter no less,
(Thank you Leelavati for invoking
Our lost first born Sharada!)

Accuse you of attempting
To break the head
Of my second grand-son?
My Sher-ka-bachchaa!

You think she should have
Stopped you? How?
When you were
Sexually abusing her?
And now I hear
She was just
One of many
Boys and girls
You were abusing!
A regular harem
Had you set up!

Don’t lie!
I remember your face,
Half pleading at me!
Half threatening her!
Demanding proof from her,
While vociferously denying
Having slammed his head against
The neighbor’s verandah wall!
Don’t run away!
You’re too old,
To escape me now!

I saw you,
Leering at my great-granddaughter,
While denying slamming
Her own father’s head
Against our neighbor’s verandah wall!
I see you,
Teasing, flirting with
The wife of this
Very same grandson
Whose head you
Slammed against
Our neighbor’s verandah wall!

Where are you running to now!
Pap-Pappa-Pap-Pappe-Pab-Pappu?
AKA Kirit Manek!
Where are you hiding?
Behind what religious colors
Are you seeking sanctuary!
The one run by your little
Brother Dab-Dabba-Dab-Dabbe-Dab-Dabbu?
Doesn’t it keep changing
Colors and flavors?
We shall know you
By that big-ass mole
On your face!
All you Maneks are liars, plain and simple!
Go change your names
Before this day ends!

I’ve seen a lot of you,
In my time,
Try to kill me,
And especially you,
Hiding behind that
Peacemaker garb of yours!
Staying up with my first born
Pushing drinks on him,
While sipping your own,
Extracting information,***
To distribute to whom?
In return for what?

Petty gossip, you say?
Really, what are you?
A housewife from my village!
I know them
From their attempts
To help me raise
My youngest son!
Completely useless,
Let me tell you, my son!
Except my first born
Grand-daughter,
She kicked your ass
Out of our house, didn’t she?
For misleading her father!
(Ah! Thank you, once again,
Dearest Leelavati!
You trained her well,
In your brief one year
with her!)

And what do you do
In revenge!
Complain to her father
About my first born
Grand-daughter!
How disrespectful she is
To those in power!
Do you know that
My son came home
And praised this same
Daughter to her face,
And laughed aloud,
For kicking your ass,
Metaphorically, of course!
She’s much too gentle
For the real ass-kicking!

—————–

O Leelavati! I am sorry,
For hurting you
All those years ago!
I think you must have
Forgiven me, if
You were reciting
The Gayatri Maha Mantra
Towards the end
Of Your Days.

You know me,
I was back
Behind that wall!
Back with my hand
On my trusty sharpened knife!
I was back
Fighting those would-be assassins!
I am glad those events
Helped you fight
In your own endgame!
And, by the way,
You chose well
(Not a bit like you,
I’m amazed, a bit awed by you)

For our shy and retiring son!

I kept fighting while
My loved ones thought
I was losing my mind,
Ever so slowly
To those assassins!
Their descendents!
Their debtees!
Their admirers!
It was my time to go!
That’s all!
So I went!

Do you know
I died fighting them
Eyes wide open?
No Gayatri Mantra for me!
But man!
I did have my eyes wide open
Till the very end!
Isn’t that the lesson
Of the Gayatri
After all!

—————————–

Oh! By the way!
All you Maneks are liars, plain and simple!
Go change your names
Before this day ends!

NOTES:
***I say extracting information, because I recall Mr. Vithalbhai**** Manek’s face as he’d sit there on the nights when my father came home after spending time with friends in town (from whom, by the way, he must have heard about Howard Roark and the Fountainhead, and other interesting ideas), head still abuzz, not refusing drinks that my father offered as my father liked to download ideas and news and information. I guess Mr. Manek must have gotten enough information about my dad’s clients, those whose work he’d bring home to work upon as his client roster kept growing in line with his growing family and its responsibilities. Unfortunately I don’t recall specifics of any information that was exchanged. But I do recall at least one or two of his clients suffering major losses in their businesses and having to down their store shutters. Petty pilfering undetected was the cause in one case, that I recall. A major loss was one where my dad and his best friend invested their savings and lost it. In addition they both had shared its bookkeeping responsibilities so he lost his in-kind contribution also.

