I have a theory, actually I have loadsa theories.
Anne Elk had one too, but this one is slightly more comprehensive.
A platitude is what has been repeated so many times that it ceases to appear truthful.
The East is a platitude. On second thoughts, the appearance of untruthfulness is not necessarily a lie.
My grandfather has been my storyteller for as long as I can remember. But I guess it runs in the family and the civilization.
The most fascinating story he ever told me was the one about Nachiketa, the boy who asked questions at Death’s door. And I repeated the story and added my own bit.
And my father tells me the differences between Hata Yoga and Karma Yoga. And I add my own bit again.
The East is the storyteller of the West. The West is bored. And here we are telling the stories they have long forgotten, adding just the right bit of ‘stirred not shaken’.
My family once told a Mexican we knew, the story of the three main Gods of the Hindu pantheon; Brahma, the Creator, Vishnu, the Preserver and Shiva the Destroyer.
He was aghast that the God of Death is worshipped. In his words, you should keep away from such a God.
That is what the East is to the West, a region of fire-eaters, Death-worshippers and storytellers.
But they cannot keep away from us. It is like a balcony view of the Great Eastern Circus. It not only gives you entertainment but a ticket to heaven.
And the East laughs backstage. The East earns what the West taught it to revere and the West goes home happy.
I rest my case.