Once upon a time my word was my bond

As a new émigré, Bapuji (one of a few titles for ‘father in Panjabi) took me around the usual landmarks of London.

I arrived in the middle of British winter from the heat of the tropics, wrapped up like a doll against the cold, the sweat dripping off me under all those layers. Bapuji could overdo the caring bit sometimes. But in those days one did not question the dictates of one’s elders. This was just as true for English families back then. Now though…sacré bleu, how things have changed! Nowadays, snot-ridden kids are telling their elders right from wrong. All that remains is for a kid to sue his parents for intellectual, aesthetic, and inescapable fear, a confetti of trauma where the penultimate charge would be the fear of being a victim due to the constant and repeated use of the wrong sexual position while the mother was carrying the child in her womb. The future is as blind as it is shrewd.

Reverting…

Among the many places Bapuji and I visited were vast and ornate religious dwellings, the cathedrals of St Pauls and Westminster Abbey. Bapuji showed deference in the vast wombs of these structures. I felt nothing. You may recall that I was born with ESP abilities, so I witness world from an additional spectrum. The large oversized candles adorning the catacombs left me unimpressed. These overbearing structures were not a place of meditation or of communion with ‘god’. They were commercial enterprises. Fagan draped in religious gowns smilingly enticing the entrance tithe from visitors.

Weeks later, Bapuji and I drove to Coventry. In those days, the current motorway network did not exist, and Bapuji, an intrepid adventurer, seldom took the standard route. He would always opt for the scenic route; the longer the drive, the better. Small country lanes were eye-opening. We would stop constantly to visit local shops – remember, in those days commercial enterprise was dominated by the sole trader, whose wares differed from region to region, so visiting them was like taking in the culture of the land.

A turban-wearing Sikh dressed in rather expensive three-piece suits, with a wonderful command of the English language, a humorous twinkle in his eye, a quick wit, and a deep raucous laughter that came from deep in his belly, Bapuji was welcomed wherever we went. Ofcourse, racial abuse was a given, but he would side-step it all with grace and studied indifference, and continue with the matter in hand.

At many villages, Bapuji made a point of visiting the local church. In those days they remained open, vandalism and disrespect for property having not yet crossed the pond from the US of A. Individualism had not as yet descended into ‘destroy whatever lies in your path’…that particular psyche-cancer came along some twenty-five years later.

The churches Bapuji and I visited always had a ready and waiting congregation present – the occupiers of the surrounding graveyard. Some were nice, while others were nasty and vile psyches, and all were draped in their period clothing. It is an interesting fact that the buried dead always wear clothing from their period; they may change their attire when you meet them again, but it will always be from the same period in which they lived and died. Dead tailors must be doing a roaring trade, methinks. Even their original social and class bearing is impeccably observed…how interesting.

Regardless, the local villages’ ‘places of worship’ were enveloped in a far more pure essence of worship than the commercial cathedrals of the city.

Years later, grown up and traveling on my own, I visited places of worship of other religions and dominations.

I found the Moslim Mosques to be always shrouded in a quiet, yet angry and painful, atmosphere. The Jewish Synagogues left me unmoved and I found in them no essence of peace. The African-Caribbean churches were always happy and peaceful places. The Hindu Mandirs were indifferent, their atmosphere contrived and pleasant, but lacking in solemnity and peace. The Sikh Gurdwaras were in the main very peaceful, though nowadays there are exceptions occurring and the atmosphere is on the downward spiral there too. The most consistently elegant, serene, graceful atmosphere I have found and experienced is at the Buddhist places of worship. Well done guys. I hope you do not lose your way.

Out of all the places of worship I have visited the Sikh Gurdwara is an interesting one to study. You see, once upon a time, a Sikh’s word stood for truth and honesty. Then they embraced modern governance and commercialism, and they changed.

Why and how?

Generally, a place of worship is a space of calm and peaceful introspection. But it can change, morphing for example into the kind of place that we see in the modern Sikh Gurdwara.

Let us remember that any given place of worship represents its parishioners’ changing psyche. Differences, disputes, arguments, and quarrels are part of the natural evolution of a congregation. They reflect changing social ideas, practices and mobility. But a place of worship is also the one single place where factions and groups could come together and find common ground with each other.