It took me a while to figure out what was going on. If Mr. Manek was there to help my father he wasn’t doing a good job. Then I started noticing his expression, eager for information, while his mouth uttered platitudes of morality and the evils of drinking, etc. So yeah, I did demand that he leave and not come back. He was shocked and appealed to my dad to intercede on his behalf, saying it was unbecoming of a little girl to treat an older man like that. I recall that my dad just found the sight of his apoplexy extremely amusing. He kept laughing at his face. Obviously Mr. Manek thought that dad would come to his senses in a few days. So he engineered a chance meeting on the way back home one evening. Dad had forgotten the incident completely. Mr. Manek introduced the topic by praising my dad’s children, all four of us, and then led to his one small complaint, namely my arrogance and intransigence. Upon being asked for an explanation, he described what had happened. Dad expressed shock and surprise that his daughter had behaved in such a rude manner. He asked me on his return, so I reminded him of what had happened and why I had behaved rudely. He laughed, I think in joy. And no, he did not reprimand me at all. But Mr. Manek had stopped abusing our hospitality and trust.

****My alpha male of a paternal grandfather had a name for Vithalbhai Manek, but it is a bit hard to translate. It loses some flavor in translation, but it is related to a tropical vegetable that has rough spines on the outside, but when you cut it after skinning it, there’s just water and some, not much, soft meat in it. When you cook it, it loses at least half of its mass, and turns into water. Was there any resemblance between the two? I don’t know. But alpha males are hard to read!

My Mother’s Prayers for Integration

As soon as she was sure that they didn’t want any more children, she began to teach prayers she had learned while being fostered by her paternal aunt’s daughter and her husband. They form the first two parts of the prayers below. At the time her foster parents had two daughters and one son already, who were younger than her. I think they had three more sons after she joined their household, two of which were fraternal twins, because I recall there being a significant age gap between the first three and the last three cousins when we used to visit them as children.

I must admit that I can recall only five names of these cousins that my mother raised as a foster child herself. Aren’t fostering children a wonderful benefit? Not to the foster child but to the foster parents. Those five names are Guna Rao, Meera Rao, Sunder Rao (male), and the two twin names that I suspect are not their real names but those that they were called by, namely, Chomi and Chandi, boys both of them. For some reason I still think that there were six not five children. But this is not important. What is important to note is that Sunder Rao has apparently moved to Bombay and lives in the same suburb as my parents, having sold the large neglected mansion in Mangalore City. He called them up as soon as I had caught my flight back from Bombay to Dallas this October.

The reason my mother waited until all four of us were able to understand her is because a) she wanted to create as much of a schoolroom environment as possible to facilitate learning from each other, and b) she didn’t want to create any division between us in terms of who knows what, at what stage. Children are naturally territorial and status conscious. By teaching all four of us together she ensured that we all learned from her at the same time and so did not feel greater or lesser to each other, at least in the eyes of our parents. There were times when my father would reprimand us for not reciting it at the correct time. In the beginning when he did not have many clients, he’d join us in the final namaskaaraa (see Part 3). As he started adding clients to his roster, he would wait until he came to a stopping point in his work (yes, he brought work home practically every day) before performing the final namaskaaraa, with or without us.

Part 1: My mother taught us to recite this section first. It concerns our collective history as seen from the Northern perspective.

Namaste Shaaradaadevi

Kaashmeera puravaasini

Tvameham praarthyaye nityam

Vidyaa daanancha dehime

Yaa kundendu tushahaara dhavalaa

Yaa shubra vastraa-vrataa

Yaa veenaa var-dandi-mantita-kara

Yaa shweta padmaa-aasanaa

Yaa Brahma astuta Shankaraa

Prabhute devaihi sadaa poojita

Sa mam paarthu Saraswati Bhagavati

Nishesha jaadyaa padaa

Shaantaa-kaaram Bhoojaga-shayanam

Padma-naabham Suresham

Vishwaa-dhaaram Gagana-sadrasham

Megha-varanam Shoobhangam

Lakshmi-kaantam Kamala-nayanam

Yogihi dhyaan gamyam

Vande Vishnu bhava-bhaya-haram

Sarva loka-aika-naatham

Guru Brahma Guru Vishno Guru Devo-Maheshwara

Guru Devo Para-Brahmaa tasmayi Shree Guruve namahaa

Gajaananam bhoota-ganaadi sevitam

Kapitta jambhu phal-saara bakshitam

Umaa-sutam shoka-vinaasha-kaaranam

Namaami Vigneshwaraa

Paada pankajaa

Part 2: Once she was comfortable with our grasp of Part 1, she taught us Part 2 of the prayers she learned as a child. This part concerns our collective history as seen from the Southern perspective.

