We arrived in the evening at the Tibetan Performing Arts Center (TPAC) and followed the crowd into the auditorium, a theater with a slightly slanted floor facing a wide stage. The performance was apparently sold out, and the audience was almost entirely composed of Tibetans. We sat in two rows and I had no idea what to expect. The play turned out to be a sort of variety show, and a very professional one at that, like a Broadway musical in New York. Each skit, or whatever you call it, involved a chorus of singer/dancers, about half male and half female, wearing colorful and beautiful traditional Tibetan costumes from a specific region. In one skit, the women wore extremely long sleeves that hung way past their hands and they swung the sleeves around as part of the dancing. In another, men wore red fringed circular headdresses that I recalled seeing in the film Kundun. We must have seen just about every possible chupa, the traditional Tibetan jumper; in one region they only have one sleeve (so that it’s easier to use a bow and arrow), and in another region they have two long sleeves, and the kind of chupa that you normally see women wearing on an ordinary day, and which I was wearing, doesn’t have any sleeves. The dancing, acting, and singing were on a par with a musical you might see at any professional American theater. The performers didn’t generally speak lines but almost exclusively sang; however, one of the skits involved some dialogue that we didn’t understand because it was in Tibetan; the rest of the audience was delighted and laughed heartily at the jokes.
We went to Mc’llo’s for dinner; it is a very popular hang-out for Westerners and is located in the heart of the central square of Dharamsala. When the cat’s away, the mice will play. Shantum is at a wedding two and a half hours away and won’t be back till lat, maybe tomorrow morning. I saw few Tibetans or Indians, but unlike at an American restaurant, the tables were very close together. We followed Jagdish up a staircase to the second floor of the restaurant; the bottom floor is quiet and sedate in comparison. The restaurant upstairs was somewhat dark, and large star-shaped paper lanterns hung over all the tables. The outer walls were almost completely windows, overlooking the main square, of which Rachel said, “It’s like Times Square, or Piccadilly Circus.”
Paula said, “But without the neon signs.”
The tables were crowded close together, and next to Richard, at the next table inches away, was a British woman who works at the Tibetan library and has been here since November; she also is part of the organization Free Tibet, which she said is going well. She explained that winter is the only time that Tibetans can escape across the border, because there are fewer Chinese guards. Indians and Indian organizations have been giving a lot of support for the Tibetan cause. The British woman mentioned the Tibetan Center for Human Rights and Democracy. She and Rachel have both lived in London and Swansea. There was indeed a demonstration in the square before we got to TPAC. It involved a megaphone, the flag of Tibet draped over a building’s outer wall, and monks handing out white candles.
The restaurant has loud Western rock music playing; Peter Gabriel was singing “Sledgehammer” as we left. Between the music and the conversation, it was very hard to understand what anyone was saying, and the only one who understood me was Rachel, since she was next to me on my left. Sometimes she’d repeat my response to others, since my voice is hopeless. Actually, Richard might have understood me—he sat straight across from me.
Most of the group drank alcohol, which weirds me out after last year’s pilgrimage with the all-Buddhist and distinctly anti-alcohol sangha. This sangha passed around several bottles of beer called Sandpiper, and Richard has discovered a whiskey called Royal Challenge. It must be a royal challenge to endure the burning sensation as that liquid goes down your throat. Yuck. I pulled out this notebook, and Rachel, who sat to the left of me, said, “Everybody stop talking! Susan’s writing everything we say!” We’ve had a lot of joking around about Shantum not being here. “When we’re at Strucks, she’ll pull out her notebook, and say, ‘Shantum, you won’t believe what happened while you were away…’”
Earlier, Richard and Rachel et al made comments like, “Shantum’s at a wedding. He’ll probably get drunk.”
“I’ll bet he’s smoking.”
“He’s smoking pot. He’s doing LSD at the wedding.”
“Oh, no, no!” I said, appalled but simultaneously amused, if that’s possible.
“I think he’s done with those days,” Richard said. Oh, yeah, majorly!
I wonder if anyone’s going to the Dalai Lama’s teachings with a hangover tomorrow morning.
We all ordered Tibetan food, which turned out to be a big bowl of noodles with veggies, like chives and carrots, and a side dish of momos. We were packed into a corner, and Kathy ended up at the other table (although she was inches away from me) and talked with a guy on her other side. In the taxi on the bumpy and fast ride back to Cloud’s End or Cloud Nine, as John called it, Kathy said she was practically sitting on the guy’s lap, and that he must have been thinking: “This is like my mother sitting on my lap.” She added, “Sometimes I forget that I’m fifty and someone else is twenty-five.” Yeah, sometimes it’s hard to remember I’m not a twelve-year-old. It’s weird being so much younger than the rest of the group. Oh well. Actually, I don’t usually have a sense of age gap.
Now that I'm alone in my room at the guesthouse, I feel horrible, so unlike I felt on the pilgrimage last year. My usual inferiority complex has come with me on the trip, although of course it’s not as overwhelming as it is in Kansas. I don’t know, it might be in part because we aren’t doing the forty-five minute meditations that we did just about every morning on the pilgrimage last year. I’ve been awake since three am and it’s a bit after 10—I have so got to get some sleep. And I’m a bit on the grumpy side. I think I’ll always be a total freak and a total reject, no matter where I go. Nobody will ever like me.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
The Worst Toilet in India
At the Dalai Lama’s temple, Natalie and I came to the toilets at the outer end of a narrow corridor near the monks’ dorms. There were two doors, and Natalie pushed the first door open; indeed a stupendous stench assaulted my olfactory senses. She had warned me that it was a disgusting toilet with no flush, and although it had a faucet, the water wasn’t working. But while we walked downstairs, she pointed out that squatting is more ergonomic and not using toilet paper is environment-friendly (the thought has certainly crossed my mind frequently).