Making the transition into the 20th century Sikhs were subject to a social, commercial and a global awakening – a mobility metamorphosis. Ofcourse there were going to be disputes and disagreements about the relative merits of embracing the future or holding on to the dead wood of the past. The elders refused any dilution of the past, and saw the coming changes as harbingers of a weakened Sikh ethos. The youth wanted a more malleable environment. Quarrels arose, factionalism became entrenched, and the spectre of a large-scale violence loomed. The Sikhs were living under British ignorance and misunderstanding of how non-European social communities evolve, and of course lacking patience the British got themselves involved in Sikh Gurdwara affairs. Sitting in the driving seat, fuelled by the masterful intelligence called ignorance, the British used the barrel of the gun to impose on the Sikhs an utterly unreligious and anti-Sikh-ethos set of practices.

The Brits imposed elections on each Gurdwara. In one single stroke, they threw out the seasoned and the pious, who had ultimately always carried the day, and brought in the failed social politician. The politician-idiot, with mega-ego as his brotherly-advisor, seeking self-importance, and realising that he stood zero chance in the world of real politics, groomed and charmed the parishioners into voting for his brand of Sikhism.

The original Sikh ethos died. A new socio-commercial Sikh ethos was born.

Like cancer, which when it spreads, weakens and lessens the durability of the old original cells, so was the fate of the Sikhs with the introduction of Gurdwara elections.

Such have been the changes accepted by the failed social politicians who are at the helm of the Gurdwaras that the small side-arm kirpan, always carried by the ordained seer-Sikh (Khalsa), has had its defensive effectiveness nullified, having been reduced from nine inches to six inches. On top of which, British interference – eagerly accepted by the elected Gurdwara pseudo-leaders – means that langar, food which is respected for the fact that it is imbued with the Grace of the Divine, is now cooked according to English health and safety regulations.

The political-cowards who comprise the trustees of Sikh gurdwaras actually try to outdo each other in how they jump when asked by their British masters, such is their desperation to be liked and spoken about nicely by the British authorities.

What religious/spiritual stupidity.

I need to explain what is meant by ‘stupid’ when uttered by those of my background. We divide consciousness into three groups: the first group is the 1% of the population who acknowledge their own ignorance about most things. The second group is the 1% who are called the wise, but who rationalise that what they know in the scheme of things amounts to next-to-nothing. The third group is the remaining 98%, who know very little but claim far deeper knowledge, and we call them the stupid. I am going to illustrate my point using the example of the April-May 2014 ‘election’ for the management committee tasked with running a Sikh Gurdwara known locally as Hibernia Gurdwara, Hounslow, UK (its fuller title can be googled).

Where once upon a time a Sikh’s word was his/her bond, now we have a prime example of a regrettable and new global Sikh phenomenon happening at the Hibernia Gurdwara ‘place of worship’.

Let me summarise some of the conditions of elections for this ‘sanctuary of Sikh worship’. The first point is that an outside body will oversee the election. Sikhs, who the world over were known for their honesty and truthfulness now do not even trust each other. This means that not a single Sikh at this place of Sikh worship trusts their fellow Sikh.

How shameful.

Another condition of election is that a clean police criminal check report be presented for scrutiny. Yet another is that non-refundable fees have to be paid by those standing for election. Furthermore, one must be a registered member of the Gurdwara, and provide bio-data documents in support of one’s application to register. Other conditions for elections to this Gurdwara may still be available on their website, and they make for fascinating reading.

The one thing that stands out in all of this is that the Gurdwara is not a place of free Sikh worship. It is a members only organisation. You have to be a listed member of this place of ‘god worship’ or else…

I refuse to sign-up to any type of ‘God card’ carrying members-only club or organisation…clearly I shan’t be welcome in heaven unlike the motley crew.

Simply adding a word to what is simply a members club in order to denote it a place of worship does not make it a place of worship any more than the ‘Muslim Parliament of the UK’ is a parliament in any way, shape or form, or calling 400m sq shop a superstore makes it a superstore.

The point that the failed politicians who grasp for power in Gurdwaras cannot recognise is that, unlike them, the general public is clued up about what passes for an acceptable religious functionary. The community has always been well up to date on who has a criminal record, and what type of crime it refers to. But what the congregation did was choose their own representative based on that person’s religious and seva credentials.

Seva is the cornerstone of Sikh ethics and ethos. This selfless service is prized higher than my type of ability, where one has the capacity to speak in minute detail about any given religious or dharmic text. And I, in my position have to humble myself in the presence of one who is engaged in seva. So, until the British government’s interference in matters in which they had zero understanding, the Gurdwaras were managed by the devout, and at times by the sternly devout. But the common thread connecting these devotees was their desire and ambition to engage in humble selfless service (seva) on behalf of the Gurdwara establishment. This automatically included washing and cleaning the toilets; and hand-washing the used food trays, glasses, cups and utensils. The humblest and most prized of the many duties involved cleaning the footwear of the congregation.

