According to Osho, mentioning Swami Yoga Chinmaya’s name is an economical cue that instantly creates shared laughter and happiness; it’s a tacit understanding, like a numbered joke, because his intense, logical seeking turns into delightfully ridiculous questions. The name relaxes the audience, signals something beautiful is coming, and reminds us that life is an exclamation, not a question to be overthought.
He says the name because everyone knows a light, funny question is coming, so people relax and smile.
From the Discourses
Passages where Osho speaks to this question — each links to the complete discourse.
I am terribly scared to ask this question. Why do you mention swami yoga chinmaya's name when he asks a question? And why does something in me have to ask this question?
THIS is from Deva Nirvesh. First, Swami Yoga Chinmaya's name makes you laugh -- and it saves me a joke. That is economical. Second it makes you happy, it makes Swami Chinmaya happy, it makes me happy. You are happy, you laugh; Chinmaya is happy, his name has been mentioned; I am happy because you all are happy. So at no cost everybody is simply happy! That's why. And it is a tacit understanding now that when Swami Yoga Chinmaya asks a question it is bound to be ridiculous. So just mentioning the name is enough! He is a great seeker and when you are a great seeker you stumble upon many ridiculous questions. He goes on thinking about everything and when you go on thinking about everything you are bound to find many ridiculous questions. In fact, deep down, every question is ridiculous. Life simply is; it is not…
Osho, as you were stepping down from the stage after today’s discourse, the moment you said, “Sohan!” it was as if a wave swept through the entire Buddha Hall. With that one word you seemed to pluck the veena of many hearts. A strange scene descended. There was a smile on our lips and tears in our eyes. The state of Ma Sohan and Manik Babu was a sight to behold! Even with so bitter a topic as Dattabal before us, what is the magic you work, Osho, that even that is transformed into nectar?
Satya Niranjan! Even poison, too, is elixir—veiled, covered, concealed. As a rose grows among thorns. If you look rightly, poison also turns to nectar. It is all the art of seeing. It is all a matter of vision. The whole secret lies in the gaze. Nowhere is anything truly bitter. Everything is to be made lovable, made sweet. And I am preparing the veena of your heart. Every day this preparation is going on. When the veena is ready, any excuse can set it resonating. Even a gust of wind can make its strings tingle. The veena is ready; that is why such an incident happens. There is no crowd here. This is not a path for everyone. This is a settlement of madmen. This is a fair of moths to the flame. And so, you say there was a smile on our lips and tears in our eyes. Both…
Osho, you have given me the name—Yogananda. Explain the secret behind it.
The looks and the wits are different—“Nainsukh” (Delight-of-the-eyes) turned out one-eyed; Babu Sundarlal (Mr. Beautiful) was made with bulging eyes. Says “Kaka,” the poet: Dayaramji swats mosquitoes, And Vidhyadhar (Bearer-of-knowledge) finds letters as black as a buffalo—utterly illiterate. Munshi Chandalal’s complexion is like tar, While Shyamlal (Darky) is fair as radiant sunshine. Fair as sunshine, smart in bush-shirt and pants, Gyanchand (Moon-of-knowledge) failed the tenth grade six times. Says “Kaka”: Jwalaprasad (Flame-grace) is absolutely cool, Pandit Shantiswaroop (Embodiment-of-peace) has been seen wielding sticks. Look—Asharfilal (Mr. Gold-coin) has a broken cot at home, While Seth Chhadammilal (Mr. Counterfeit) runs eight mills. Eight mills keep running, yet the accounts of karma don’t erase; Dhani Ramji (Mr. Wealthy) I’ve often seen destitute. Says “Kaka”: Dulheram (Bridegroom) died a bachelor, Poor Pritam Singh (Beloved) pines without a beloved. Jagpal (Protector-of-the-world) couldn’t fill his own stomach all his life, And you meet hundreds of Ganeshilals…
Osho, how do you choose the names of people being initiated into sannyas just by taking one look at them?
Shraddhanand! An old hippie was getting his hair cut. The barber asked, “Were you ever in the navy?” The hippie asked in surprise, “How did you know? Are you also...!” “No, sir,” the barber said, “I just now found this sailor’s cap tangled in your hair.” It doesn’t take much investigation. Now, for example, Shraddhanand, I looked at you—no shraddha (faith), no anand (bliss)—so I said, all right: Shraddhanand! There are two things you need: shraddha and anand. This is a prescription, brother. It’s not your name; it’s a prescription for the medicine you need—these two things. On your face I saw doubt, your expression funereal, as if you were about to cry any moment, if not already crying—so I quickly said: Shraddhanand! Brother, don’t cry! What’s done is done. Hearing “Shraddhanand,” you did brighten a little; you felt steadied, heartened. The very word anand cheered you up: “Ah, me…
Osho, you constantly tell your sannyasins to keep laughing. But in the locket of the mala you give at initiation, your picture shows a serious expression. Why this seriousness?
Ashtavakra says: to know that state, one needs the same state. Christians say Jesus never laughed. That is false. Yet the Christians are also right, because on the plane on which they can understand laughter, Jesus never laughed. On the plane on which I understand laughter, I know Jesus was bubbling with laughter—he was laughing even on the cross. Have you seen a laughing statue of Buddha? Impossible. Have you heard Mahavira’s titter? Impossible. If you make a laughing statue of Mahavira, the Jains will sue you and drag you into court, saying you have disfigured our Mahavira’s face. Mahavira—and laughing? It cannot be! In one sense they are right too: a Mahavira like you would never laugh. Your laughter bears the imprint of tears. Mahavira’s laughter is very silent, serene—serene like Mahavira himself, without any disturbance. Perhaps there is no giggling in it—there cannot be. It rises from emptiness;…