In the Worst Toilet in India, there were piles of excrement in the stool, and the wastebasket was overflowing with used tissues and other paper products, and there was even some shit amid the paper that had spilled onto the floor. “The Worst Toilet in Scotland,” as seen in the heroin film Trainspotting, is luxurious in comparison. This toilet is certainly an example of working with aversion.
We returned just in time for the beginning of the Dalai Lama's translator's 4 pm talk, which had to do with how all material things are suffering by nature (that includes gross toilets), and everything has emptiness.
In the Worst Toilet in India, there were piles of excrement in the stool, and the wastebasket was overflowing with used tissues and other paper products, and there was even some shit amid the paper that had spilled onto the floor. “The Worst Toilet in Scotland,” as seen in the heroin film Trainspotting, is luxurious in comparison. This toilet is certainly an example of working with aversion.
We returned just in time for the beginning of the Dalai Lama's translator's 4 pm talk, which had to do with how all material things are suffering by nature (that includes gross toilets), and everything has emptiness.
Mindful Trek in the Himalayan Foothills
View during trek just outside of Dharamsala, IndiaAt nine in the morning, many of members of our sangha met up with Jagdish after breakfast, in front of the guesthouse, in order to go on a Himalayan trek in the Rhododendron Forest. We took cabs down to the main square of Dharamsala, where Mc’llo’s is located, among other things. Jagdish stopped at the bakery that’s attached to that famous restaurant. He bought himself a chocolate birthday cake with chocolate icing and put it in his backpack…or somebody’s backpack. Kathy, Mimi, at least one of the two Garys, Lynn and David, David the writer, Ingrid, Paula, Stacy, and Manny were all in the group of trekkers; I may be missing someone.
We began the amazing trek when Jagdish was done with his purchases and we were all ready to start walking. We went up a road that was among the several roads connecting at the lively square, and from there we walked up a path at an incline. It was flanked on both sides by tall and very green trees, and Jagdish indicated a tall tree with large red flowers growing on it and said, “Those are rhododendrons.” Wow! When I pictured a rhododendron forest, I had imagined a forest full of bright flowers in numerous colors, but mostly we saw green. However, I love hiking and the scenery was quite beautiful.
We continued climbing the slowly winding path through the woods. Eventually, we saw lumps at the side of the road…and the lumps became monkeys, some of which were babies and others were quite large. They were all pink-bottomed brown monkeys, and they simply sat at the side of the road and at most looked at us, but in some cases they didn’t even acknowledge our presence. We kept walking, walking, past the monkeys and past many trees.
Sometimes through openings in the trees, we could see in the distance shiny silver-looking stones that make mountainsides glisten. Later, after we had climbed very high, we looked down at the ground and saw these shiny stones up close, and they indeed have a metallic silvery sheen. But long before we came that close to the silvery stones, we were still down in the woods and the trail became rockier and rockier. Soon the path consisted primarily of very large stones that we had to climb up and down. I’m tempted to call it limestone; all the stones were that light grey. I was constantly looking down at the unbelievably rocky path and watching my every step. This was not the first time that I practiced mindful walking as a survival skill in India.
On the rocks, the group spread pretty far apart. Paula and Stacy were up ahead of me, and I passed them because Paula wasn’t so sure-footed and was experiencing back pain. I was behind most of the group by the time I came to a grassy and rocky mountainside that I had to climb up despite its steepness. I could see several people on a path up above, but unfortunately I hadn’t seen where exactly they had climbed up this slope that did not appear to have an obvious path. I picked the most obvious route I could, and even that was very steep and involved crawling on my hands and knees at times. But eventually I caught up with the group on a path that ran perpendicular to the slope I had just climbed.
Eventually we came to a café where we could see snow-capped mountains in the distance. Much closer up, we saw a couple of charming stacks of rocks, Tibetan-style offerings that reminded me of beehive-shaped monk’s cells in Ireland. Some of the trekkers stopped in front of the café to look at tables full of merchandise, where a few men stood behind the tables hoping to sell some of the merchandise, which consisted mostly of small statues and malas of various different colors; it was much like merchandise that we could buy down below on the streets of Dharamsala. I personally wasn’t interested in shopping but stopped to look at the merchandise anyway, while I waited for the group to all catch up and get organized.
Jagdish led some of us (including me) further up on the path, and it was trickier. We were so high up that we passed yak turds and shortly after that some snow, not more than a few inches deep. Jagdish started a snowball fight, but I’ve never liked snowball fights or any kind of fight, for that matter, so I just dodged the ball he threw at me. Oh, coming to think of it, I scooped one up and threw it at him, but it was the wrong kind of snow and it turned into a snow shower instead of remaining a ball. I then turned and kept walking.
Someone pointed out footprints, and I said, “It’s yeti footprints!” and let out a cackle. Actually, it looked rather like elk or deer footprints; it was certainly something with hooves, and yetis are monkeys. I believe in yetis, but I think they’re simply a type of timid monkey rather than a supernatural being.
A couple times we walked on a ledge scarcely more than a foot wide. When I first came to this, seeing such a narrow path in the snow, I took a deep breath but moved on; I had no intention of turning back and wimping out. Walking along the ledge, sinking my feet into footsteps in the snow, I felt frightened and shaky at first but didn’t hesitate to keep going. No balking, I just did it mindfully, cautiously, and pretty calmly. Below me, the slope plunged sharply down and was covered with brown little bushes and many trees.
We went back to the café, where less daring (or less suicidal) members of the sangha hung out, sitting on stone or concrete ledges in front of the café. We all had Jagdish’s luscious chocolate birthday cake and a lunch of very spicy Tibetan chili ramen with rather Western crackers that tasted similar to Ritz. I ate quite a few crackers, because the chili peppers were burning my lips. We also drank delicious chai.
After that, we headed back down the way we came. We approached a little chai shop that sold Cadbury cookies and odds and ends. It wasn’t a stand made of sticks but rather a full-size shop in a real building with a garage door up, giving it an open front like so many Indian stores. Like the café up above, it was not surrounded by other businesses; however, a pretty white stupa stood on a slightly higher precipice nearby. We had stopped at the little shop on the way up and had drunk chai. This time around, we met up with some other members of the sangha, including Enid, and we hung out for a little while. A couple of donkeys came along and amused us as they stood in front of the little chai shop.