But the modern elected-committee peacocks, chests puffed, are never seen doing these chores until elections are around the corner. These peacocks wear the full English dress of suit, boot and tie. What the elected rulers of the tiny fiefdoms to this day do not realise is that the tie stands as a symbol of the cross of Jesus of Nazareth, and it announces the wearer as a devout Christian (read more on this in my essay ‘The crucifixion tie’). Then these very peacocks denounce Sikh children who embrace Englishness or a European life-style, and they wonder what transpired to make their children turn away from Sikhism. Meanwhile, these every peacocks, themselves wearing emblems of Christianity, make sure their wives wear full Panjabi suit when attending Gurdwara. At home the man rules the roost, wearing European clothing and mimicking European behaviour, while their wives follow meekly and more often than not wear Asian clothing. Watching all of this, their children assume that Europeanism is power and freedom, and they defect as soon as they are able to Europeanism.

In Bapuji’s time, they had no choice but to wear European clothing, but nowadays no one is forced.

The only thing missing from further progression into European modernity is that Sikh men have not as yet moved to wearing the skull cap instead of their turban, and Sikh women have not yet fully argued the point that if leg skin must remain covered then tights and stockings do that job adequately, or that a wig, such as Jewish women wear when they leave the house, suffices to cover their hair at the Gurdwara.

After all, Sikhism is the most modern and flexible faith currently trading its wares. So why should Sikh women not be allowed to wear a wig if their husbands can wear European dress to the same religious function and facility?

The modern Sikh has forgotten that even after the seer-Sikh (Khalsa) has passed a resolution an ordinary Sikh woman can veto their decision and ask them to reconsider and come up with an alternative decision.

The modern Sikh has forgotten that in other faiths a woman is given rights, and at times even given equal rights to a man. This is not true in Sikhism. No rights, let alone equal rights, have been given to Sikh women. In Sikhism of old, something that has been forgotten, it is Sikh women who conferred equal status on men; men were powerless to confer equality on those who are superior to them.

Lest Sikh men forget, it is women who give us life, and mother us. How on earth can we be superior or even equal to that which gives life to Life?

This basic principle, lost in all other faiths, is the first truth of Sikhism.

So, if Sikh women attend Gurdwara in their cultural clothing, why do Sikh men wear clothing of another culture to attend the same religious function?

Inferiority complex!

If Sikh men had an ounce of Sikh integrity they would never again enter or attend a Gurdwara in anything other then their cultural attire.

Will I see it happen?

Nope.

Why?

Because Sikh men lack the confidence, integrity, honesty and pride in their own culture, save for wearing the glamorous turban.

In the process, Gurdwaras are fast losing the essence of purity they once exuded so abundantly. Places of worship are becoming commercial worship centers. Seva is seldom done by the elected politicians, who walk with an air of arrogance, accompanied by a personal mantra of rudeness. If approached they dismissively wave you away in the direction of another who manages a portfolio catering to your needs. This person listens but knows his decision will be over-ruled by the head-peacock, the same one who waved you away in the first place.

And in all of this aren’t I the lucky one – that even if I wanted to run for pseudo-important elections, I have misplaced all my bio-paperwork, without which the initial form to become a member of the Gurdwara club cannot be rubber-stamped.

Oh well, I’ll just have to remain a nobody.

I cannot even shed a tear at this sad poignant moment. I wonder if it is because I need to be registered as a member of a pseudo-gurdwara-club to shed a tear?!

Well, I could always approach the head-peacock for clarification, but I don’t think a portfolio exists for crocodile tears…

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The Crucifixion Tie

From a young age I had a natural flair for perception that entailed an intimate understanding of phenomena beyond self-consciousness. Artistic simplifications, such as marrying multiple and totally unrelated colours, made complete sense to me though others found it confusing. Even now, when I paint, if my paintbrush touches a colour I never baulk at using it regardless of its relationship to adjacent colours. Eventually the colour palette looks satisfactory; and albeit that it may seem strange, it appeals.

Similarly, quantum consciousness is an omnivorously transcendent yet simplistic entity. However, to the ordinarywallahs it is like a swaggering revolution, laced with panoramic blandness.

In the England of my childhood – a hard, unforgiving, intolerant, rude, obnoxious society – I chose to wear unshorn hair proudly. Then, upon entering the secondary school system, aged eleven or so, I chose to wear a full adult turban. The turban made me stand out, ofcourse. However, no one ever made a demeaning or derogatory remark that I ever heard regarding my turban, in school or outside of it.

At a personal level, growing up, I greeted some people with humour, and kept others at a distance, since by now my ESP gave me insight into their nasty minds, and so I kept them at arm’s length. Humour and mischief were my natural traits. The combination would get me into trouble, and just as often get me out of many a tight situation.