Namaste-astu Mahaamaayi

Shreepeete shurapoojite

Shankha-chakra-gadhaa-haste

Mahaa Lakshmi namo-astute

Namaste Garudaa-rude

Kholaapura-bhayankari

Sarva-paapaa hare Devi

Mahaa Lakshmi namo-astute

Sarvadhnya sarva-varadhe

Sarva-dhoostha bhayankari

Sarva-dhukhkhaa hare Devi

Mahaa Lakshmi namo-astute

Sidhdhi budhdhi prade Devi

Bhakti mukti pradaaini

Mantra moorte sadaa Devi

Mahaa Lakshmi namo-astute

Aadyantaa rahite Devi

Aadhi Shakti Maheshwari

Yogadhyne yoga-sambhute

Mahaa Lakshmi namo-astute

Stoola-sookshma Mahaa Rodre

Mahaa Shakti Mahodaye

Mahaa paapaa hare Devi

Mahaa Lakshmi namo-astute

Padma-aasanaa-asti-the Devi

Para Brahmaa swaroopini

Param-E-Shree Jagan-Maataa

Mahaa Lakshmi namo-astute

Shwetaam Varadare Devi

Naanaa alankaaraa pujeete

Jaga-asti-the Jagan Maataa

Mahaa Lakshmi namo-astute

Mahaa Lakshmaa statam stotram

Yaa pate-n-bhakti maan-naraa

Sarva-sidhdhi mahaa-aapnoti

Raajyam praapnuthi sarvadha

Eka kaale pate-n-nityam

Mahaa paapa vinaashanam

Divi kaale pate-n-nityam

Dhanaa dhaanya samanvitam

Trikaaleye pate-n-nityam

Mahaa shatroo vinaashanam

Mahaa Lakshmaa bhave nityam

Prasannaa Varadha shoobhaa

Part 3: This last part comes from my father’s side of the family. It was transmitted to us by our aunt who came from the same region of the country as my father. In that sense my father is a thoroughly modern individual – concerned about the present and the future, but not given much to digging up ancestral history, which is why these last lines came to us indirectly.

Benakaa benakaa

Eka dantaa

Pachche kallu

Paani-peetha

Muttinaa gonde

Hannaa gante

Inti-yopa

Sidhdhi Vinaayakanaa paadake namo namo.

Sacrifice for the Greater Good

Tiger picked his teeth reminiscently. “No higher than a Black Belt of the Seventh Dan. I never graduated to a Red Belt, which is from the Eighth to the Eleventh Dan. To do so would have meant abandoning all other forms of activity. And with what object? To be promoted to the Twelfth and final Dan on my death? In exchange for spending the whole of my life tumbling about in the Kodokan Academy in Tokyo? No thank you. That is the ambition of a lunatic. He smiled. “No sake! No beautiful girls! Worse still, probably no opportunity in a whole lifetime to exercise my art in anger, to tackle a robber or murderer with a gun and get the better of him. In the higher realms of judo, you are nothing but a mixture between a monk and a ballet dancer. Not for me!”

—– page 111, Chapter 10 Advanced Studies: 106, Part One “It is Better to Travel Hopefully … , You Only Live Twice*** written by Ian Fleming and published by The New American Library of World Literature, Inc., copyright 1964 by Glidrose Productions Ltd. A briefer version of this novel originally appeared in Playboy magazine.

*** You only live twice:
Once when you are born,
And once when you look death in the face.
— After Bassho, Japanese poet, 1643 – 94.

Tiger expresses my thoughts on why I haven’t pursued teacher training with Bikram Yoga Teacher Training, or with any other yoga flavors. Similar thoughts, I hold, on yoga competitions. Who wants to be “a mixture between a monk and a ballet dancer!” While I love the idea of competing, I hate becoming a ballet dancing monk. I’ve never had monkish tendencies. If I did I’d have stopped practicing Bikram yoga daily, because as any monk knows, in the grand scheme of things these corporeal concerns are of no importance whatsoever. In addition, competing tends to put on stress pounds, flab and fat upon me. This, I hate the most.

So when I read the latest post by The Epicurean Dealmaker, aka TED, titled, “Show Me the Money” I was a bit disturbed by the recognition, “in the chilly chambers of his frozen heart” no less, of the merits of Andrew Ross Sorkin’s argument in favor of Antonio Weiss taking his unvested pay with him if he is appointed under secretary of the Treasury, namely that, “… we should encourage banks and other employers of bright, shiny, would-be technocrats to doff their gilded yokes of service to Mammon and don the austere chains of public service to the rest of us. …” because “… the interlocking web of influence, conventional group think, and apparent if not actual conflict of interest such revolving door practices engender are indeed problematic, but that the net gain of brilliant, accomplished, successful financiers to the government payroll is worth it, and the aforesaid conflicts can be managed with an unburdensome modicum of care and attention …”

I think it is a simple mistake on his part based on his covert belief in man as a sacrificial animal . Years of having his full compensation docked in the greater interests of, first, his employers, then, employer’s shareholders, can dull the injustice being meted out to him and his ilk in indifferent dribs and drabs. Yet he makes an excellent case for how bankers, specially investment bankers, suffer from deferred compensation. Yes, dear yogis, he gets paid tomorrow for the work he did yesterday. And this ‘tomorrow’ is more in the vein of “When tomorrow comes, I’ll be there with you”, with the hidden caveat, “as long as I’m still in business.”