The Nechung Oracle
Entrance to the temple of the Nechung Oracle of TibetWe got up at 5:30 and returned to the oracle's monastery. Monks served us little bowls of basmati rice mixed with raisins and cashews, and they also served us Tibetan yak butter tea. The rice was delicious and I had no trouble eating it with my hands, but the tea tasted like hot melted butter. I'd read about it many times, and it is indeed as gross as I anticipated.
We approached the open front doors of the temple room where the Oracle holds his strange ceremony. I could see a row of monks playing instruments and wearing those big crescent-shaped yellow hats, and beyond them the Oracle sat on a throne.
Monks placed the enormous metal and brocade helmet onto his head. We waited. The Oracle got up, turned around so that he was facing the throne, then turned back around, thrashed around, and sat back down, where he continued to thrash around.
Monks in ceremonial hats Monks quickly ushered the crowd of both Tibetans and foreigners into the temple, so we went in and formed a line. The pushy monks pressed us up further and further, and as I approached the Oracle's throne, a monk told me to bow, and probably the same monk told me to hold out my hands. I thought we were supposed to press our hands together, but I held out my hands in front of the mildly thrashing and hissing Oracle with the enormous headdress--I didn't have time to get a look at his face--and he threw bright orange dry rice into my hands, and a monk shoved me along. I followed the crowd while I held my hands out carefully carrying the rice, and I was really uncomfortable because somehow in the process of the monk shoving me forward, some of my hair had caught in the strap of my bag, so I was slouching slightly while my hands were preoccupied with the rice, which I expected we had to throw at a shrine.
I followed the crowd through an outside door, and an attractive monk to my left said, "You put the rice in your pocket for good luck," and smiled charmingly. Suddenly I was calm and relieved, after all the intensity and weirdness of that experience. I put the rice in my coat pocket, and later I put some of it in the Tibetan amulet that I've been wearing with my homemade Tibetan clothes.
As the White Queen said, I can believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast. Like the pilgrimage last year, this trip involves experiencing impossible things before breakfast.
Front entrance of the guesthouse
Steps leading up to dining room at guesthouseMonday, February 25, 2008
Struck by Surprise
During the taxi ride back to Cloud’s End, I sat in the back seat with Arturo and he told me about his experience at the teaching this morning, in the courtyard facing the Dalai Lama. When the Tibetans were moving into the center after the Dalai Lama passed through, people were trampling him and someone stepped on his hand. A beautifully-dressed Tibetan woman took his mat, held out both her hands to keep people out of the way, and turned to him, pointed at the mat, and said in English, “You sit here.”
When a monk came along with butter tea, Arturo said he didn’t want any tea because he didn’t have his cup with him. The Tibetan woman who had already helped him pulled out the only cup she had, meant for herself, a Styrofoam cup. This was after someone came by with bread and she said, “You have to eat this. It’s blessed by the Dalai Lama!” The tea was the same situation: it’s blessed by the Dalai Lama.
During our drive, I learned from Arturo that he’s also a solitary practitioner, though in Tibetan, not Insight Meditation. He lives in New Hampshire (although he has a Spanish accent) and the town has a local sangha, but he doesn’t like it; they’re mainly into socializing, wining and dining. There’s a place for retreats three and a half hours away, but that’s too long a trip for frequent practice, and once he went on retreat at Shambhala Mountain in Colorado, which I’ve heard of since they send me brochures. I mentioned it’s fine to take long drives to go on retreat periodically, and he said that’s what he did, once or twice. I mentioned the sangha that I’m displeased with but through which I’ve found out about Mid America Dharma, an organization that holds retreats in location around Kansas City and St. Louis, Missouri. That’s on my to-do list.
After the taxis arrived back at Cloud’s End, the sangha gathered into the little living room with the dais and we had our evening discussion. Shantum made announcements.
Dharma Rain—book that Jeff recommended and with which Shantum was involved.
At the beginning of “Strucks,” I heard Shantum say the name “Natalie,” and my ears perked up. I looked up, and Shantum was saying that Natalie, a former pilgrim, has come to join us. In a minute, Natalie indeed came into the room, and we looked at each other and exchanged a big smile. I was on the floor in Tibetan clothing with my new Kashmiri hat and shawl (the embroidered cotton shawl), and during the talk she took a photo of me. People had profound and amazing things to say and some were “coincidences.” For instance, Etiel had picked up a brochure on a retreat here in Dharamsala, and she turned to an Australian nun and asked her if she knew about it. The nun pointed to a picture on the brochure and said, “That’s a picture of me.” Also, Paula saw a young man with blue eyes, a Jew, who turned out to be the son of someone close to her who recently died. Natalie said that being here with Shantum and me and with a sangha was like déjà vu from last year’s pilgrimage.
When it was my turn to speak, I said, “Yesterday morning I was a yard away from the Dalai Lama, and when I saw his big smiling face, I couldn’t help smiling, and for the rest of the day, I was as bouncy as Tigger. Today, while we walked to see the prime minister, and we went down a steep and very rocky path, it was an example of mindful walking as a survival skill. And when we saw those mountains by the Oracle monastery today, I was mesmerized and wanted to become a bird and fly toward them.”
Shantum said that tomorrow we have the opportunity to visit the Oracle at 6:30 am in order to witness him in trance, at the Nechung Monastery. If we wish to attend (which of course I do!) we have to get up at 5:30, leave at 6:10, and afterwards go back to the guesthouse for breakfast, before we go to the Dalai Lama’s teachings. There will also be a trek through woods with Jagdish, and if we want to go, we have to leave Cloud’s End by 9 am. After the trek, we should still have time to get to the translator’s 4 pm English-language teaching. We can attend a dance performance at the Tibetan Performing Arts Center. Dinner will be at 7:30 or 7 pm. Thus we have tomorrow all planned—quite a busy day. Meanwhile, Shantum would be leaving Dharamsala after the Oracle event, because a friend invited him to a wedding, so we won’t see him again until tomorrow morning.