When I took the first steps in a career that I chose rather than the one chosen for me, I found it irritating to have to wear a suit, boot and tie. The regimented dress felt like being back at school. But what my chosen career environment allowed me to do was to use my intuitive ability against the tax regime, and to suggest appropriate legal vehicles for lowering or mitigating death duty, now called inheritance tax. I was good. I read endlessly, especially the older tax regulations, and I always found an overlooked or forgotten law or rule to resuscitate that would help lower tax liabilities. The joy was not the income I derived from such work, but the intellectual sharpness I engaged to manoeuvre the tax regime in my favour. In fact, I found the taxman (they were all men at that time) very friendly and accommodating, and not in the least overbearing or threatening. They were there to complete a remit given by the government of the day. And they did that very well. I was there to see a way around the government’s latest methods to raid more of one’s income, saving or inheritance.

An accountant’s job is to tell you how much tax you have to pay. A tax planner’s duty is to locate a legal framework to lower the same. They are two very different disciplines. The most telling aspect of my personality was my strict adherence to the fact that tax had to be paid, and that foul means would not be entertained in order to circumvent this. Coupled with this was my ability to see an investment opportunity in the financial or property market. I worked mostly on a limited part-time basis, and only to assist the select few, and increasingly I refused to accept any monetary payment in return. My job satisfaction was derived from being able to find a method to lower tax liability which others from the same discipline were unable to find or hadn’t even considered. Money never motivated me. A sense of accomplishment enthused and sustained me then, as it does to this day.

One day, when I was visiting a colleague to advise his team of financial advisors, his boss invited me for a chat in his office. He offered me a job with a very handsome remuneration package. I asked if he was a practicing Christian and also a stickler for office discipline. His answer to both was affirmative. In response, I suggested that he appoint somebody else since I would have to decline his generous offer. He was dumbfounded and sought an explanation. As a Sikh, I told him, I refuse to wear the insignia confirming my adherence to Christianity and which underscores Jesus Christ of Nazareth as my god-conduit. The man was taken aback, but he composed himself and offered to exempt me from having to wear a tie. I thanked him, before pointing out that office discipline was vital for productivity, and that others would follow my lead and request various laxities and relaxations around the office, which would in turn affect the functioning of the office.

About twenty-five years after this incident, and while I was at a Gujarati curry-café (what the hell is a curry house?) someone called out my name; the face looked familiar. We greeted each other warmly and the man insisted that I meet his family, who were dining at the same place. Gathering his large extended family together, he pointed to me and said, “You know I am always telling you about a very proud Sardarji [Sardarji is the title for a turban-wearing Sikh], with very strong principles, who would not sell out his faith for any amount of money? Well, this is that gentleman.” Duly impressed, the family returned to their seats, and I turned to ask what on earth was he on about. The man reminded me about the job offer that had been made me all those years ago, recounted to me my reasons for turning it down, and relayed to me how impressed the company’s entire staff – of whom he was one – had been with my integrity for not selling out my strong beliefs in return for a very handsome financial package. “As a matter of interest, how much does that position pay now?” I enquired. “With someone of your ability, well over a six figure sum plus bonuses”. “Wow”, I thought to myself, “I turned it down, I must have been mad.” Yet, the reality is that even today I would refuse to accept that offer if it meant I had to wear a tie.

All my shirts are collarless. And I have always worn an amended version of the traditional Indian jacket/coat over the shirt. And, yes, I look very handsome in that outfit.

Since my early adulthood, I have been sharing why non-Christians need not wear a tie, as it signifies being a Christian. The tie stands for both the cross, and the crucifixion of Jesus Christ of Nazareth. However, the fear of not getting a job, or even of losing one, exerts enormous blackmail-style pressure on individuals to wear a tie. It is a very sad and indeed narrow mindset that makes the European world insist that everyone dress like them, or else you will not get a job, or land the much-needed business deal. What do the Europeans fear?

Is the race-European any less moronic than the Islamist who insists women wear the face veil and be covered from head to toe?

It seems you can paint your house any colour, as long as it is bland.

Someone is suffering from a lack of self-esteem, and in doing so they are the mirror image of the “fanatical Islamist”.

To the Sikhs who appear on England-based television stations I appeal: please have the dignity to not wear the Christian tie under your long beards. You are not Christians, nor are you emotional cowards. Your confused dress gives out an equally confusing subliminal message to the viewers. It says: be a Sikh, but put a higher value on yourself by dressing like a Christian.

How sad.

I do not want Christians, Jews or Muslims to dress like me, a Sikh.

