Greetings from Dharamsala, the home of the Dalai Lama, well, not really. I’ve always read that it was his home, but actually it’s up the hill about 2,000 feet and six miles away in a burg known as McLeod Ganj, named after the Lt. Governor of the Punjab In colonial times. Dharamsala is certainly a lot more poetic than McLeod Ganj.
So we are in the Ganj and it is a very interesting mix of local Himachalis, Tibetans and western counter culture types. The Dalai Lama is not in residence at the moment, he’s off doing his thing but we saw where he lived from outside the gate and his main temple adjacent to The “Palace” is anything but. A large complex fenced off with barb wire where there are paths to walk in the woods for solitude. What a sad world that the Dalai Lama has to have barb wire around his complex.
The streets are filled with saffron yellow and maroon robes of monks of all ages. Many have old, grizzled faces and I wonder if they came with the Dalai Lama when he fled to India. It was 65 years ago and they’re fading fast nowadays. So much has been written about the episode in history. Were these old men, those men? They walk with canes and hobble their way around the temple, and sit on the benches in the temple complex and enjoy the sunshine while they talk and count their prayer beads.
At the opposite end are young boys in monk’s robes as well. We’ve seen several places where parents have their boys live a monk’s life for one year to understand the philosophy and practice of Buddhism. It gives it all a sort of continuity-of-life feel.
On our second visit to the complex, the female equivalent of the old monks more or less adopted me and made sure I was doing things correctly…walking in the right direction, stopping and praying at the entryway, and working the prayer wheels in the proper direction. She had a sweet smile but a very firm hand on the situation. She was about 4 feet and something tall, but not much more than that. Her old Tibetan dress of gray with the multi-colored apron went just above her ankles and she wore white running shoes with a design on them that would make an American female teenager proud. It was a wonderful combination for my mind to wrap around. I sneaked a photo of her because I didn’t know if she would let me…not really fair of me, but I really wanted to remember that face. People have been very open with being photographed, so I didn’t feel that I was violating anyone’s privacy.
The narrow streets look like they are just wide enough for one car to safely pass and avoid pedestrians, but, of course, it’s two way and traffic does it’s “Indian thing,” of honking excessively and waiting for somebody to finally give in and back up to move over and allow them to pass while pedestrians get in doorways, lift the legs on the benches they sit on or find refuge in a car which has conveniently been parked there and the owner has pulled an Elvis and left the building. Eventually, it does get solved, but it’s a noisy process and when it happens right in front of where you’re standing or sitting, it can be intense.
The beginning of the big mountains looms behind us and a very smoky/smoggy valley lies in front of us as we sit on a ridge on one of the foothills. That was a surprise. We expected some great vistas and clean air, but not down below it’s not. Lots of people burn firewood for all kinds of reasons and the smoke in the air shows that. The mountains themselves are the beginnings of the majestic Himalayas and they are a pretty good introduction to what lies behind them. For me, they have a kind of spiritual hold. I felt it when we were in Tibet and I feel it here as well…Can’t explain it, but they just seem to “call” me. Carol felt this same way about Ayer’s Rock in Australia, but I haven’t experienced it like I do here. Just seeing them is mystical to me.
Upon our arrival, we were met by someone who was sent by the company who booked our trip to show us around. I hadn’t expected this and so I was a little uncertain. I asked him what his services cost and he laughed and said that it was all taken care of and he just wanted to make sure we were settled. He suggested that we take a rest for a while and then he would take us around. We met him later, and guess what?
It so happens that he is the uncle of the booking agent in Delhi and his daughter has a shop. He minded the store while she took us to the temple and afterwards back to the shop for some chai. There were still several things that we hadn’t purchased yet…Carol always gets a bell, etc and so she told us that since we had booked with the family she was giving us her “special” price that nobody else gets. Maybe true, maybe not, I have no clue. But it’s just another example of how the whole networking works, somebody knows somebody who has what you want/need or think you do.