Shantum talked about the Mindfulness Trainings Ceremony, which we have the option of taking toward the end of the Dharamsala retreat, and he said, “It has protected me and is a doorway to enlightenment.” Those of us who want to go through with the ceremony are to write an explanation for why we want to do the Mindfulness Training, and give it to Shantum by Friday. Also, we should share an Insight Poem later, before the group splits up, and this will be followed by a discussion on generosity—what you want to support.
When most of the sangha had left the room, I talked with Natalie and looked at the photo she just took of Shantum in the steadily darkening room. She said that she read the two e-mails that I sent today (both of which were travelogues I sent to many people), and so she had quickly called Shantum and they had arranged this meeting. So it was my e-mails that brought her to us! Thanks to an e-mail Natalie sent months ago, I had known that Natalie would be in Dharamsala at the same time as we, but I had anticipated spotting her in the audience at the teachings.
Natalie said that she really enjoyed reading my e-mails, and she went on to highly praise the journal excerpts I had sent for eight months after the pilgrimage. She said it was fascinating to read it through my perspective, to see the same events from someone else’s perspective, and that given how quiet I was, it was surprising that I had written so much. I said, “I don’t talk much, but when I’m writing I’m blaah-blaah-blaah.” She also said that the journal excerpts brought the sangha together, because people e-mailed responses and had some dialogue going, and they kept the pilgrimage alive for all those months.
Wow! That’s quite a positive thing to say, and it’s so in contrast with all the insecurities I had felt while sending those e-mails and thinking I must come across as needy, putting so much into these journal excerpts when the rest of the sangha wasn’t interested in communicating so often. I mentioned that I enjoyed sending the excerpts at first but after a while felt uncomfortable with it—especially my comments about nasty relatives and about living in Kansas. Actually, the word I used wasn’t “comments” but rather “whining.” It was astonishing to hear praise about the journal excerpts for which I had eventually come to feel deeply ashamed, after one of the sangha members went off on me in a holier-than-thou manner for having the audacity to express feelings. By the time I received that negative message, I was deeply depressed and had just finished sending the last of the journal excerpts.
“Do you mean you were uncomfortable with it because it was so personal?” she asked.
“Yes, exactly! It seemed so whiney.” She said that she really liked how personal it was and that it connected what was going on with me with the pilgrimage. In short, she didn’t find it inappropriate at all. Since coming to India, for the most part I haven’t been feeling those insecurities but have instead lived very “here and now,” but this conversation faintly reminded me of them—how before I came here I was, for four months, deeply depressed and firmly believing that I had been making a complete fool of myself by sending these e-mails. I had gotten so distressed that I resolved to stop confiding in others, and I actually went without sending a single personal e-mail for about a month…and developed acid stomach. Natalie’s feedback allayed my fears. What a relief! Maybe only one person was so extremely unimpressed, but I don’t want to think about that right now; I want to enjoy this trip.
Natalie, Shantum and I left the living room and walked away in front of the guesthouse, and Natalie told him that I had sent journal excerpts to the sangha. He asked me if I had known Natalie was coming, and I said, “Yes, she sent me an e-mail.”
“I also sent it to you,” Natalie said to Shantum, “but I don’t think you read it.”
“I haven’t been getting to e-mails,” Shantum said, and I’m now totally convinced he doesn’t know about the manuscript that I e-mailed him about six months ago. I still might mention it, because I would really like to send him the latest draft and also ask him if I could, for the sake of getting my travel memoir published, please have his typed and signed permission to include in my travel memoirs the notes that I took during his storytelling about the Buddha. It’s going to be kind of hard to get to asking this, because I’m squeamish about asking such a huge favor, especially given how busy he is. It’s especially hard to broach such a topic, given that the chance of my being anything like alone with him is really small. Still, I hope I do this before we’re saying good-bye and I’m thinking it would be appropriate to do it before then.
Natalie had a business card with her taxi driver’s phone number. The driver had said that she could call him anytime for a ride back, no later than eight that night, and she noticed that it was getting close to that time. Shantum offered to call the driver, and when he did so on his cell phone, we heard an answering machine playing Bollywood music. I commented on this with a smile, and Natalie, who also enjoys Bollywood movies, asked me if I’d seen Om Shanti Om, which is playing everywhere, and here in Dharamsala you can go see it with English subtitles. It sounds fun, but I probably won’t see it till it’s on DVD in the States. It’s the most popular Bollywood movie right now, and hearing about it filled me with anticipation. After Natalie spoke with her taxi driver, I mentioned that my favorite Bollywood movie is Veer-Zaara.
Natalie didn’t stay for dinner with us, since she didn’t want to miss her ride. So Shantum went on to the silent dinner (we had agreed to practice mindful eating in silence). Since it was chilly now, I dashed into my room to get my bright red coat before heading for dinner, which included three delicious curries, roti, yogurt, and a dessert that was very delicious: it was a pastry that tasted similar to halwa and contained an almond, a cashew, and a pistachio. With all this delicious food, I drank water. It was hard to eat mindfully, in terms of keeping my mind here and now “in the present moment” because I was excited after talking with Natalie and was indeed, at least once, wondering how on earth to broach the topic of getting Shantum’s written permission to include the notes I took on the pilgrimage.
When a monk came along with butter tea, Arturo said he didn’t want any tea because he didn’t have his cup with him. The Tibetan woman who had already helped him pulled out the only cup she had, meant for herself, a Styrofoam cup. This was after someone came by with bread and she said, “You have to eat this. It’s blessed by the Dalai Lama!” The tea was the same situation: it’s blessed by the Dalai Lama.