Let’s take the case of Little Muffy, described by TED, who signs an employment contract for $ 2,000,000 per year, based upon bringing $ 10,000,000 per year for her employer and its shareholders, namely you and me with our little mutual funds. The terms are as follows:
Actual monies paid out in biweekly salary = $ 250,000
Cash lump sum shortly after turn of year = $ 500,000
Remainder paid in restricted shares in employer over 3 years = $ 1,250,000
Restricted shares become vested, or take root, in return for continued employment, over a length of time when it is paid out in dividends to employer shareholders, that is, you and me and that granny wanting benefits to convert heathens.

Scenario #1:

If Little Muffy stays for six months then decides to leave because, oh, I don’t know, maybe she fell in love with an in-house TDH (tall, dark, handsome), she’d take the following amount in cash with her.

Actual monies paid out in biweekly salary for 6 months = $ 125,000
Net present value of promised cash lump sum (if she is well-liked) = $ 250,000
No-chance-in-hell compensation for bailing out prematurely, well, = $ 000,000

To recap, if Little Muffy leaves in 6 months with an in-house TDH who may have to remain hostage, and she is well-liked by her superiors, she gets to take $ 375,000 with her, instead of the $ 1,000,000 owed to her according to her employment contract. Basically, she extended a gift or grant of $ 625,000 to her employers and their shareholders. Grants not loans! Loans you get back, at least in the form of interest payments! As Vedic priests like to chant as they pour the sacrificial ghee over the sacred fire, “Svaa-haa”, literally meaning “Eaten” or “Consumed”.

In Yogispeak here are the correlates of process and actors:
Sacrificial Ghee = Little Muffy’s deferred compensation
Sacred Fire = Shareholders of company demanding quarterly dividends, returns, etc.
Vedic Priests = Employers hired by shareholders to deliver dividends, and fired upon failure

Scenario #2:

If Muffy leaves in 12 months for a slightly lesser in-house TDH who definitely remains back as hostage and she remains well-liked, she’d take $ 750, 000 with her and donate $ 1,250,000 to the “Svaa-haa”, fund.

Scenario #3:

Little Muffy leaves at the end of three years for a “dowry” of $ 2,000,000 for an even lesser TDH needing cash infusion. Or, maybe, she decides to open a business with the same TDH and leave town; what might she get to take with her!

Actual monies for Year 1: $ 2,000,000
Actual monies for Year 2: $ 750,000 (see Scenario #2)
Actual monies for Year 3: $ 750,000
Total take-home pay: $ 3,500,000 out of the $ 6,000,000 contracted amount.

And the “Svaa-haa” amount is now $ 2,500,000. Her no-chance-in-hell compensation. A gift. A grant. In return for? Satisfaction of being the sacrificial victim for the greater good.

All of the above assumes that Little Muffy is well-liked by which I mean that they are mostly truthful with her about end-of-year revenues and willing to pay her promised dues for her efforts. As Muffy rejects in-house TDHs her social capital decreases and corresponding likelihood of being cheated increases.

Scenario #***:

If she remains there day in day out, she keeps donating a cool 2.5 million dollars worth of labor for the privilege of being sacrificed. Dullness and lethargy sets in. These donations blend into the great gray growing miasma in the soul. She starts believing in the rightness of being sacrificed even if she hates religions and faiths with equal ardor. As TED puts it, “Sure, the shareholders face eventual dilution when and if Muffy’s shares vest, but until this happens they haven’t really fully paid her for her services. Other things being equal, shareholders should be delighted when bankers resign to work for competitors, because all those unvested share awards are canceled and they retroactively get all those bankers’ revenue production for below market rates.”

Scenario #Alt:

If she jumps ship to another employer and makes sure to recoup her lost “Svaa-haa” from her new employer, sadly she gets this increase in the form of “restricted shares with deferred vesting” in the words of TED.

The Epicurean Dealmaker emphasizes that “… in point of fact all such payments do is give their departing employees the pay the firm has promised them for work already done …” recognizing that “… it is a greedy and incontinent shareholder who cannot agree to that.” If the departing employee is taking up public service then it behooves the company to maintain friendly relations with her in case this very Muffy “… might be leaning over the dais at a future Senate probe or showing up to your Executive Suite with a raft of burly auditors on Christmas Eve. It’s not bribery. It’s just good business …” especially the part about paying what you’ve already earned.

With all this clearly in mind, how does anyone justify foregoing monies owed for work already performed upon taking up public service? Ah, yes, the greater good! So now let’s see what Miss Rand has to say about it:

Chapter 12: Theory and Practice
by Ayn Rand

THE MAN-HATERS

Few errors are as naive and suicidal as the attempts of the “conservatives” to justify capitalism on altruist-collectivist grounds.

