Yesterday marked exactly two weeks that I’ve been in India, and yet I feel settled in Dharamsala. People have remarked that I seem so well adjusted. I guess a lot of that has to do with the great fortune I’ve had with meeting a lot of friendly people. Over the past week, I’ve met people from all over the world who have come here to study Buddhism, or who have come for HH the DL’s teachings. It’s astounding. There is a substantial population of Israelis and Germans studying Buddhism or working at different Free Tibet NGOs. There are also a lot of Dutch, Australians and Britons. I even met people from Scandinavian Europe and Latin America. People come to Dharamsala, from seriously, all over the world.
The traveler’s circuit is really interesting, especially when I run into people that have been in Dharamsala for a long time. The other day I was walking up from Lower Dharamsala and I was starving. I stopped by a small café where I saw a man and woman in yellow robes. I’d heard that they were a couple of Vietnamese monks and nuns here, but I hadn’t seen them yet. I wanted to order green vegetables, but that’s not very common around here. The nun saw that I was struggling to communicate my question so she came over to help. I asked her if she was Vietnamese, and she was so pleasantly surprised to discover that I was the new Vietnamese girl that she’d heard about, she grabbed her monk friend and they took me back to his room where she whipped up a quick stir-fry or green veggies. It was so nice! She’s been studying in Delhi University for seven years and every summer she comes to Dharamsala to escape Delhi’s heat. Lightly cooked green veggies are a rarity around here and it had been a while since I had them to eat. I seriously feel like I must have been a monk or nun in a past life, because I always find myself hanging out with, or being taken care of my monks and nuns.
Yesterday started at the crack of dawn. I was up out the door by 6:15am to Nechung Monastery. There are four state oracles in this area, and one of them lives at Nechung. I have to do more reading on the history, but what I know is that there are four spirits that protect the Dharma. One of these spirits chose a monk at Nechung Monastery to be its medium. That monk is known as the oracle. I’ve heard about oracles in Vietnam, but have never seen one myself. The monasteries don’t usually announce when they an oracle takes place so only people from the nearby community attend. From what I know, they are always planned and there is a lot of preparation that happens for the monk to go into trance. Since I was with Choedar, and Choedar used to work at Nechung and is friends with all of the monks there, I got to go inside the temple with other important people in the community to see the trance firsthand. It’s a truly special opportunity to see the oracle. There is a whole ritual that takes place before, which seems like it prepares the oracle for the spirit to enter his body. There is a line of monks that play different instruments used in meditation including 7 or 8 feet long horns, trumpet-like horns, bass drums and symbols. While playing the instruments they also chant. The oracle wears elaborate clothing including a huge headdress that they have to tightly tie to his neck because it’s so heavy. The room felt tense and everyone was holding their katas (white offering scarves) and praying. The oracle went into deep meditation with his eyes closed for a long time until suddenly we saw the sprit enter his body. His facial muscles completely changed, his whole body shook as if in seizure, and he began hissing. There is only one monk that can understand what the hissing means and he stands next to the oracle writing down what’s being said. Then the oracle stood up, still with his eyes closed, he did a ritual dance. The attending monks wiped his sweat and held him down. Then the whole room got up and formed a line to offer the spirit katas and receive his blessing. One by one we passed by the oracle, bowing and offering our katas. The oracle tossed blessed red grains into our open palms and as we walked out of the temple we each received a thin red rope that he also blessed.
After visiting the oracle, a small group of us took a trip to the other side of the mountain to visit our friend’s nunnery, Norbulinka Institute and HH the Karmapa. The local buses here are really cheap. It only cost 4 rupees, or 10 cents to get to our stop. Boris, one of the people in our group, has a friend who’s living at the nunnery for the summer. This nunnery is unique because it’s especially for Western foreigners. From the bus stop we walked about a half hour past into the village. There’s nothing out there except for fields and cows. On the way to the Karmapa’s monastery, we stopped by Norbulinka Institute, a center for Tibetan woodcarving, thangka painting and Buddhist studies. It’s a beautiful facility and looks like a little paradise with lots of trees and shade, streams, waterfalls, slate rock, Tibetan prayer flags, and old monastic architecture. There are 5 sects of Tibetan Buddhism. The DL is head of the Gelug order, and the Karmapa is head of the second most important order. HH the Karmapa is only 21 years old and escaped from Tibet just a few years ago. He’s the 16th reincarnation of the Karmapa, so he’s older than the DL. We thought there was a teaching, but instead it was a blessing. We got into an offering line where we bowed, holding up the kata and had it placed back onto our neck. The idea behind this is that when you offer the kata, you are offering the purity of your body and soul, and it is put back on your neck by HH because your purity belongs to you.
