The Tibet Children's Village

We rode straight from the church to the Tibetan Children’s Village, which struck me as a place to get a better education than the school I attended, even though by American standards Morgan Township High School was considered above average. We walked through a large paved area surrounded by buildings that were part of the school. The main office was in a building at the top of a grassy slope, on which were large rocks painted with curled up deer, presumably a reference to Deer Park in Sarnath. The buildings looked more or less like modern variations on Himalayan architecture.

The guide, an adult male who had a high position working for the Village, took us to a dorm for little kids. The front room included a couple of wooden cabinets topped with some toy animals and below a row of colorful thangkas, and on either side wall was a door, one leading to the boys’ dorm room and the other, almost completely covered with stuffed toy animals, lead to the girls’ room. As we stood inside the boy’s dorm, the guide explained that it accommodates twenty-four kids: it includes seven bunk beds, fourteen beds, and two kids sleep on the bottom bunk. The rooms were clean and neat and I’m sure that even if it seems crowded by American standards, the living conditions are very good. Maybe if the school had more funding, it would have more space.

Door to the girls' dorm

Entrance hall to the dorms

We afterwards visited the baby room, which I thought was pretty. The cribs, under a slanting roof, were all painted bright blue, and an aisle went down the center of the room. The little room had dormer windows and a tall window at the far end, across from the door where we entered. Nearby was a spotless restroom with white porcelain fixtures, and to my amusement there were several squatting toilets in a row. I recall that the house where I live originally had just an outhouse, and it had two seats next to each other; my mother came from a family with ten children, so no doubt it was convenient, but so much for privacy.

Baby room

The guide explained that there are several locations for the Tibetan Children’s School. Ladakh--seven schools (does this note mean there are seven of these schools just in Ladakh?)We met a little girl who walked across the plateau with her little brother on her back, but her parents are still in Tibet. Tibetans come to India, all illegal in transit. This is a school exclusively for children coming from Tibet, ages ten to seventeen. Seventeen is about the top age, but a few are twenty. The school does include an eleven month old girl; her mother left her behind because she had to return to Tibet.

Our guide explained that the main purpose of the Tibet Children’s Village is preserving a separate Tibetan identity. Nehru asked what help the Dalai Lama wanted, and he replied that he wanted schools for the children, to keep a separate identify and keep their culture alive. Nehru said, “Sure.”

This school teaches both in Tibetan and English up to the fifth year, then Tibetan is the main subject and language. From the sixth year, they learn more English. Sixth through eighth years, they learn Hindi too. Up to Class twelve, they learn Tibetan and English. There’s no compulsory Hindi, but from class nine they study the Hindi language.

Richard asked, “Do most of the boys become monks?” The guide said that a few become monks. He didn’t want to tell the percentage, because more and more monks become laymen nowadays.

This ferocious beast attempted to scare me off, but I was fearless.

Parents don’t support the school because they can’t, but they give to His Holiness. The distance between here and Tibet is about one hundred miles as the crow flies (rather shorter than I thought). Mann is a village on the border, and it’s closer to Tibet than to Delhi. Kids go to monastery school up to age six; Shantum said that’s typical in India. After that, they have ordinary schooling. It was weird to hear about parents coming to Dharamsala and dropping off their children before returning to Tibet, thus abandoning their children, and some members of the sangha expressed concern about this. But parents return to Tibet because the Chinese authorities hold their families hostage when they take this trip. It’s too expensive to get an education in Tibet, and it’d be Chinese anyway. I kind of think it’s amazing the Chinese authorities even let the parents take their kids to Dharamsala for an education; you’d think the authorities would be more inclined to let the kids remain illiterate. Still, they’re a bunch of bullies.

We were walking around at the Children’s Village, along a path with Tibetan-ish bungalows on our right, when we passed by a group of Westerners standing around talking, and I looked at each of them, and then I made eye contact with an Indian guy who looked like he could have been Shah Rukh Kahn’s brother. The resemblance was quite startling, and he even had the same eyebrows. We made eye contact and exchanged a smile. I didn’t mean to be flirty. I guess that’s called accidental flirtation.

Some of our group (including me) sneaked into the back of a math class for teenagers. Surprisingly, the class was entirely in English. Gee, it’s convenient to have a first language that’s so popular; it seems like people speak English almost anywhere.

This is the entrance to a classroom, where teenagers were taking a math class in English.

Stones on the hillside were painted with curled up deer.

After we left the children's village, we went to the city center to have lunch at Chonor House, the restaraunt where we almost always had lunch.

Now it occurs to me that I should go ahead and snail mail Shantum a printed copy of the manuscript, since he doesn’t keep up with e-mails all the time, and since it’s a five hundred page manuscript. The printed copy would be much easier to read than if he tried reading it on a computer. I’ll mention that before we part. I’m hoping he’ll enjoy and appreciate the book—I’m really hoping he enjoys it and thinks it’s well written. I’ve gotten for the most part positive feedback about the quality of my travel writing.

Monks lining up in the street, to enter the Dalai Lama's temple for his teachings

By the time we got to the town center, it was past 12:30, and monks were lining up in the street to go to the temple. After we parked and started moving up the slanted pavement to Chonor House, I stopped and turned to get a picture of monks in line; usually I don’t have my camera with me when we see them. I went a little further up and took a picture from above, because there was a mass of red-clad monks and slowly moving white taxis. Quite a view.

Veranda in the back of Chonor House

We had a delicious buffet lunch on the customary balcony. We had a mushroom stir fry and a broccoli and cauliflower stir fry, and I just barely remembered to refrain from putting milk in my tea. Last night I realized that my stomach was upset because I had consumed so many milk products throughout the day.

View from Chonor House. The big white building in the center is a monastery on the hillside.

I hadn’t realized we’d spent that much time at the Children’s Village—for the first time we were hearing the Dalai Lama’s deep and musical voice from the balcony of Chonor House. I had left the radio behind in the room, taking it out of my bag when I found out that we would be going to the Children’s Village; I had wanted to lighten my load, but I should have known better! About half our sangha has been listening to the radios, and I’ve been writing in my journal and listening to crows. We’re supposed to meet up here again at six, which gives me time to use the Internet and attend the four o’clock teaching. That gives me plenty of time, and some time to wander, too. I’m going to go off in just a moment, after I use the restroom, since this restaurant has two that are nice. I’ve also been listening to and imitating the crows. A pair of them seemed to say, “Uh-oh! Uh-oh!”

Back on the street, after lunch