Many people believe that altruism means kindness, benevolence, or respect for the rights of others. But it means the exact opposite: it teaches self-sacrifice, as well as the sacrifice of others, to any unspecified “public need”; it regards man as a sacrificial animal.

Believing that collectivists are motivated by an authentic concern for the welfare of mankind, capitalism’s alleged defenders assure its enemies that capitalism is the practical road to the socialists’ goal, the best means to the same end, the best “servant” of public needs.

Then they wonder why they fail – and why the bloody muck of socialization keeps oozing forward over the face of the globe.

They fail, because no one’s welfare can be achieved by anyone’s sacrifice – and because man’s welfare is not the socialists’ goal. It is not for its alleged flaws that the altruist-collectivists hate capitalism, but for its virtues.

If you doubt it, consider a few examples.

Many collectivist historians criticize the Constitution of the United States on the ground that its authors were rich landowners who, allegedly, were motivated, not by any political ideals, but only by their own “selfish” economic interests.

This, of course, is not true. But it is true that capitalism does not require the sacrifice of anyone’s interests. And what is significant her is the nature of the morality behind the collectivists’ arguments.

Prior to the American Revolution, through centuries of feudalism and monarchy, the interests of the rich lay in the expropriation, enslavement and misery of the rest of the people. A society, therefore, where the interests of the rich require general freedom, unrestricted productiveness, and the protection of individual rights, should have been hailed as an ideal system by anyone whose goal is man’s well-being.
But that is not the collectivists’ goal.

A similar criticism is voiced by collectivist ideologists about the American Civil War. The North, they claim disparagingly, was motivated, not by self-sacrificial concern for the plight of the slaves, but by the “selfish” economic interests of capitalism – which requires a free labor market.

This last clause is true. Capitalism cannot work with slave labor. It was the agrarian, feudal South that maintained slavery. It was the industrial, capitalistic North that wiped it out – as capitalism wiped out slavery and serfdom in the whole civilized world of the nineteenth century.

What greater virtue can one ascribe to a social system than the fact that it leaves no possibility for any man to serve his own interests by enslaving other men? What nobler system could be desired by anyone whose goal is man’s well-being?

But that is not the collectivists’ goal.

Capitalism has created the highest standard of living ever known on earth. The evidence is incontrovertible. The contrast between West and East Berlin is the latest demonstration, like a laboratory demonstration for all to see. Yet those who are loudest in proclaiming their desire to eliminate poverty are loudest in denouncing capitalism. Man’s well-being is not their goal.

The “under-developed” nations are an alleged problem to the world. Most of them are destitute. Some, like Brazil, loot (or nationalize) the property of foreign investors; others, like the Congo, slaughter foreigners, including women and children; after which, all of them scream for foreign help, for technicians and money. It is only the indecency of altruistic doctrines that permits them to hope to get away with it.

If those nations were taught to establish capitalism, with full protection of property rights, their problems would vanish. Men who could afford it, would invest private capital in the development of natural resources, expecting to earn profits. They would bring the technicians, the funds, the civilizing influence, and the employment which those nations need. Everyone would profit, at no one’s expense or sacrifice.

But this would be “selfish” and, therefore, evil – according to the altruists’ code. Instead, they prefer to seize men’s earnings – through taxation – and pour them down any foreign drain, and watch our own economic growth slow down year by year.

Next time you refuse yourself some necessity you can’t afford or some small luxury which would have made the difference between pleasure and drudgery – ask yourself what part of your money has gone to pay for a crumbling road in Cambodia or for the support of those “selfless” little altruists of the Peace Corps, who play the role of big shots in the jungle, at taxpayers’ expense.

If you wish to stop it, you must begin by realizing that altruism is not a doctrine of love – but of hatred for man.

Collectivism does not preach sacrifice as a temporary means to some desirable end. Sacrifice is its end – sacrifice as a way of life. It is man’s independence, success, prosperity and happiness that collectivists wish to destroy.

Observe the snarling, hysterical hatred with which they greet any suggestion that sacrifice is not necessary, that a non-sacrificial society is possible to men, that it is the only society able to achieve man’s well-being.

If capitalism had never existed, any honest humanitarian should have been struggling to invent it. But when you see men struggling to evade its existence, to misrepresent its nature, and to destroy its last remnants – you may be sure that whatever their motives, love for man is not one of them.

BLIND CHAOS

There is an important political lesson to be learned from the current events in Algeria.

President Kennedy has been waging an ideological war against ideology. He has been stating repeatedly that political philosophy is useless and that “sophistication” consists of acting on the expediency of the moment.