During our drive, I learned from Arturo that he’s also a solitary practitioner, though in Tibetan, not Insight Meditation. He lives in New Hampshire (although he has a Spanish accent) and the town has a local sangha, but he doesn’t like it; they’re mainly into socializing, wining and dining. There’s a place for retreats three and a half hours away, but that’s too long a trip for frequent practice, and once he went on retreat at Shambhala Mountain in Colorado, which I’ve heard of since they send me brochures. I mentioned it’s fine to take long drives to go on retreat periodically, and he said that’s what he did, once or twice. I mentioned the sangha that I’m displeased with but through which I’ve found out about Mid America Dharma, an organization that holds retreats in location around Kansas City and St. Louis, Missouri. That’s on my to-do list.
After the taxis arrived back at Cloud’s End, the sangha gathered into the little living room with the dais and we had our evening discussion. Shantum made announcements.
Dharma Rain—book that Jeff recommended and with which Shantum was involved.
At the beginning of “Strucks,” I heard Shantum say the name “Natalie,” and my ears perked up. I looked up, and Shantum was saying that Natalie, a former pilgrim, has come to join us. In a minute, Natalie indeed came into the room, and we looked at each other and exchanged a big smile. I was on the floor in Tibetan clothing with my new Kashmiri hat and shawl (the embroidered cotton shawl), and during the talk she took a photo of me. People had profound and amazing things to say and some were “coincidences.” For instance, Etiel had picked up a brochure on a retreat here in Dharamsala, and she turned to an Australian nun and asked her if she knew about it. The nun pointed to a picture on the brochure and said, “That’s a picture of me.” Also, Paula saw a young man with blue eyes, a Jew, who turned out to be the son of someone close to her who recently died. Natalie said that being here with Shantum and me and with a sangha was like déjà vu from last year’s pilgrimage.
When it was my turn to speak, I said, “Yesterday morning I was a yard away from the Dalai Lama, and when I saw his big smiling face, I couldn’t help smiling, and for the rest of the day, I was as bouncy as Tigger. Today, while we walked to see the prime minister, and we went down a steep and very rocky path, it was an example of mindful walking as a survival skill. And when we saw those mountains by the Oracle monastery today, I was mesmerized and wanted to become a bird and fly toward them.”
Shantum said that tomorrow we have the opportunity to visit the Oracle at 6:30 am in order to witness him in trance, at the Nechung Monastery. If we wish to attend (which of course I do!) we have to get up at 5:30, leave at 6:10, and afterwards go back to the guesthouse for breakfast, before we go to the Dalai Lama’s teachings. There will also be a trek through woods with Jagdish, and if we want to go, we have to leave Cloud’s End by 9 am. After the trek, we should still have time to get to the translator’s 4 pm English-language teaching. We can attend a dance performance at the Tibetan Performing Arts Center. Dinner will be at 7:30 or 7 pm. Thus we have tomorrow all planned—quite a busy day. Meanwhile, Shantum would be leaving Dharamsala after the Oracle event, because a friend invited him to a wedding, so we won’t see him again until tomorrow morning.
Shantum talked about the Mindfulness Trainings Ceremony, which we have the option of taking toward the end of the Dharamsala retreat, and he said, “It has protected me and is a doorway to enlightenment.” Those of us who want to go through with the ceremony are to write an explanation for why we want to do the Mindfulness Training, and give it to Shantum by Friday. Also, we should share an Insight Poem later, before the group splits up, and this will be followed by a discussion on generosity—what you want to support.
When most of the sangha had left the room, I talked with Natalie and looked at the photo she just took of Shantum in the steadily darkening room. She said that she read the two e-mails that I sent today (both of which were travelogues I sent to many people), and so she had quickly called Shantum and they had arranged this meeting. So it was my e-mails that brought her to us! Thanks to an e-mail Natalie sent months ago, I had known that Natalie would be in Dharamsala at the same time as we, but I had anticipated spotting her in the audience at the teachings.
Natalie said that she really enjoyed reading my e-mails, and she went on to highly praise the journal excerpts I had sent for eight months after the pilgrimage. She said it was fascinating to read it through my perspective, to see the same events from someone else’s perspective, and that given how quiet I was, it was surprising that I had written so much. I said, “I don’t talk much, but when I’m writing I’m blaah-blaah-blaah.” She also said that the journal excerpts brought the sangha together, because people e-mailed responses and had some dialogue going, and they kept the pilgrimage alive for all those months.
Wow! That’s quite a positive thing to say, and it’s so in contrast with all the insecurities I had felt while sending those e-mails and thinking I must come across as needy, putting so much into these journal excerpts when the rest of the sangha wasn’t interested in communicating so often. I mentioned that I enjoyed sending the excerpts at first but after a while felt uncomfortable with it—especially my comments about nasty relatives and about living in Kansas. Actually, the word I used wasn’t “comments” but rather “whining.” It was astonishing to hear praise about the journal excerpts for which I had eventually come to feel deeply ashamed, after one of the sangha members went off on me in a holier-than-thou manner for having the audacity to express feelings. By the time I received that negative message, I was deeply depressed and had just finished sending the last of the journal excerpts.
“Do you mean you were uncomfortable with it because it was so personal?” she asked.
“Yes, exactly! It seemed so whiney.” She said that she really liked how personal it was and that it connected what was going on with me with the pilgrimage. In short, she didn’t find it inappropriate at all. Since coming to India, for the most part I haven’t been feeling those insecurities but have instead lived very “here and now,” but this conversation faintly reminded me of them—how before I came here I was, for four months, deeply depressed and firmly believing that I had been making a complete fool of myself by sending these e-mails. I had gotten so distressed that I resolved to stop confiding in others, and I actually went without sending a single personal e-mail for about a month…and developed acid stomach. Natalie’s feedback allayed my fears. What a relief! Maybe only one person was so extremely unimpressed, but I don’t want to think about that right now; I want to enjoy this trip.
Natalie, Shantum and I left the living room and walked away in front of the guesthouse, and Natalie told him that I had sent journal excerpts to the sangha. He asked me if I had known Natalie was coming, and I said, “Yes, she sent me an e-mail.”