You call only your mother “mother”, and I call only my mother, “mother”. Why do you insist that I have to call your mother and not my own, “mother”?

Please, grow up, and enjoy cultural diversity.

We in England are very lucky to have a fantastic and fascinating global community, culture, diet, and integration. Yes, we are integrated. And no, we do not want or need to mimic the European cultural-ethnic style to indicate integration, for that is insulting to both the host migrants and the new migrants. We need to value diversity, and not crucify it into blandness like the indigenous migrants demand.

And always remember that the people now called Indians were the ones who vacated the land that came subsequently to be occupied by Caucasians, and that now is called Europe.

Humans have always been and will always remain migrants.

Another truth humans cannot escape is that we are guardian-tenants of a land, we are never its owners.

Something to reflect on.

ESP and Baba Vanga

Extra Sensory Perception, a mouthful if ever there was one for something as simple as seeing, can also be described as ‘sight with fringe benefits’.

In my book Mischievous Mystic, (not in print – deemed too controversial), I expand on and delve deeper into the mechanism of ESP, and why ninety-nine percent of practitioners get it so wrong. In this article I demonstrate why ESP is not the all-seeing, all-knowing brigade-font of audiovisual information.

It will come as a shock to readers that ESP is very limited, with access closely controlled by its senior authorities. Of course, access increases as one moves up the ESP ladder. Shocking isn’t it, that ESP and advanced awareness are not too dissimilar to career progression?

And those ‘born’ with the proverbial ESP silver spoon in their mouth naturally get fast-tracked into the cushier responsibilities. Then, there are the likes of yours truly who is limited to being no more than a field worker in the industry. Oh, well, I suppose someone has to be the Indian. We cannot all be Chiefs, can we?

So what is the mystery about ESP?

Well, it is shrouded in lies, as promoted by the very ESP practitioners who want to create allure and mystery, beguiling ordinarywallahs into fear, respect, and adulation, and amassing financial benefit for themselves. And the ESP groupies happily spread ambiguous statements and attain infamy for their chosen ‘leader’, when their original plan was simply to secure fame for that ‘leader’.

What you need to know is that everything in creation is ESP capable. From the tiniest grain of sand, to the mega big-shot in the financial markets who manages to pick the right stock at the right time for maximum profit. Shedloads of money, and it is all down to basic ESP attunement? Well, I never!

If that is the case, why do ninety-nine percent get it so horribly wrong?

Because ESP is not there to assist or to provide a shortcut solution to life’s problems. Those problems are your reality, which you have to get through. And on top of that, ESP is not some God boon either. As for the whole, ‘Dear God…’ thing, let me set that record straight…well reasonably straight.

God, my dears, is not some fat slob with a beer belly who has over-indulged himself on Mrs God’s cooking. Nor is God some fat guy with gastrointestinal problems, rosy cheeks, and a ready smile, who overlooks each of your indiscretions. No. God, I am told by my seniors, is a tad more strict; and in any case, God is not involved in the minute running of your life. You may consider yourself to be more important than a grain of sand, but to ‘Dear God’ you and the grain of sand are exactly the same. Nevertheless, each minute, each breath, and any given moment of your life, is minutely controlled, but not by God, rather by the job-lot apprentice field workers. People like yours truly make their life as difficult as we possibly can. Well, why not? No one gave us a break. We had to do it the hard way.

It is the newbies, the job-lot apprentice field workers, who guide, change, challenge, and turn your life upside down, at their whim. And why do they do this? Because they can. Well, actually, they can’t, but they have to follow strict guidelines to create challenges of one type or another to test the ordinarywallahs, thus sorting the talentlesswallahs from the possiblewallahs…and you have probably understood that the talentless are the ninety-nine percent.

It is the job-lot apprentice field workers who give the smart-alecks wealth and power. But these are not so much gifts than the sternest of tests. Get caught up in your illusion of your own wealth and power, and you have signed up to life cycles of misery as a third-rate three-dimensional artifact always chasing your tail, rebirthing in the wealth and power circle.

Then, of course, poverty is an equal punishment. However, in poverty one is far more malleable to the idea that something greater exists, which one needs to search out and befriend.

Nevertheless, in each and every situation if you do not, in total honesty, practice humbleness and be genuine in your gratitude to the system called God, then rest assured that you will rebirth in lifestyles opposite in their admiration and adulation of God.

It is subservience to the God concept that allows future birth in its various guises (plant, animal, human-animal), which then eventually avails one (through linked association) of access to the symmetry from which you may get that one opportunity to secure promotion as a fledgling student, which may in turn allow you to become a job-lot apprentice field worker.