On July 31, he declared to a group of Brazilian students that there are no rules or principles governing “the means of providing progress” and that any political system is as good as any other, including socialism, as long as it represents “a free choice” of the people.

On August 31, just one month later, history – like a well-constructed play – gave him an eloquent answer. The people of Algiers marched through the streets of the city, in desperate protest against the new threat of civil war, shouting: “We want peace! We want a government!”

How are they to go about getting it?

Through the years of civil war, they had been united, not by any political philosophy, but only by a racial issue. They were fighting, not for any program, but only against French rule. When they won their independence, they fell apart – into rival tribes and armed “willayas” fighting one another.

The New York Times (September 2, 1962) described it as “a bitter scramble for power among the men who were expected to lead the country.” But to lead it – where? In the absence of political principles, the issue of government is an issue of seizing power and ruling by brute force.

The people of Algeria and their various tribal chieftains, who represent the majority that fought the war against France, are being taken over by a well-organized minority that did not appear on the scene until after the victory. That minority is led by Ben Bella and was armed by Soviet Russia.

A majority without an ideology is a helpless mob, to be taken over by anyone.

Now consider the meaning of President Kennedy’s advice to the Brazilians and to the world. It was not the political philosophy of the United States that he was enunciating, but the principle of unlimited majority rule – the doctrine that the majority may choose anything it wishes, that anything done by the majority is right and practical, because its will is omnipotent.

This means that the majority may vote away the rights of a minority – and dispose of an individual’s life, liberty and property, until such time, if ever, as he is able to gather his own majority gang. This, somehow, will guarantee political freedom.

But wishing won’t make it so – neither for an individual nor for a nation. Political freedom requires much more than the people’s wish. It requires an enormously complex knowledge of political theory and of how to implement it in practice.

It took centuries of intellectual, philosophical development to achieve political freedom. It was a long struggle, stretching from Aristotle to John Locke to the Founding Fathers. The system they established was not based on unlimited majority rule, but on its opposite: on individual rights, which were not to be alienated by majority vote or minority plotting. The individual was not left at the mercy of his neighbors or his leaders: the Constitutional system of checks and balances was scientifically devised to protect him from both.

This was the great American achievement – and if concern for the actual welfare of other nations were our present leaders’ motive, this is what we should have been teaching the world.

Instead, we are deluding the ignorant and the semi-savage by telling them that no political knowledge is necessary – that our system is only a matter of subjective preference – that any prehistoric form of tribal tyranny, gang rule, and slaughter will do just as well, with our sanction and support.

It is thus that we encourage the spectacle of Algerian workers marching through the streets and shouting the demand: “Work, not blood!” – without knowing what great knowledge and virtue are required to achieve it.

In the same way, in 1917, the Russian peasants were demanding: “Land and Freedom!” But Lenin and Stalin is what they got.

In 1933, the Germans were demanding: “Room to live!” But what they got was Hitler.

In 1793, the French were demanding: “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity!” What they got was Napoleon.

In 1776, the Americans were proclaiming “The Rights of Man” – and, led by political philosophers, they achieved it.

No revolution, no matter how justified, and no movement, no matter how popular, has ever succeeded without a political philosophy to guide it, to set its direction and goal.

The United States – history’s magnificent example of a country created by political theorists – has abandoned its own philosophy and is falling apart. As a nation, we are splintering into warring tribes which – only by the fading momentum of a civilized tradition – are called, “economic pressure groups,” at present. As opposition to our growing statism, we have nothing but the futile “willayas” of the so-called “conservatives,” who are fighting, not for any political principles, but only against the “liberals.”

Embittered by Algeria’s collapse into chaos, one of her leaders remarked: “We used to laugh at the Congolese; now it goes for us.”

And it goes for us, as well.

From Capitalism: The Unknown Ideal written by Ayn Rand, with additional articles by Nathaniel Branden, Alan Greenspan and Robert Hessen.

What Is It Like to Be an Alpha Male?

What is it like to be an alpha male?

In as strict an imitation as possible of The Epicurean Dealmaker’s post titled, ‘What Is It Like to Be a Banker?‘ … I thought to look into the situation of an alpha male. Success is sure to follow in such a noble dissection.

He (for convenience sakes, instead of ‘she’ or ‘it’) begins with a quotation from Thomas Nagel whom he terms as an inveterate optimist, as follows,

Conscious experience is a widespread phenomenon.

The following is my imitation with certain key changes made for my own personal amusement. For convenience I’ll enclose this entire section in blockquotes, putting changed phrases or words in square brackets, followed immediately by the replacement phrase or word. Words and phrases in block capitals are my original interjections.