It was truly a fully blessed day.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Mountain Lifestyle
Bathing
Several days ago a room with a stove and private bathroom opened up so Geshe La let me move over. The room is really cozy, and having a stove is great. So far I only use it for reheating leftovers, but still its nice to have hot food to eat. The bathroom is not what I expected. At the other room the bathrooms down the hall had a western toilet and shower. It’s nice to have a private bathroom that I can keep as clean as I want, but it’s a squat toilet, and there’s no shower – just a water tap about chest level. The water pressure isn’t too good, so it takes about 15 minutes to fill my bucket with warm water. I’m quite familiar with bucket baths, since for the first 11 or 12 years of life, that’s how I always bathed. In Vietnam people bathe the same way so adjusting to it wasn’t hard.
Toilets
Squat toilets aren’t so bad, especially if it’s your own. Squatting is supposed to be the natural way we relieve ourselves. Coming from the US, I’m obviously more used to sit down toilets, but luckily, growing up Viet, I’m used to this too. The flush on my toilet doesn’t work, so instead there’s a small bucket next to the toilet that I used to pour water down the toilet. It works the same way flush toilets except manually. It’s just the public squat toilets that SUCK for women that I had. Because men don’t have to squat to use them, public squats are disgusting. Every time I have no choice but to use them, I’m reminded about how even cleanliness is a luxury we often take for granted in the West.
Laundry
Laundry is completely hand-washed. I would have expected that people here would avoid wearing jeans since it’s so hard to wash by hand and takes so long to dry, but that’s what most of the young locals wear when they’re not working. In some places families hire servants or maids, but here in Dharamsala, with such a small community, everything is do-it-yourself when it comes to housework.
Plastic
In an effort to be more environmentally conscious, Dharamsala does not use plastic bags. So when I go to the market and buy a kilo of mangos, they are put into a recycled paper of aluminum bag. But these paper bags are not the typical brown bag we have at home. Literally it’s someone’s job to make bags from old newspapers or aluminum. There are also cotton fiber bags that people buy and reuse. Or some people just bring a backpack along and carry groceries in that. Even take out food is packed in these kinds of bags. The other night I went out for vegetable byriani. I asked the waiter if he could pack it. The leftover rice came back in a bag that was made out of a giant Clif bar wrapper and tied with a rubber band.
After seeing that kind of thing I couldn’t help but remember seeing a mass of plastic take-out containers that pile up the company’s kitchen trashcan, or how much we consume, even as a small office. Then I’d think about all the thousands of offices and businesses in the US and how much they probably consume, or throw away. I get a sinking feeling knowing how much we take from the planet and how little we replenish.
Living in this kind of simplicity is really nice. I think more often in this kind of living situation people only take what they actually need and use.
Several days ago a room with a stove and private bathroom opened up so Geshe La let me move over. The room is really cozy, and having a stove is great. So far I only use it for reheating leftovers, but still its nice to have hot food to eat. The bathroom is not what I expected. At the other room the bathrooms down the hall had a western toilet and shower. It’s nice to have a private bathroom that I can keep as clean as I want, but it’s a squat toilet, and there’s no shower – just a water tap about chest level. The water pressure isn’t too good, so it takes about 15 minutes to fill my bucket with warm water. I’m quite familiar with bucket baths, since for the first 11 or 12 years of life, that’s how I always bathed. In Vietnam people bathe the same way so adjusting to it wasn’t hard.
Toilets
Squat toilets aren’t so bad, especially if it’s your own. Squatting is supposed to be the natural way we relieve ourselves. Coming from the US, I’m obviously more used to sit down toilets, but luckily, growing up Viet, I’m used to this too. The flush on my toilet doesn’t work, so instead there’s a small bucket next to the toilet that I used to pour water down the toilet. It works the same way flush toilets except manually. It’s just the public squat toilets that SUCK for women that I had. Because men don’t have to squat to use them, public squats are disgusting. Every time I have no choice but to use them, I’m reminded about how even cleanliness is a luxury we often take for granted in the West.