In the end it just made sense to get all the things that we were looking to get from her. Sometimes in India you just have to accept that things have a life of their own and why fight it. The only negative aspect was that there was talk about showing us things on the second day and after purchases were made, that subject was conveniently dropped. Again, it’s just India. The country runs like this, it seems, everybody has to get that edge. You don’t sit back in Indian life and succeed. You hustle your buns off to make it work because if you don’t somebody else will and you lose. . I don’t remember that cultural persona from my trip before. I guess because I was just totally independent and so was oblivious to the whole system. It doesn’t look like it’s just started recently. “It’s India” as we’ve been told several times. Nobody I talked with disputes that assessment, both domestic and foreign opinions seem to mesh on this issue. The ones I’ve talked with fully acknowledge that you have to do this to survive. You will be buried if you don’t and this attitude just becomes a definite part of the entire Indian persona, as I see it.
On one afternoon, we sat on a bench just to watch people pass by. An old woman came along and sat a few feet away in the sun and I greeted her with a Tibeten greeting, and she responded the same with her hands cupped as well as she smiled a smile that was wide but missing a lot of teeth. She had four in front on top and maybe the same on the bottom, but the rest looked empty. She wore a maroon dress with a yellow blouse-type and a grey sweater on over that. She looked like a lady who needed to be able to stay warm. Her face had that that same weathered, time-warm look but her eyes were bright and expressive as was her smile. I asked to take her photo and she smiled broadly as I snapped the picture. She had her hair pulled back in a short knot in the back with purple and green thread woven and tied. She, too, looked like one of the originals. The life she must have lived. I am constantly reminded in my travels that I have met some really extraordinary people in my life who led amazing lives.
One disappointment has been that we have not connected with Servas hosts and have not really had the opportunity to sit with people and have an evening of conversation. Our one potential host had a family crisis and had to cancel and that was it. On our last day in Dharamsala there was a little 3-4 year old Tibetan child with the world’s greatest smile. I snapped his joyful face and as I started to walk past the vehicle I was near, a voice asked: “Aren’t you going to take my photo?” It came from a man with a nice smile and kind face. He had been sitting in his delivery van watching me. I stopped and we joked about both being old and gray and we just chatted. After a bit he said he would like to invite us to dinner the next day. Unfortunately we were leaving so that was out. We went along our way winding through old streets and up and down and worked our way back towards the hotel when there was the same delivery van and we both laughed that we had found our ways to the exact same spot at the same time for the second time. He really wanted to have us to his house and so it was arranged that he would pick us up and take us to his home. We actually ate at a little restaurant before going to his house for tea and conversation so we finally got to be in an Indian home. It was a really nice evening and, in the end, he told us that any of our friends who want to come to Dharamsala they will be welcome to stay at his home. They have a whole story above their living quarters that used to be the kids rooms.
Vinod, the husband is a noodle distributor and travels the district supplying noodles to the restaurants. He drives these roads all the time. Amazing. Rashmi, his wife is an art teacher and has lots of mixed-media work in her home. Very nice pieces. She and Carol talked art and Vinod and I talked about Indian culture all by artificial light since the power was out. But no difference, they had a calmness about them and soft dispositions and we just had a nice evening. Exactly what I needed.
Of the three Himachal cities/towns we visited, I liked Dharamsala the best. They were all interesting and different; however, Shimla is just too huge for those little hills and Manali exists strictly as a tourism spot. It runs like a resort town. But Dharamsala has a feel of its own. It has its own draw in the Buddhist community and they don’t have to manufacture thrills and spills to entice people to visit. It feels natural, not artificial. We’ve enjoyed our time in the mountains. It was a good way to end our trip
At this time on all our trips at this time I’m in the going home mode and there’s always a semblance of marking time before wheels up. But there are so many things I will miss about India. It seems that the entire gamut of the Indian population passes before your very eyes every day. My head is just continually on the move with all the amazing faces and human conditions you see in one walk down the street. This is true for any city we’ve been in.
I had Carol read this before sending as I always do and simply asked her: “Does this sound too negative?” She said no, just realistic. I don’t want to give any impression that this has been a trip filled with negativity. It’s been an amazing journey and one that we have enjoyed immensely. We would even consider returning to see parts we didn’t see on this trip. However, it isn’t an easy trip to do independently as we like to travel. That modus operandi has its own rewards, of course, but it also forces us to deal with Indian society on a much more up close and personal standpoint. That has its rewards and inherent difficulties but is how we like to do things. New Zealand was so easy….quite the contrast.
Headline of the day: “Carol and Jim are on their way home.” Final final letter will be sent after things sort out in my head after 30 hours in transit.