“I also sent it to you,” Natalie said to Shantum, “but I don’t think you read it.”
“I haven’t been getting to e-mails,” Shantum said, and I’m now totally convinced he doesn’t know about the manuscript that I e-mailed him about six months ago. I still might mention it, because I would really like to send him the latest draft and also ask him if I could, for the sake of getting my travel memoir published, please have his typed and signed permission to include in my travel memoirs the notes that I took during his storytelling about the Buddha. It’s going to be kind of hard to get to asking this, because I’m squeamish about asking such a huge favor, especially given how busy he is. It’s especially hard to broach such a topic, given that the chance of my being anything like alone with him is really small. Still, I hope I do this before we’re saying good-bye and I’m thinking it would be appropriate to do it before then.
Natalie had a business card with her taxi driver’s phone number. The driver had said that she could call him anytime for a ride back, no later than eight that night, and she noticed that it was getting close to that time. Shantum offered to call the driver, and when he did so on his cell phone, we heard an answering machine playing Bollywood music. I commented on this with a smile, and Natalie, who also enjoys Bollywood movies, asked me if I’d seen Om Shanti Om, which is playing everywhere, and here in Dharamsala you can go see it with English subtitles. It sounds fun, but I probably won’t see it till it’s on DVD in the States. It’s the most popular Bollywood movie right now, and hearing about it filled me with anticipation. After Natalie spoke with her taxi driver, I mentioned that my favorite Bollywood movie is Veer-Zaara.
Natalie didn’t stay for dinner with us, since she didn’t want to miss her ride. So Shantum went on to the silent dinner (we had agreed to practice mindful eating in silence). Since it was chilly now, I dashed into my room to get my bright red coat before heading for dinner, which included three delicious curries, roti, yogurt, and a dessert that was very delicious: it was a pastry that tasted similar to halwa and contained an almond, a cashew, and a pistachio. With all this delicious food, I drank water. It was hard to eat mindfully, in terms of keeping my mind here and now “in the present moment” because I was excited after talking with Natalie and was indeed, at least once, wondering how on earth to broach the topic of getting Shantum’s written permission to include the notes I took on the pilgrimage.
The Prime Minister of the Tibetan Exile Government
After lunch, most of us trekked past the Dalai Lama’s compound and off on a very steep and rocky path, to visit the Tibetan prime minister. I hiked on steep and rocky terrain while carrying two bags, a cushion, and wearing an ankle-length Tibetan chupa that I had to hitch up frequently. I wore leggings underneath the chupa; unless it’s a hot summer day, I typically wear leggings under a skirt or dress. Fortunately, Rachel was walking with me and took my cushion and a bag. While Rachel was perfectly kind and nonjudgmental, a vicious voice in my head criticized me for being so frivolous as to shop; if I hadn’t bought shawls, a cushion, and a hat, I wouldn’t have so many things to carry. I thought I was going to refrain from shopping so much on this trip, since shopping seems so excessively consumerist and materialist and, well, not very Buddhist.
While we walked to the prime minister’s appointment at the Exile Government’s library, Rachel and I were passing a cliff that ran along our left side; I looked up at it to see a high wall, and I could see trees sticking up from behind the wall. I saw movement and thought it was a dog, but within seconds I realized it was the beret-clad head of an Indian soldier. That was a bit startling, and I mentioned it to Rachel. She said that’s the compound of the Dalai Lama’s house. I hopped up in a futile and silly hope of a glimpse of the house and said, “Oh, I don’t suppose we can see it.”
“No, I doubt it,” Rachel said.
“Maybe with a pogo stick,” I said with a giggle.
“If you use a pogo stick to get a look at the Dalai Lama’s palace, then you’ll most certainly be arrested.”
Rachel then told me about an incident that happened probably within the last decade—it was when our landlady, the Rani, was still the M. P. (Member of Parliament) for the region. A taxi driver (and all the taxi drivers in Dharamsala are Indian, even if scarcely anyone else is) had a disagreement with a Tibetan, and this resulted in the Tibetan stabbing the driver, and the driver died from the wound. The Rani made a public statement in which she warned the Dalai Lama and asked that he keep Tibetan misfits (as in dangerous misfits) out of Dharamsala. Well, the Dalai Lama disagreed with her and people accused her of being anti-Tibetan. Shortly after that, a couple of Chinese spies were caught working for the Dalai Lama’s staff, and he realized that the Rani was right.
We passed under a Tibetan-looking gateway, walked down a narrow road, and arrived in a square with a Tibetan-style white stupa in a sort of gazebo in the center, and around the outskirts of the little square stood dark, long buildings. One long brown building included a sign over the entrance with the words “Tibetan Government in Exile.” We followed Shantum inside and gathered into a reception room with many chairs, a bookcase, and a big photo of the Dalai Lama on one wall.
The Tibetan Prime Minister, Lakhoor, is an old monk in the customary red and yellow robes. Members of our group presented him with five khattas, sheen white scarves with long silky fringe, and the prime minister went around the room while we stood, and we exchanged a little bow while he grasped each of our hands. We then all sat down, and I was the only one sitting on the floor, although earlier Shantum had, I think, said something about sitting on the floor. Still, as the youngest I felt like sitting on the floor, and I’m generally more comfortable sitting Indian-style than sitting Western-style. Maybe it’s thanks to past-life experiences.
Since nobody else took their shoes off, I didn’t take my footwear off, and I discovered that sitting cross-legged while wearing hiking boots is not an especially comfortable thing to do. I would have been fine with just socks, and eventually I sat with my legs stretched in front of me. Shantum noticed after we had been interviewing the Prime Minister for some time, and he interrupted the discussion to ask me not to sit with my feet facing the Prime Minister, who qualifies as a meditation teacher. The Tibetan Prime Minister, Lakhoor, reassured me that he didn’t mind, but I shifted positions anyway and was careful not to sit in that position again. Until Shantum mentioned it, I hadn’t thought of the Buddha story in which King Bimbisara complained to the Buddha that his soldiers or courtiers slept with their feet facing him and their heads facing the Buddha, thus showing respect to the Buddha and disrespect to their king. Oops. I imagined explaining this to Shantum later. It seems the foot-related belief dating to the Buddha’s time is a continuing tradition in Indian and Tibetan culture.