Laundry
Laundry is completely hand-washed. I would have expected that people here would avoid wearing jeans since it’s so hard to wash by hand and takes so long to dry, but that’s what most of the young locals wear when they’re not working. In some places families hire servants or maids, but here in Dharamsala, with such a small community, everything is do-it-yourself when it comes to housework.
Plastic
In an effort to be more environmentally conscious, Dharamsala does not use plastic bags. So when I go to the market and buy a kilo of mangos, they are put into a recycled paper of aluminum bag. But these paper bags are not the typical brown bag we have at home. Literally it’s someone’s job to make bags from old newspapers or aluminum. There are also cotton fiber bags that people buy and reuse. Or some people just bring a backpack along and carry groceries in that. Even take out food is packed in these kinds of bags. The other night I went out for vegetable byriani. I asked the waiter if he could pack it. The leftover rice came back in a bag that was made out of a giant Clif bar wrapper and tied with a rubber band.
After seeing that kind of thing I couldn’t help but remember seeing a mass of plastic take-out containers that pile up the company’s kitchen trashcan, or how much we consume, even as a small office. Then I’d think about all the thousands of offices and businesses in the US and how much they probably consume, or throw away. I get a sinking feeling knowing how much we take from the planet and how little we replenish.
Living in this kind of simplicity is really nice. I think more often in this kind of living situation people only take what they actually need and use.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
21 May 2007 - The Layout
Dharamsala is bigger than I thought. Lower D-Sala is where the main Indian market is located. Several miles up the mountain is Upper D-Sala or Gang Ky. Here is where the Tibetan government-in-exile offices and Library of Tibetan Works and Archives are. The hospital is also here, as well has the Library’s guesthouse (where I stay). And then 9 km up the road from here is an area called McLeod Ganj. This part became the main tourist spot and it’s filled with all kinds of restaurants, guesthouses/hotels, and Tibetan handicrafts shops. So if I don’t want to eat in either of the two small cafes in Gang Ky, then I have to go to McLeod Ganj. It’s a pleasant 20-minute uphill walk to McLeod Ganj when I take the shortcut. At the base of McLeod Ganj is H.H. the Dalai Lama’s monastery and home. It so happens the HH is giving teachings all this week so yesterday morning I woke up early and made my way to the temple.
The monastery was filled to the max, mostly of monks and nuns. Just outside the main temple room is a grassy area where they allowed non-monks/nuns to sit. The teachings weren’t translated, but there were still many foreigners who came to be in the presence of HH. There was a small walkway among the crowd of monks and nuns. Usually if you’re not a monk or nun, you must have a special security clearance pass to walk through, but the security guard I ran into let me through without one and I was able to walk around the temple room and see HH. It was lovely and moving just to be among all of these people that revere and honor him so deeply.
After the teaching while walking around McLeod Ganj a Tibetan guy named Tamdin came up to me speaking Tibetan. I wish I spoke Tibetan because I’ve been getting that a lot here. Most Tibetans think I’m a local or Tibetan-American. I feel so lame admitting that I don’t speak Tibetan. I feel like it’s such a let down. We struck up a conversation and after finding out I’m Vietnamese he opened his bag and took out a stack of photos, one of which was of his cousin who married a Vietnamese guy and moved to the States. He was so excited about this connection. Tamdin is not like the other Tibetans I’ve met here. The Tibetans here seem to be really laid back. They aren’t in a rush and they seem patient and their flow is much more akin to my own. Tamdin came from Bhutan and stays in a city about 6 hours from D-Sala. He’s like a ‘go, go, go!’ type of person and he’s also a little pushy, but I think he only means well. He helped me shop around for some pants. You’d be surprised how hard it’s been for me to find some normal straight leg pants. The ones I find don’t fit me right. The ones I do find, the prices are ridiculously inflated. Unfortunately, even as I write, I’m still without pants. I thought that bringing less would be better, and in a way it is, but there were some essentials things that I forgot to bring too.
Later that afternoon Choedar met up with us and we walked half an hour beyond McLeod Ganj to Bhagsu. Since it was Sunday, the tourists were all here from nearby Indian cities. The path through Bhagsu dead-ends at a beautiful waterfall. The upper path offers beautiful views of the lower path that is along the brook. Here monks and other Indian locals swim and wash their laundry. From way up above all I could see were big red and yellow robes dot the slate boulders along the brook.