Whilst conducting primary research into the ontological foundations of [metaphysical epistemology] alpha male-ism recently, O Dearly Beloved, Your [Dilatory] Vain and Shockingly Remiss [Correspondent] Yogi happened upon a REVIEW of a previously unpublished draft of Thomas Nagel’s seminal paper, “What Is It Like to Be a Bat?” BY THAT EPICUREAN DEALMAKER WHO found upon examination of the disintegrating foolscap moldering in dank archives that this eminent philosopher had initially attempted to frame his gedankenexperiment with an emphatic exercise even more challenging than imagining himself to be a member of the genus Microchiroptera. Given THE DEALMAKER’S patent interest [for] in the history of analytical philosophy [and] for its relevance to issues of concern cognate to [this] that blogsite, I thought that I would share the pertinent excerpt with you, ALONG WITH MY TWO CENTS ON AN ALPHA MALE FROM MY RICH AND EXOTIC BACKGROUND:

I assume we all believe that [bankers] alpha males have experience. After all, they are human beings, and there is no more doubt that they have experience than that accountants or baristas or firemen have experience. I have chosen [bankers] alpha males instead of lawyers or politicians because if one travels too far down the phylogenetic tree, people gradually shed their faith that there I experience there at all. [Bankers] alpha males, although arguably more closely related to us than those other examples, nevertheless present a range of activity and a sensory apparatus so different from ours that the problem I want to pose is exceptionally vivid (though it certainly could be raised with other species). Even without the benefit of philosophical reflection, anyone who has spent some time in an enclosed space with an excited [banker] alpha male knows what it is to encounter a fundamentally alien form of life.

I’d like to pause here to catch my breath at the sheer effrontery on display. Sometimes even a vain yogi can be knocked for a sixer at such rank deliberate ignorance. {Several deep Pranayama breaths follow}.

Let’s continue with Mr. Nagel’s words:

I have said that the essence of the belief that [bankers] alpha males have experience is that there is something that it is like to be [a banker] an alpha male. Now we know that most [bankers] alpha males [(investment bankers, to be precise)] (alpha men, to be precise) perceive the external world primarily by [money sense, or moolah-location] their nose for fear, or power-location, detecting the reflections, from [monetary instruments or securities] blind souls or wide shiny eyes within range, of their own rapid, subtly modulated, [high-frequency shrieks] low-frequency growls. Their brains are designed to correlate the outgoing impulses with the subsequent [jingling or rustling] smiles or glances of exchangeable claims to value, and the information thus acquired enables [bankers] alpha males to make precise discriminations of [denomination, fungibility, composition, and theft-prevention protections] reproductive fitness, regression to the feminine mean, cultural background and loyalty inclinations comparable to those we make by vision. But [banker money sense] an alpha male’s nose for fear, though clearly a form of perception, is not similar in its operation to any sense that we possess, and there is no reason to suppose that it is subjectively like anything we can experience or imagine.

Pause for several deep breaths. Shiv! Shiv! Shiv! To continue:

This appears to create difficulties for the notion of what it is like to be [a banker] an alpha male. We must consider whether any method will permit us to extrapolate to the inner life of the [banker] alpha male from our own case, and if not, what alternative methods there may be for understanding the notion.

The Epicurean Dealmaker concludes with the following:

Fortunately for the history of analytic philosophy, Professor Nagel apparently abandoned this initial foray as unworkable and, frankly, too outrageous and incomprehensible for anyone but specialists in the study of Homo investmentbankerensis . His revised paper, reframed to less ambitious dimensions, seems to have gone on to some renown, notwithstanding his execrable timidity.

Fortunately for you and everyone like you, I am led to believe there is a [minor] miniscule blogsite located somewhere in cyberspace which tackles these recondite issues head on. Perhaps you can drop me a postcard if you find it.

By the way, is that a [$20 bill] check for $2000 in your pocket?

The only thing to add is that Mr. Thomas Nagel has no experience of conscious experience. Experience is commonly understood to come from practice. Maybe Mr. Nagel thought he was conflating the banker to the bat, but in reality he was conflating the banker to … what exactly? Hmm! A stone? But a stone ‘experiences’ erosion from natural forces such as wind, water and humans. Let’s see, maybe Mr. Nagel meant a natural force? Something with no tangibility? But natural forces are tangible. Ask a homeless boy shivering in the stoop of a shop in Bombay (my dear father in his early years in the city) if there is any cold in a tropical climate. He’ll tell you.

He may tell you, but not his alpha male father I knew so well. He, let me remind you , is a patriarch that dear blessed Leelavati experienced in some excruciating detail. It was only her practitioner bent that led her to imagine him as the practitioner he was in his youth, not as the imperious lord and master to be obeyed and brought down. Apparently, Mr. Nagel has problems seeing bankers as human beings, or even bats, for that matter.