“Shantum has been a great friend of mine for a long time,” Lakhoor said.
Someone mentioned the rumors that there won’t be another Dalai Lama. “Usually Dalai lamas do not appoint successors; they inherit by reincarnation.” He mentioned that this involves Buddhist rituals. I remembered how the regent had had a vision, while he gazed into a sacred turquoise lake, of the house where the Fourteenth Dalai Lama was born, and that was a great help in finding the new ruler. I’ve also read how the Dalai Lama’s choice of the current Panchen Lama involved the tradition of divination with balls of barley dough containing hidden messages.
The Dalai Lama believes the Tibetan people should decide whether to continue the Dalai Lama institution. They do not generally agree with his solution to eliminate the position. If the Fourteenth should die, how will a committee search for the Fifteenth with the continuing Chinese occupation? Like the Panchen Lama, they could end up with two Dalai Lamas. Or perhaps instead of reincarnation, it will be an appointed position; that is one possibility.
Q: Is your vision that Tibet will become completely free of Chinese governing? Will it be like Hong Kong?
A: Our vision is very clear. Our policy on the future of Tibet has been since 1979; (scribble) for dialogue meant not complete independence. His Holiness has maintained the position of the Middle Path. Maintain genuine autonomy with China—Five Point Peace Program: how to give autonomy to the entirety of the Tibetan people. Not exactly the Hong Kong model, it involves a little more autonomy—but unfortunately the Chinese government is not moving to implement the national autonomy provisions, of the constitution charter; now there is no autonomy.
Motivations to stay under China (but with autonomy) are: 1) Diplomatic missions to other countries, 2) Defense, and 3) Political policy. I might add economy, since I visited Ireland in 2005, and thanks to its membership in the European Union, Ireland is prospering and has no resemblance to a so-called Third World Country anymore. With autonomy but still under China, Tibet could keep the culture, and such things as healthcare would be Tibet’s own. Tibet would make its own law and its own revolutions (maybe the word was resolutions)—almost independence—“so we are seeking that.” Sooner or later China has to agree to this and say, “Yes, we shall implement it faithfully.”
Q: What would be the best policy for the West to help implement what you just described?
A: That Western countries do not adopt a policy of Chinese market. Important but very cheeky question! Democracy: the Tibet issue is very dear to our heart. If the economy is valued over all these things, then I don’t think there’s no hope for issues like Tibet, human rights, environment. “If you respect democracy, you should not support dictators.”
Q: Do you think that future Chinese politicians will be more Tibet-friendly?
A: Younger Chinese politicians are much more liberal than previous generations. Now even China has more exposure to the rest of the world thanks to technology [the Internet]. So we are very hopeful. It is better than ten years before, it will better in ten years. This is a very big issue.
Q: I ask as a Jew, the Israelis left their homeland—how does it affect Tibetans to be refugees?
A: Religion—Buddhism—is changing. Religion is basic fundamental principle, there will be dharma, there is no in between. Tibetans in exile until now, their religion is not diminishing. The latest generation is more exposed to science and modern education, and more understanding of dharma, which is consistent with science, so understanding of dharma is increasing.
Q: If the 14th Dalai Lama decides there won’t be a 15th, does he decide for himself or say there won’t be a search?
A: He can’t say that he won’t reincarnate. He will have to reincarnate, but the problem is how it will be handled—thanks to the Chinese, it is now a political instead of religious question.
Q: Do you encourage Westerners to travel to Tibet?
A: We always encourage the free world to visit Tibet. That makes a lot of difference. [This made me feel good about the fact that I’m about to go there, and I have every intention of writing a detailed journal in Tibet.]
Q: How do you balance your spiritual and political life?
A: The Dalai Lama asked his people to select their own prime minister, and he was hoping they would choose a young and dynamic person, preferably a lady, and they chose an old monk. [We laughed heartily at this.] I don’t have to deal with defense, etc, just the Tibetan people’s livelihood, and try to communicate with the Chinese government. The position is not much political mostly a social work situation which is compatible with spirituality.
Q: We’re aware there’s a march [from Tibet to Dharamsala thanks to the upcoming Tibet Uprising Day] planned, and I wonder if the government approves?
A: That is the responsibility of nongovernmental organizations, and we like their intentions, but we don’t know if the result will be good.
The land and people vary in (scribble) and separate consideration. We are looking back to returning to our homeland. The land is important to all the people born in India; they are not taking Indian citizenship. Because of Western countries, we have to assimilate.
Shantum said Thich Nhat Hanh is coming to visit in December and asked, “Would it be appropriate for him to meet with His Holiness?”
Lakhoor said, “I’m afraid he might be away from India at that time.” The prime minister, however, assured Shantum that he at least will meet with Thich Nhat Hanh. Shantum mentioned that Thich Nhat Hanh’s visit will be important for reviving Buddhism in India.
As she moved forward, Rachel asked, “May I take a close-up picture? I have an old-fashioned camera.”
“My face is also old-fashioned,” the prime minister said.
Tibetan National Library (same building)
Interview with a senior monk
When I was in Mumbai, my organizers tried to make a pilgrimage to meet with Shantum.
I am happy you are informal, I am happy to be informal.
Q: Do you figure you’ve gotten most of the manuscripts out of Tibet?
A: No, most of the manuscripts have been lost.
Many are in the original Sanskrit—all completely put to fire. There are hardly one hundred left, out of those six hundred monasteries. What was inside those temples—much sacredness, not just in terms of the art’s quality. Many things were lost.