I’m starting to build somewhat of a ‘household’ in my room. I have a spacious bedroom with two twin beds and a desk. The bathroom is only down the outside hallway. I have a small sink and Geshe Lhakdor gave me an electric water boiler to use during my stay. I collected enough water bottles from my first few days here so I use these to hold the boiled water. The room also came with a bucket for washing clothes. My room has a nice little balcony where I also hung some string to hang clothes to dry. For now, I have to eat out for my meals, but I might be getting stove soon.
My room is located right above Nechung Monastery. Every morning starting at 5:30 the monks began their prayers and chants. This includes the singing bell and the blowing of a horn. At first I didn’t know what those sounds were, but I’ve come to like waking up to the sound of prayers..
The monastery was filled to the max, mostly of monks and nuns. Just outside the main temple room is a grassy area where they allowed non-monks/nuns to sit. The teachings weren’t translated, but there were still many foreigners who came to be in the presence of HH. There was a small walkway among the crowd of monks and nuns. Usually if you’re not a monk or nun, you must have a special security clearance pass to walk through, but the security guard I ran into let me through without one and I was able to walk around the temple room and see HH. It was lovely and moving just to be among all of these people that revere and honor him so deeply.
After the teaching while walking around McLeod Ganj a Tibetan guy named Tamdin came up to me speaking Tibetan. I wish I spoke Tibetan because I’ve been getting that a lot here. Most Tibetans think I’m a local or Tibetan-American. I feel so lame admitting that I don’t speak Tibetan. I feel like it’s such a let down. We struck up a conversation and after finding out I’m Vietnamese he opened his bag and took out a stack of photos, one of which was of his cousin who married a Vietnamese guy and moved to the States. He was so excited about this connection. Tamdin is not like the other Tibetans I’ve met here. The Tibetans here seem to be really laid back. They aren’t in a rush and they seem patient and their flow is much more akin to my own. Tamdin came from Bhutan and stays in a city about 6 hours from D-Sala. He’s like a ‘go, go, go!’ type of person and he’s also a little pushy, but I think he only means well. He helped me shop around for some pants. You’d be surprised how hard it’s been for me to find some normal straight leg pants. The ones I find don’t fit me right. The ones I do find, the prices are ridiculously inflated. Unfortunately, even as I write, I’m still without pants. I thought that bringing less would be better, and in a way it is, but there were some essentials things that I forgot to bring too.
Later that afternoon Choedar met up with us and we walked half an hour beyond McLeod Ganj to Bhagsu. Since it was Sunday, the tourists were all here from nearby Indian cities. The path through Bhagsu dead-ends at a beautiful waterfall. The upper path offers beautiful views of the lower path that is along the brook. Here monks and other Indian locals swim and wash their laundry. From way up above all I could see were big red and yellow robes dot the slate boulders along the brook.
I’m starting to build somewhat of a ‘household’ in my room. I have a spacious bedroom with two twin beds and a desk. The bathroom is only down the outside hallway. I have a small sink and Geshe Lhakdor gave me an electric water boiler to use during my stay. I collected enough water bottles from my first few days here so I use these to hold the boiled water. The room also came with a bucket for washing clothes. My room has a nice little balcony where I also hung some string to hang clothes to dry. For now, I have to eat out for my meals, but I might be getting stove soon.
My room is located right above Nechung Monastery. Every morning starting at 5:30 the monks began their prayers and chants. This includes the singing bell and the blowing of a horn. At first I didn’t know what those sounds were, but I’ve come to like waking up to the sound of prayers..
Saturday, May 19, 2007
18 May 2007 - Road to Dharamsala
Dharamsala, India
Though brief, I couldn’t have asked for a better stay in Delhi. On the second day I met up with a couple of Fulbrighters for lunch. Tim has been here for 3 months and has been traveling with his fiancée. He actually proposed to his girlfriend during their visit to the Taj Mahal. Because Indian culture is conservative and PDA (even holding hands) is a huge taboo, she couldn’t even hug or kiss him after she said yes. They went in for an embrace and it quickly diverted to a pat on the back. The other Fulbrighter, Bryce, is an alum from last year. He loves it here so much, he ended up extending his grant period, going back to the US to work and save money, and then came back again in December. Meeting them was the biggest relief. I thought I was the only one that felt totally disoriented in this program, but as it turns out, that’s how most people feel. A lot of that feeling comes from the total and utter freedom we have to study and learn and do whatever we want as long as we tell them where we are. It’s sort of hard to believe that all they expect of us is to immerse ourselves in the culture and make the most of this opportunity.