In Praise of Leelavati

When Leelavati died she was
Maybe in her ’40s – three grown sons,
Four to five dead, detritus of a lifetime
Hard-scrabble and tough, unrelieved by Krishna
No quarter given, and none taken
As he learned in the school of hard knocks
So he taught Leelavati, to leave no quarter unturned.

As the mind of my grandmother began to unravel over the accruing contradictions, and unresolved problems of a lifetime, she found her behavior swinging from a loving compassionate extreme to a hateful and violent one. She could no longer treat her grown son as a child and get away with it – not in front of her young motherless daughter-in-law. So she began chanting the Gayatri to bring her dividing halves together. I recall my mother thinking it strange for a woman to recite this mantra, traditionally reserved for men. This was just one of the many ‘crazy’ things my grandmother did in her final years. Among the others was telling me, then less than a year old, to give my father a hard time (because all men are dogs), but to always support my mother.

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I thought with age these desires would go away,
But they don’t, I don’t know why!
I repeat past behaviors, some learned from you
Treat my now-grown son, raised to obey you
As a little boy to be beaten, no ifs ands or buts
While his bride watches horrified
And he does not raise a finger in self-defense
But walks away …
Leaving his young bride to me!

(NOTE THE BOLD REVISIONS TO PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED LINES).

Grandma would finish her daily chores by ten a.m. This included shopping for daily supplies at the market near the train station connection into downtown. Once a week she would oil and wash her very long very thick black hair and then let it air dry as she sat in our verandah with it loose and spread out around her, watching the people pass by. This too was considered strange – the neighbors were, most of them, from the more conservative and traditional north. But she was from the liberal south that prized the pursuit of knowledge and culture. There it was common to leave your hair to dry as you sought quick chats with friends passing by. Besides she had very long hair, reaching up to her ankles, that were very thick. It was more efficient to do so.

She walks into her death,
Likely, the Gayatri on her lips,
Un-hearing the train screaming,
Accelerating to its unwanted fate,
Un-listening to the people warning
Horrified, frozen, rooted to the spot,
On her chosen path, her work done,
Her beloved matched with a hand-picked angel,
The only one who’d stay with him,
On his own train, running on trackless path,
Nothing more left to do,
But recite the Gayatri
Be on her way.

She didn’t carry any identification. Most people didn’t in those days. Her body lay unclaimed and unidentified on the station platform for some hours before being recognized by a distant neighbor who had likely heard of her very long hair. I don’t know. My mother hears of her alleged accident and death some hours later. She hustles out there with Punjabi neighbors to the immediate north, leaving me behind in front of a lit stove. I was a few months shy of being a year old. No babysitters then. But I was fine on my own. She found me hours later, staring steadily with fascination into the lit fire, yet not a scratch on me. Probably its warmth was sufficient warning for me. Or was it Laxmi, my maternal grandmother, protecting me! Remember her? She died over a lit stove before her three children as she prepared their evening meal. Maybe I was remembering her lessons of lit stoves and fires! Or maybe I had seen this same fire many times as a normal routine before a warm bath at the hands of my mother, and was just waiting for her to return, patiently, from her other chores. And this patience too was Laxmi’s gift as she awaited with lit lamps for Venkat to return, most nights. At least, I like to think so. One grandmother holding me firmly in position while the other ended her life seeking the Gayatri. Isn’t that the right way for a yogi to exit?

Leelavati was cremated at Marine Lines crematorium. Her three sons conducted her final rites due on the eleventh day after her death in Nasik at the recommendation of a Maharashtrian gentleman. Dad slept exhausted after this long and draining saga, while his younger brothers went off to watch movies. Evidently they were closer to their older brother than to their mother, the youngest of whom was raised by my grandfather without my grandmother as they had already separated by then.

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As I waited for my mother to return,
The flames of the lit stove held me in thrall,
Its flames controlled by technology,
The slow blue and yellow flames below
Lick the side sensuously, and pass
Through some small contraption
Emerging above in a perfect whorl
Of short, intense, blue flames
With gold hearts, their steady noise
Soothing to my ears.

As Leelavati focused on
How the ancients kept their minds,
Steadfast in the face of doubts,
She died, holding on to her mind,
And the wild horses of that chariot,
From that old bloody fratricidal war,
Her constant words, steadying me,
I like to imagine, while Laxmi,
Counseled patience, and still more patience.

I imagine that one of the reasons why she didn’t live long was her growing realization of how her continued existence in the home of her married son would stress her fragile hold on sanity and come in the way of their future together. Reciting the Gayatri helped her to keep her mind integrated, long enough to train my mother.

So who was Leelavati? And who was Krishna, her husband? I’ll have to leave that for next time, when a different muse or tune may guide me.