And who are these applicants, and what is their basic attribute?

Humbleness and piety, as demonstrated by Baba Vanga – a ‘gifted’ lady who lived from 31st January 1911 to 11th august 1996. Born in Bulgaria under the Ottoman Empire, she lived a life of simple piety. Many outlandish statements are attributed to her. For example, she is said to have claimed the beginning of a third world war lasting from 2010 to 2014; a nuclear bomb detonation in Europe; Muslims controlling Rome as a Caliphate; a saviour from the Far East, named after an orb in the celestial sky, who would build amongst other things a global road-rail link, while uniting religions under his guidance; the ascent of cybor humans; off-the-shelf organs leading to long age; contact with ‘humans’ from space. In fact, she announced that aliens were living among humans at her time. They came from the third planet from earth. Furthermore, animals would behave like plants and plants like animals. And the end of earth would be around the 3700s.

Ok, now let’s focus on one of Baba Vanga’s statements, and the context around it.

The person named after a celestial orb was an intriguing individual who lived during her time. He was born in Korea, had chosen to follow Jesus Christ, and the teaching in the Bible. He became a wealthy industrialist, moved to the United States, amassed even greater wealth, rubbed shoulders with American Presidents, and had ideas about a global road rail network. He pushed Christianity to the hilt, in the process establishing a new church.

Now, let us put Baba Vanga herself into context.

She lived at a time when her land was under occupation by the Ottoman Empire. Mohammedans (as they were called in those days) were brutal. A saviour in the form of a Christian, an indigenous person of Korea, Mr. Moon – wealthy beyond reason and promoting Christianity – fulfilled the ‘superman’ criteria. She claimed, it is said, that there would be a time in the future when Moslems (correct spelling of that time) would run Europeans out of Europe and set up a Mohammedan state there.

In moments of desperation people cling to Hope and his wife Wishful. In the same manner, Sikhs of today increasingly cling to Hope and Wishful, thinking that their kingdom will somehow be returned to them. Baba Vanga hoped too, however her utterances while coloured with some real facts were misread.

It is on the cards that Europe will become an Islamic continent. In many of my essays I have been at pains to point this out to the race-Europeans. However, fine-tuning circumstances may prevent this from happening.

For, governance or occupation has two faces. One is autocratic rule and the other is peaceful accommodation. Autocratic rule decays in time, leading to the eventual subjugation of the rulers, including mass death of the ruler-race. Peaceful rule/governance usually means that although the land is under occupation the indigenous have freedom to live their own life, custom and culture. In this instance, the overthrow of the ruler-race is organic, peaceful and purposeful.

For Europe to live a peaceful life, it would, beginning now, have to start negotiations for a successful handover of the continents under its illegal occupation to the residents of those countries who predated their arrival. In addition, Europe along with India, China, one Arab country, and Russia, will have to aid the re-formation of African countries. This gesture of maturity will remove the spectre of Islamic war and of a nuclear type weapon detonation on Britain, mainland Europe, north America and Australia.

Let me add some historical perspective. Scandinavian races, after their exploits, returned occupied land. India, which ruled and dominated Europe as well as most other parts of the globe, returned occupied lands. Sanskrit and modern Indian words are still in vogue in many European languages. India left the area, and the Caucasians occupied the land now called Europe. Yet, both the Scandinavian people and the population of India are admired and respected globally. Race-European can exercise a similar option. If not, then the writing is on the wall for a devastation beyond that which can be done using nuclear weapons. For, it is not a nuclear weapon that will scar the European mainland, but a weapon far more elaborate and lethal.

With respect to Baba Vanga’s indication of aliens living amongst us, there she is accurate. These Beings do not need a craft like ours to travel the galaxy or cosmic space. Their ‘vehicles’ do not have ‘lights’ and nor do they hover over cities or rural areas. They are invisible, until they choose to become visible. And when they do become visible they imitate the setting. Furthermore, they do indeed change their physical appearance to look like the main occupiers of a given area. And, no, they do not all take on the appearance of humans. To them, we humans are like the remote isolated communities who live in far-flung jungles and we who patronizingly find interesting. Similarly, to the aliens we are backwards, retarded and dumb, and they too patronize us with their interest. They value piety and humbleness; their heart functions close to an optimal best, whereas we are greedy and arrogant, and our heart functions far below ten percent of its capacity. And, no, I am not talking about the physical heart either, but our real heart.

Baba Vanga was cheeky enough to suggest the aliens living amongst us are from the third planet from earth. How very clever of her, to leave it so ambiguous.