After lunch and taking care of some business at the Fulbright foundation, I went with Bryce to pick up his bus tickets from the bus station in Old Delhi. This presented a great opportunity to see the central bus station, which inevitably I’m sure to use, and the metro train.
As it is, Delhi is considered a conservative city relative to the other big cities in India, and Old Delhi is a part of the city that is ultra-old school. I would say about 90 percent of the women I’ve seen in the city where a salwar kameez (a long tunic with poofy pants and a scarf covering the front of their neck/chest area) or a saree. Walking through Old Delhi off the metro and the bus station was fine with Bryce, but I couldn’t help but feel that if I were alone, it would be somewhat uncomfortable. I’m used to foreign cities like Saigon where you mostly see women vendors, civic workers, etc. In Delhi, it’s nearly all men in those kinds of roles. Whereas men wear collared button down shirts and slacks, and carry briefcases and they can wear shorts and t-shirts or tank tops, it’s unacceptable for women to reveal any part of their legs or shoulders without being gawked at, especially as a foreigner. As I walked with Bryce I kept thinking that as a man, he has a totally different experience than a foreign women does. This is neither good nor bad to me, but just something I’m trying to understand better and adapt to.
Situated in the Himalayan Mountains in northern India, Dharamsala is home to thousands of Tibetan refugees and the Tibetan government-in-exile. I got into to town in the early evening after a feverish, bumpy and dusty 12-hour car ride. I have to learn Hindi ASAP. I couldn’t communicate with the driver very well, i.e. not at all. He was really nice though. I’m not sure if the A/C didn’t work, or if didn’t want to waste gas, but we drove all morning and afternoon with all the windows rolled down, mostly behind huge diesel trucks and buses. That was all good though because I’ve experienced similar driving conditions in Vietnam. It’s just that it’s been so long that I forgot how scary it can be to drive on windy and narrow, unguarded mountain roads for 5+ hours as the trucks in opposing traffic recklessly speed forcing small cars, like the one I was in, to dodge onto the cliff-side shoulder to avoid an accident.
So when I arrived in Dharamsala, I was a little out of it from the trip up. I felt nervous that maybe they wouldn’t like me, or I wouldn’t like this place. And in the midst of feeling this way and trying to figure out if I was in the right place, an older man in red and yellow robes, with a kind face waved hello. It was Mr. Lhakdor, Director of the Library of Tibetan Works and Archives. He was with Choedar, the caretaker of the guesthouse. I couldn’t believe how laid back and welcoming they were. I told him that I was feeling a little nervous, and he was like, “Why?! Don’t worry, you’re safe here and you’re in good hands.” They showed me where I would be staying, and then we went for a tea and chat. Mr. Lhakdor is beyond witty and savvy. He was HH the DL’s translator for 19 years before taking the Director position here at the Library. I asked him a bunch of random questions like where I could buy a bath towel, etc. and he told me that Choedar would help me with all of those kinds of things. Later on he said, ‘don’t worry about anything. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask me. I’ve been living here a long time so I might have what you need just lying around.’ Then he added, ‘ just treat me like as old friend and whatever you need, just ask me.’
I happened to come on the first night of the two-day annual Library staff party/picnic so after I settled in a bit, Choedar and I walked to the roof of the Library where the cooking staff had prepared an amazing cuisine of Tibetan/Indian and Chinese dishes. There were literally 15 different vegetarian dishes! Everyone got a plate and when each person was done eating, he/she washed his/her own dish and put it away. Then they played games while American pop music blared in the background.
