There is a deep mystery surrounding the origins of Baba Ramdev, much like the mystery surrounding Patanjali products: Where do they come from? In whose mouth have they been? Why do they smell like Baba Ramdev?
The search for these answers took me all over the country, from the inner depths of a mental institution to the outer fringes of more mental institutions, from the bottom of the deepest lake to the top of the deepest lake (the surface) to the shores of said lake. I caught some fish in the same lake the next day.
But first, I must begin at the beginning, because the beginning like the start is the start from where everything begins.
It all began, or started, one day in November. I mention it because it was exactly one week before the day everything began. The day everything began was exactly one week after this day which I just mentioned. On that day, we were having tea, me and a friend, when suddenly my friend said, ‘Oh crap I need to do my taxes,’ and left. That was the end of that.
But just before he left he said something quite intriguing. He said, ‘Oh crap I need to do my taxes.’ What was this ‘crap’ that he spoke about? I couldn’t ask him because in the month it took me to realize this, he had already left the tea shop and I still hadn’t paid. Consequently I was thrown out and asked to visit a local medical shop that could solve all my problems. This establishment was but a minute away by foot, a little longer by metre, and yet for some reason that day it took me a whole hour to get there. The weather also seemed strange, like it was thinking of lollipops and school days, with a strange mellow sting, but that was probably the angry wasp on my face.
Anyway, what I found in that medical shop was the first step in this journey. Let me tell you what happened: as I approached the medical shop I caught sight of a man murdering another man and then telling him to get lost. This did not work. But when I reached the medical shop the murderer was there grinning and predicting cricket scores! This was too much for me. I confronted him angrily and said, ‘Sir, make sure you tell people to get lost before shooting them.’ He said, ‘But that would mean shooting them in the back.’ So I punched him and was arrested.
In jail, caught in the throes of delirium and depression, I was visited in my sleep by a man in an orange robe, in the dead of night. He promised me great riches but first he said I had to test his products. ‘What products?’ I asked, scared and confused by the orangeness of his robe. ‘All kinds of products. We have products for constipation, for diarrhoea, for cancer, for headache, for shortness, for blackness, for Westerness, for femaleness. All kinds of illnesses.’ I agreed and he set me free by giving the warden a blowjob.
For the next ten days, I was placed in a small room and made to eat powders of every different colour and taste imaginable. On the tenth day I had grown a ten foot tentacle on my elbow and was let go. But before I left the man in the orange appeared again and said, ‘If you speak of this to anyone, I will personally make sure you have alternating diarrhoea and constipation for the rest of your life,’ which would probably even out so I ignored his warning.
And so here is the story of the origins of Baba Ramdev. Who is Baba Ramdev? I don’t even know who Baba Ramdev is.
Of course this was only the beginning. Later, if time permits, I shall tell you the end, and the end, much like the beginning is where everything ends.
(Note: Attached is a transcript I found in my research. It appears to be a conversation between Baba Ramdev and someone called Death, possibly a politician.)
Baba Ramdev: Ini mini myni mo catch the tiger…who goes there?
Death: It is I, Death.
Baba Ramdev: You want medicine for constipation?
Death: I do not need this medicine because I do not have constipation.
Baba Ramdev: Watchu’ talking about boy? Everyone has constipation.
Death: I do not because my diet is a balanced diet and my exercise is a balanced exercise like squats.
Baba Ramdev: Some day, death bhai, some day, your butt will feel like you’re sitting on an apple, then you’ll go to a medical shop asking for Patanjali product.
Death: I have come to take you home.
Baba Ramdev: Baba Ramdev does not die.
Death: Baba who? I speak to you oh orange one.
Baba Ramdev: Baba Ramdev, that’s my name.
Death: Oh, hahahaha, oh, ahahahhahaa.
Baba Ramdev: What’s so funny?
Death: hahahaha (clutching stomach). Pardon this reckless expression of mirth. I could not help it as I know your true name to be Srinivasan Tuhnnumudi. The contrast is humourous
Baba Ramdev: How dare you laugh at Baba Ramdev. I can cure cancer with yoga (shrieks in a high pitched voice and launches into a series of yoga poses)
Death: And I can cure the world of you oh ‘Baba Ramdev’.
(Death rises in the air and plunges like a snake into the stomach of Baba Ramdev. Baba Ramdev fends him off with rapid Surya Namaskar.)
Death: You have grown strong Srini.
Baba Ramdev: Don’t call me that if you know what’s good for you. I have medicines that, and I quote, ‘are worse than death’.
Death: Yes I was contacted for a comment and after tasting your medicine I couldn’t help but agree. But what you do not know is even you can’t withstand the power of your own medicine.
(Suddenly death reaches into his deathly robe and pulls out a bottle and readies his hand to throw it.)
Death: Say goodbye ‘Baba’.
Baba Ramdev: (screaming and attempting Vajrasana) No, no, no…..
(End of transcript)