If she had carried on improving the medium of ‘inner sight’ whilst operating out of the public limelight, eventually Baba Vanga would have been in a position to apply as a job-lot field apprentice in our world. More of whom follows later.

At this point, I should clarify that virtually every head of organised or fly-by-night god-associated clubs never attain the basic qualities that allow them to master humbleness or piety. They are an excellent example of arrogance and ego masquerading as ‘deity’ on earth.

Now that the basic foundation has been detailed, I will endeavor to make sense of how ESP actually works:

How many of you have worked as, or have at least seen on the silver screen, air traffic controllers (ATC) at work? I assume all of you are familiar with the job they do, to some degree. Now, if an ATC was directing a passenger jet, only to realise that the communication was one-way, whereby they could hear the pilot but not the other way around, you’d assume that panic would set in in the mind of the ATC.

The ATC realises, in this scenario, that the plane will hit a mountain whose visibility is currently obscured by low-hanging clouds in three hundred miles. He also realises from what the pilot tells him that the instrument panels in the plane aren’t functioning accurately. The pilot has no idea what awaits him and his passengers. The plane is heading for a disaster. What can the ATC do?

Like any good silver screen hero, the ATC gets into his 4×4 and drives at breakneck speed, covering one hundred miles in twenty minutes to reach the danger zone. Then he climbs an adjacent mountain to that which the plane is heading for, and holds a placard aloft directing the pilot to change course. Our ATC hero has done all of this in the hope that the mountain he is atop will, like the danger-mountain, at the right moment be cleared of clouds so that the pilot can read the warning sign.

On the silver screen such heroism may well work, but in real life what are the chances of it doing so?

How do you cover one hundred miles on your average motorway, and then climb a fifteen-thousand foot mountain, in twenty minutes? And what assurance have you that the warning sign you’re using to communicate the plane’s imminent danger is going to be seen, let alone read?

It’s all a tad unrealistic, you will agree.

But such is precisely the woe of all ESP practitioners.

ESP practitioners know things, but they are not given access to amend the design of a given template. This is why in my case although I know far more than I share, my hands are tied. I must remain a silent observer to a large degree, responsible only for indicating impending disasters, such as that of yet another human wipe-out, because the template allows me to do so. The template is not a consciousness per se. It is a template. The seniors who mastermind the entire shooting gallery are the ones privy to the outcome they seek.

Our existence on this third-rate iron-ore rust bucket that we so proudly call Mother Earth – without whom we could not exist as corporeal beings, but whom we rape and violate for personal wealth anyway – is a punishment and correction block from which release is possible only if one practices humbleness and piety, in each and every situation.

Guys, the reality is that you are here to be used by others. The users get to extend their stay in this penitentiary while you, the used and abused, get an earlier parole.

And how do I know all of this? Because I have the advantage of ESP.

Fat lot of good it does me, as no one is going to pay a blind bit of notice to what I have to say.

However, I have done my bit, and each time I share the warning and the impending disaster, my parole date is brought a tad nearer…thanks to the mineral-excavating greed-men.

Human wipe-out will occur because humans are excavating valuable minerals the planet needs to deflect the sun’s harmful rays. She needs those minerals even more badly then humans do.

But do the greedy humans care?

Not a jot.

Hence, the impending wipe-out.

And what can ESP do about this?

Nowt.

2016 message to all who follow these essays

 What a single person can do in this world…

Hello, or as a Sikh would say with hands folded and head titled slightly forward, Satsiriakalji (Sat Siri Akalji).

I am humbled by you, the followers of this site.

Never did I imagine that anyone would be interested in my writing. Albeit that my follower numbers are relatively small in the scheme of things, I am truly taken aback. Thank you, thank you.

Let me also extend my apologies for not responding to your emails. As many of you may know, I have kept myself technologically illiterate on purpose. This means that I get to pen my essays using, you know, an actual pen and pieces of paper, and that they then go through some alchemical process rendering them printed words on a screen which you then are able to peruse. Basically, I rely on others; and they have assured me that answering emails requires an altogether different alchemical sleight-of-hand than readying my essays for publication.

I do indeed want to respond to each email individually, but am caught between lacking the technological know-how and the time of others to enable me to do so. Also, I am of a generation where the flourish of the fountain pen, the faint scratch of nib across paper, is the only proper way to communicate in writing with another person, an investment of time, labour and care that the clackety-clack of a keyboard lacks.