After dinner Choedar told me about how he escaped China with 15 other young people in 1997 by WALKING from Tibet to India. He left when it was almost wintertime so temperatures were frigid. They walked at night from 7:30p to 5:30a, hiding and sleeping during the day. Each day they were told that the next day they would arrive in Dharamsala. Choedar said he almost gave up, but the group finally made it after a month. I asked him why he wanted to come to Dharamsala, as opposed to settling in one of the other places along the way, including Nepal where there is a community of Tibetan refugees and he said he just wanted to come where his HH was. He left his whole family behind in Tibet and hasn’t seen them for 10 years.
Especially after making the trip up here myself, I’m amazed to think of all the people that have traveled near and far to reach Dharamsala, India.
Though brief, I couldn’t have asked for a better stay in Delhi. On the second day I met up with a couple of Fulbrighters for lunch. Tim has been here for 3 months and has been traveling with his fiancée. He actually proposed to his girlfriend during their visit to the Taj Mahal. Because Indian culture is conservative and PDA (even holding hands) is a huge taboo, she couldn’t even hug or kiss him after she said yes. They went in for an embrace and it quickly diverted to a pat on the back. The other Fulbrighter, Bryce, is an alum from last year. He loves it here so much, he ended up extending his grant period, going back to the US to work and save money, and then came back again in December. Meeting them was the biggest relief. I thought I was the only one that felt totally disoriented in this program, but as it turns out, that’s how most people feel. A lot of that feeling comes from the total and utter freedom we have to study and learn and do whatever we want as long as we tell them where we are. It’s sort of hard to believe that all they expect of us is to immerse ourselves in the culture and make the most of this opportunity.
After lunch and taking care of some business at the Fulbright foundation, I went with Bryce to pick up his bus tickets from the bus station in Old Delhi. This presented a great opportunity to see the central bus station, which inevitably I’m sure to use, and the metro train.
As it is, Delhi is considered a conservative city relative to the other big cities in India, and Old Delhi is a part of the city that is ultra-old school. I would say about 90 percent of the women I’ve seen in the city where a salwar kameez (a long tunic with poofy pants and a scarf covering the front of their neck/chest area) or a saree. Walking through Old Delhi off the metro and the bus station was fine with Bryce, but I couldn’t help but feel that if I were alone, it would be somewhat uncomfortable. I’m used to foreign cities like Saigon where you mostly see women vendors, civic workers, etc. In Delhi, it’s nearly all men in those kinds of roles. Whereas men wear collared button down shirts and slacks, and carry briefcases and they can wear shorts and t-shirts or tank tops, it’s unacceptable for women to reveal any part of their legs or shoulders without being gawked at, especially as a foreigner. As I walked with Bryce I kept thinking that as a man, he has a totally different experience than a foreign women does. This is neither good nor bad to me, but just something I’m trying to understand better and adapt to.
Situated in the Himalayan Mountains in northern India, Dharamsala is home to thousands of Tibetan refugees and the Tibetan government-in-exile. I got into to town in the early evening after a feverish, bumpy and dusty 12-hour car ride. I have to learn Hindi ASAP. I couldn’t communicate with the driver very well, i.e. not at all. He was really nice though. I’m not sure if the A/C didn’t work, or if didn’t want to waste gas, but we drove all morning and afternoon with all the windows rolled down, mostly behind huge diesel trucks and buses. That was all good though because I’ve experienced similar driving conditions in Vietnam. It’s just that it’s been so long that I forgot how scary it can be to drive on windy and narrow, unguarded mountain roads for 5+ hours as the trucks in opposing traffic recklessly speed forcing small cars, like the one I was in, to dodge onto the cliff-side shoulder to avoid an accident.
So when I arrived in Dharamsala, I was a little out of it from the trip up. I felt nervous that maybe they wouldn’t like me, or I wouldn’t like this place. And in the midst of feeling this way and trying to figure out if I was in the right place, an older man in red and yellow robes, with a kind face waved hello. It was Mr. Lhakdor, Director of the Library of Tibetan Works and Archives. He was with Choedar, the caretaker of the guesthouse. I couldn’t believe how laid back and welcoming they were. I told him that I was feeling a little nervous, and he was like, “Why?! Don’t worry, you’re safe here and you’re in good hands.” They showed me where I would be staying, and then we went for a tea and chat. Mr. Lhakdor is beyond witty and savvy. He was HH the DL’s translator for 19 years before taking the Director position here at the Library. I asked him a bunch of random questions like where I could buy a bath towel, etc. and he told me that Choedar would help me with all of those kinds of things. Later on he said, ‘don’t worry about anything. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask me. I’ve been living here a long time so I might have what you need just lying around.’ Then he added, ‘ just treat me like as old friend and whatever you need, just ask me.’
