This is the work of Manu. That’s why I condemn him and hate him. I denounce him, and want the world to know of this man, Manu, because unless we know of such people we will never be able to be free of them. They will continue to influence us in some form or another. Either it is race – even in America, if you are a negro, you are a sudra, a “nigger,” “untouchable.”
Whether you are a negro or a white man, both need to be acquainted with the insane philosophy of Manu. It is Manu who has influenced the two world wars in a very subtle way. And perhaps he will be the cause of the third, and last…a really influential man!
Even before Dale Carnegie wrote his book, How to Win Friends and Influence People, Manu knew all the secrets. In fact, one wonders how many friends Dale Carnegie has got, and how many people he has influenced. He is certainly not like Karl Marx, Sigmund Freud, Mahatma Gandhi. And all these people were absolutely unacquainted with the science of influencing people. They did not need to know, they had it in their very guts.
I don’t think any man has influenced humanity more than Manu. Even today, whether you know his name or not, he influences you. If you think yourself superior just because you are white or black, or just because you are a man or a woman, somehow Manu is pulling your strings. Manu has to be absolutely discarded.
I wanted to say something else, but I started with a wrong step. My Nani was very insistent: “Always step out of bed with your right foot.” And you will be surprised to know, today I did not follow her advice, and everything is going wrong. I started with a wrong “okay”; now, when in the very beginning you are not okay, naturally, everything that follows on goes berserk.
Is there still time for me to say something right? Good. Let’s begin again.
I wanted to go to the village but nobody was ready to support me. I could not conceive how I could exist there alone, without my grandfather, my grandmother, or Bhoora. No, it was not possible, so I reluctantly said, “Okay, I will stay in my father’s village.” But my mother naturally wanted me to stay with her and not with my grandmother, who from the very beginning had made it clear that she would stay in the same village, but separately. A little house was found for her in a very beautiful place near the river.
My mother insisted that I stay with her – for over seven years I had not been living with my family. But my family was not a small affair, it was a whole jumbo set – so many people, all kinds of people: my uncles, my aunts, their children and my uncle’s relatives, and so on and so forth.
In India the family is not the same as in the West. In the West it is just singular: the husband, the wife, one, two or three children. At the most there may be five people in the family. In India people would laugh – five? Only five? In India the family is uncountable. There are hundreds of people. Guests come and visit and never leave, and nobody says to them, “Please, it is time for you to go,” because in fact, nobody knows whose guests they are.
The father thinks, “Perhaps they are my wife’s relatives so it is better to keep quiet.” The mother thinks, “Perhaps they are my husband’s relatives….”