I recall how intrigued I was the first time I watched a quill expert at his task. I was hooked. Many years later, at school, I relished the opportunity to write with the steel tip nib from the inkwell in our desk. However, the exercise only lasted the one session, never to be repeated again. The interaction of blotting paper, ink smudge and the precision with which to use that instrument has lived with me since, even as the biro stole a march on the beloved fountain pen. The inkwell died an unceremonious death, and the world moved on. After the biro came its space-age version – a thing you could write with under water, upside down and so forth. Regrettably, the speed of dictation at school meant I too had to conform. I too became a Biroite. This was the age when men carried in their breast pocket a row of three to four Biro pens; red, blue, black, and the occasional green one too.

In spite of these considerations and quirks of mine, and at the risk of penning what might appear a blanket response to everybody, my sense of moral hospitality and courtesy have led me to this brief message to you all – from which I trust and hope that you will each take that which you need and want.

My father, a very handsome, happy, humorous, jolly, turban wearing fellow, always dressed in double-breasted or three-piece suits, with turn-up trousers, carried his fountain pens in the inside breast pocket. This flamboyant gentleman invariably had a matching tie and pocket square adorning his outside breast pocket. He loved his fountain pens. I have a few of his favourite ones that he passed on to me, the earliest of which has his name engraved on it. In 2041, that pen will be one hundred years old, and it still works.

My father too had to adapt to the dreaded Biro revolution, but in keeping with his delusions of grandeur (I suffer from the same fate too!) he’d purchase a more up-market instrument that came as a set and included a fountain pen, and a pencil. I do the same.

My fountain pen loyalty, like my father’s before me, has never dimmed. When I want to put a smile on a persons face, I write using a fountain pen selected with care for the occasion, emphasizing their qualities of thoughtfulness, consideration and humanity. To see that person smile, and their friends awed, at receiving a missive is still in this day and age a sight I cherish. I love writing letters – they embody as well as impart a tactile connection, which the SMS and email age sorely lacks.

I hope you will accept this excuse of mine as a long-overdue apology for not responding to your emails. But, honestly, if you want to blame somebody, blame the editor for being a product of the twenty-first century and its always-on-the-go stresses.

So, what have my essays – and more importantly, your readership of them – achieved?

1. A women’s domestic violence group from the Far East contacted me to express their appreciation for my ‘Honour Killing’ essay. Reading it, they were moved to double their efforts in standing firm against domestic violence and honour killing.

2. A university from south India wrote to say that it was henceforth using my essays to teach students how to write English. Yes, even I was a tad embarrassed by that accolade since I am not English, and English was the fourth language I had to learn.

3. The head of a spiritual Sikh ‘body’ in the UK was reprimanded in one of my essays; I hear that he has gone on to modify his words and actions in accordance with the insight I provided.

4. A universal misquote by the Sikhs, which had continued unchallenged for over two centuries, was corrected in one of the essays, and has had a global impact.

5. Sikh television stations in the UK took on board my comments about their lack of professionalism, which change I am confident will lead to them starting on the path to being taken seriously.

6. Sikhs globally are now readdressing their ill thought out Sikh calendar revamp following my most recent essay.

7. Globally, the security apparatus’ persecution and invasion of individuals’ privacy has been amended after I went live about ‘Police Brutality’ and how my family suffers. This is an ongoing battle of course, but change is beginning to happen.

8. In an ongoing dialogue with the security apparatus, in October 2015 I shared with them the glaring gaps in security at airports and the ways in which these could be exploited. The emphasis was that a system is only as good as its weakest link.

9. My essays have led to a collection of new research and ‘out of the box’ thinking. Albeit that I receive no credit, it is heartening to see changes in attitude, thinking and approaches that will in time come to have global benefits.

All of the above progress and any that lie in the future are made possible only because WordPress has given people like me a platform to share our insight. And in writing my essays all I am doing is executing a duty entrusted to me; nothing more, nothing less.

Finally…

I extend my good wishes for the coming twelve months to each one of you, as well as to all those whom you care for and love. I hope each one of you disowns instances and feelings of annoyance, agitation, and aggression.

Please, relish each moment, and not because it could be your last, but because each moment can only be itself, it comes and then goes, and cannot be replicated. So enjoy it.

May you find balance, serenity and poise in your life. May you also gain deeper awakening, and make peace your mantra.

May the inner purity in each of you bless your own selves; and to the atheists I say, may the natural environment invoke a deeper and more peaceful introspection for your ongoing benefit.

I leave you with a quote penned three decades ago: ‘A bull (Adam), a cow (Eve) and their calf (Apple) are grazing. It is the middle of the night. In a distant building, a late-night party is in full-swing. Apple enquires ‘Why do not humans respect the beauty that is night?’ Adam replies ‘In their ignorance they do not realise; however, when they eventually evolve into animals, then they too will understand and roam like us in this heaven…’ (Avtar)

…my love, affection and care extends to you all.

Avtar