I happened to come on the first night of the two-day annual Library staff party/picnic so after I settled in a bit, Choedar and I walked to the roof of the Library where the cooking staff had prepared an amazing cuisine of Tibetan/Indian and Chinese dishes. There were literally 15 different vegetarian dishes! Everyone got a plate and when each person was done eating, he/she washed his/her own dish and put it away. Then they played games while American pop music blared in the background.
After dinner Choedar told me about how he escaped China with 15 other young people in 1997 by WALKING from Tibet to India. He left when it was almost wintertime so temperatures were frigid. They walked at night from 7:30p to 5:30a, hiding and sleeping during the day. Each day they were told that the next day they would arrive in Dharamsala. Choedar said he almost gave up, but the group finally made it after a month. I asked him why he wanted to come to Dharamsala, as opposed to settling in one of the other places along the way, including Nepal where there is a community of Tibetan refugees and he said he just wanted to come where his HH was. He left his whole family behind in Tibet and hasn’t seen them for 10 years.
Especially after making the trip up here myself, I’m amazed to think of all the people that have traveled near and far to reach Dharamsala, India.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
16 May 2007 - Rebirth
Delhi, India
After almost 24 hours of traveling I got into Delhi last night at 2:30am completely exhausted, yet undeniably anxious. The travel wasn’t bad at all. LAX was crazy as usual with its thousands of international travelers scrambling to find the right kiosk or queue or gate number. I love it when my parents take me to the airport. My dad is so obliviously focused solely on checking me in that he regularly bumps into other people. It’s hilarious. I always have the best time in LA, so leaving home isn’t ever easy. No matter how many times I come and go, I still get that tinge of separation anxiety every time I leave.
I lucked out on during my travel, making some good airplane companions. LA to Frankfurt I sat next to a friendly and social Danish man name Kim who desperately missed his wife and 2-year-old baby girl. He makes Denmark seem like it’s full of nice farms and tasty food. And in the Frankfurt Airport, a very savvy looking Indian man sat next to me who turned out to be from California! By that point I was feeling anxious about getting my bearing in Delhi so meeting someone from back home who knows India was serendipitous. From the moment I told him my deal he immediately pulled out his cell and starting writing down contacts of his good friends who could help me get situated and show me around the city. We even happened to be sitting in the same row and next to a sarcastically, self-correcting Canadian woman who was making a Buddhist pilgrimage to Dharamsala. The 7 hours on the plane passed effortlessly.
Because our flight arrived so late in the night and because my pick-up situation was shady, Ro, my Indian-American friend from the flight waited til I got my bags and made sure my ride was waiting. Before we parted ways, he quickly introduced me to the contact he had scribbled for me earlier, Mr. Nasir Kahn, and then I was off.
Usually homesickness hits me like the coming of an ominous monsoon. While I was walking out of the Delhi airport I saw a guy resting himself on his overgrown backpack, reading Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist and I began to feel it – that distinct sensation of traveling alone, not knowing what to expect from this new place, or yourself, and the anticipating of finding out how afraid, how adventurous, and how savvy I’ll be.
I was beyond exhausted, but I couldn’t fall asleep. There was too much busyness in my head. I couldn’t stop thinking that I’m in India. India! Who ever thought I would have an opportunity to live here for nearly a year. So my challenge ahead is I have to make something beautiful from scratch.
The heat here is no joke. A hundred and ten degrees of unrelenting and all-encompassing dense heat accompanied by 100% humidity and the dust and smog from thousands of buses, rickshaws, cars and motorbikes filling every Delhi road.
Delhi is not unlike Vietnam. So although the heat is ridiculous and the roads of terribly congested, it all feels strangely familiar. Swap out the Hindi signs for Vietnamese ones, and sarees for ao dais, and I would have thought I was in Saigon.
By the time I got back to the room, I only had a bit of time to chill out before heading over to USEFI’s office for orientation and to meet the foundation staff. Ms. Varrtikka Mudaliar is my grant advisor and is a wonderfully joyous woman. She briefed me on everything from A to Z. All of my concerns and anxieties concerning the grant and flexibility of the program dissipated after our meeting.
Nasir, Ro's friend met me after my orientation for the first urgent to-do: buy a phone. Nasir is a easy going guy who works for Ro in a international company that provides transnational retail companies all kinds of local support and services for their international distribution. Both Ro and Nasir are two easy-going, genuine and amicable people. Before helping me get a phone, we stopped by India’s Gate, a large arch-shaped monument erected for Indian WWII soldiers who lost their lives in service. But the best part of the detour was walking around during the intense lightning storm that ignited Delhi’s vast, night sky.
After dinner we met with Ro for a bit and I thanked them for all of their hospitality in helping me. I feel so lucky and thankful. The universe has been generously helpful thus far.
After almost 24 hours of traveling I got into Delhi last night at 2:30am completely exhausted, yet undeniably anxious. The travel wasn’t bad at all. LAX was crazy as usual with its thousands of international travelers scrambling to find the right kiosk or queue or gate number. I love it when my parents take me to the airport. My dad is so obliviously focused solely on checking me in that he regularly bumps into other people. It’s hilarious. I always have the best time in LA, so leaving home isn’t ever easy. No matter how many times I come and go, I still get that tinge of separation anxiety every time I leave.
I lucked out on during my travel, making some good airplane companions. LA to Frankfurt I sat next to a friendly and social Danish man name Kim who desperately missed his wife and 2-year-old baby girl. He makes Denmark seem like it’s full of nice farms and tasty food. And in the Frankfurt Airport, a very savvy looking Indian man sat next to me who turned out to be from California! By that point I was feeling anxious about getting my bearing in Delhi so meeting someone from back home who knows India was serendipitous. From the moment I told him my deal he immediately pulled out his cell and starting writing down contacts of his good friends who could help me get situated and show me around the city. We even happened to be sitting in the same row and next to a sarcastically, self-correcting Canadian woman who was making a Buddhist pilgrimage to Dharamsala. The 7 hours on the plane passed effortlessly.
Because our flight arrived so late in the night and because my pick-up situation was shady, Ro, my Indian-American friend from the flight waited til I got my bags and made sure my ride was waiting. Before we parted ways, he quickly introduced me to the contact he had scribbled for me earlier, Mr. Nasir Kahn, and then I was off.
Usually homesickness hits me like the coming of an ominous monsoon. While I was walking out of the Delhi airport I saw a guy resting himself on his overgrown backpack, reading Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist and I began to feel it – that distinct sensation of traveling alone, not knowing what to expect from this new place, or yourself, and the anticipating of finding out how afraid, how adventurous, and how savvy I’ll be.
I was beyond exhausted, but I couldn’t fall asleep. There was too much busyness in my head. I couldn’t stop thinking that I’m in India. India! Who ever thought I would have an opportunity to live here for nearly a year. So my challenge ahead is I have to make something beautiful from scratch.
The heat here is no joke. A hundred and ten degrees of unrelenting and all-encompassing dense heat accompanied by 100% humidity and the dust and smog from thousands of buses, rickshaws, cars and motorbikes filling every Delhi road.
Delhi is not unlike Vietnam. So although the heat is ridiculous and the roads of terribly congested, it all feels strangely familiar. Swap out the Hindi signs for Vietnamese ones, and sarees for ao dais, and I would have thought I was in Saigon.
By the time I got back to the room, I only had a bit of time to chill out before heading over to USEFI’s office for orientation and to meet the foundation staff. Ms. Varrtikka Mudaliar is my grant advisor and is a wonderfully joyous woman. She briefed me on everything from A to Z. All of my concerns and anxieties concerning the grant and flexibility of the program dissipated after our meeting.
Nasir, Ro's friend met me after my orientation for the first urgent to-do: buy a phone. Nasir is a easy going guy who works for Ro in a international company that provides transnational retail companies all kinds of local support and services for their international distribution. Both Ro and Nasir are two easy-going, genuine and amicable people. Before helping me get a phone, we stopped by India’s Gate, a large arch-shaped monument erected for Indian WWII soldiers who lost their lives in service. But the best part of the detour was walking around during the intense lightning storm that ignited Delhi’s vast, night sky.
After dinner we met with Ro for a bit and I thanked them for all of their hospitality in helping me. I feel so lucky and thankful. The universe has been generously helpful thus far.
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