We used to be so careful about those publications, carved wooden blocks, and if the printer made any mistake, they were thrown out. It was better than using computers—slower, but better.
Q: Was it a tradition that was only in an oral tradition?
A: Yes—it is a small country, and people were out in nature. Songs and dances, they had time for all that—other attitudes were prayers and memory, and of course there were no computers. An important part of history slowly disappeared. In the library we have an oral storytelling department.
Q: Did all the six thousand monasteries have catalogs of their holdings, so you know what you’ve lost?
A: Often we had no proper catalogs, in many monasteries. Many didn’t know what was there. Some monks were not educated.
84,000 (scribble) of Buddhist teachings, 108 volumes (large volumes) = the words of the Buddha, that we still study. The three main sections of these teachings are: 1) Dealing with the monastery, 2) Ethical practice, and 3) 1- pointed meditation.
“Only a person with a cool mind can cultivate positive qualities.” Having created that foundation of not harming others, we have to cultivate concentration, engaging healthy qualities. One-pointed attention. Healing human beings needs to be supported by knowing how things are.
The whole process of cultivating Buddhist discipline must be done in agreement with the laws of nature: everything is interconnected, be it with us or be it with the environment.
Q: Are there a number of practices of one-pointed attention?
A: You can choose any object, but if you’re a Buddhist there’s an advantage to meditating on a Buddha statue rather than a flower.
Q: Reincarnation and the concept of the mindstream.
A: Mind, according to science, is nothing but function.
But for Buddhists, mind is consciousness. Subtlest mind: mental consciousness, different from gross physical body.
Now can we prove it? That is the big question. Tonight, when you go to sleep, your body is more or less dead. But in your mind…you could be having a dream of…New York. You are in traffic. Something is happening—this suggests there’s a separate energy that goes beyond the body.
We give emptiness to sense sensations, not mental consciousness. When you go from this life to the next, you keep your mental consciousness. Continuity of the mind.
Q: Jataka Tales and self-sacrifice.
A: Unlimited giving. Much of the problems and difficulties are because of this negative self-centeredness. People who grasp to self are more prone to heart attacks. When you see me and mine, you have too narrow a focus. You think in the whole world you’re the only sufferer—because of narrow mindedness, you suffer.
Bodhicitta = altruism.
The more you think about other people, the less you suffer. [This is very true—if I think of myself, I’m depressed, but if I think of others suffering elsewhere, I try to help and forget myself. It feels good to forget about myself.] There was a guy who was crying because he had no shoes, and while he was crying someone came along who had no feet. Gradually you didn’t see much difference between your body, somebody else, and a fruit. You can reach that level if you keep up practice. [But I don’t want to take a bite out of my foot, as if I thought it were an apple.]
Q: The practice of tonglen? [Pema Chodron, by the way, explains this practice. It involves breathing in someone else’s pain or anger or some other negative emotion, so that you’re taking it in; and then you breathe out healing, positive emotions. It’s similar to metta, or loving-kindness meditation, in the Theravada tradition.]
A: Tonglen is about giving and receiving. The initial stage is breathing in and out. Breathing out: offering my love, my compassion. “May all beings have joy and peace.” When you breathe in, “I take all the sufferings of other beings. I take those problems.” You place all these problems on the negative self-centeredness. Positive self.
Shantum said of tonglen that it is “when you see everyone in the world as your mother.” When you [pressure?] the group, you (scribble) and when you always try to do tonglen, it is difficult.
Think of friends as people who need support…enemies… the same way. What is the difference between these people—friends, enemies? No definiteness: husband and wife could become sworn enemies later in life [even if they remain married—just look at my mother]. “I love you as long as you love me” is marriage as a business transaction [which, actually, is why marriage was invented: a business transaction between the bride’s father and husband, both of whom saw her as the product, a thing to barter]. We all share because we all want happiness and do not want suffering. First thing a child does after birth is cry. Everyone has a basic sameness.
Hinayana, Mahayana, Vajrayana—it is not about which is better. [I should have thanked the monk for stating this.] A different tradition is what is being taught by different people.
Hinayana is the foundation; Tibetans practice all three. It depends on which text you’re reading.
Hinayana practitioners can be higher than Mahayana. All three practices can be understood by the same person. Hinayana is a coarser vehicle. Sutra teachings talk about ultimate qualities that give you enlightenment. In Vajrayana, you’re not a Buddha, but you practice visualizations in which you picture yourself as an idealized Buddha. We have a tendency to highlight negative qualities rather than see the good side. You should cultivate loving-kindness to all sentient beings and see them as your mother (in previous and future lives). All sentient beings and insentient beings are the same in that they have separateness. All sentient beings have Buddha nature.
In the Tibetan Exile library, we explored the impressive manuscript room, which was a room containing narrow aisles between very tall wooden, glass-doored bookcases full of traditional Tibetan manuscripts wrapped in cloth. Sonam is the assistant librarian in the manuscript room, and he showed us the a particularly big and old book that he first took out of a special cabinet, and he showed us a few other old books. A traditional Tibetan book consists of two long wooden boards with long, slender sheets of loose leaf hand printed paper in between. It can have beautiful hand painted illustrations inside, such as the medieval book that Sonam showed us, and it always has plenty of Tibetan calligraphy. The book is wrapped in typically bright yellow cotton with a hand written white label and tags of several bright shiny pieces of brocade, like the pointy bits of brocade that dangle from banners in a Tibetan prayer hall.
We stepped outside and entered the nearby Monastery of the Nechung Oracle, who works with all four sects of Tibetan Buddhism. We entered to the right a small shrine room with a large dark bowl of a strange fermented brew, and bottles of whiskey and scotch sat on the same table, below a glass cabinet. Hmm. These are ingredients for the Oracle’s altered state, his weird trance in which he makes predictions in an extinct, ancient version of the Tibetan language, while an interpreter quickly writes them down. When the Oracle is in this state, he is believed to be channeling a deity, although I’m more inclined to suspect him of channeling a ghost, just like a Victorian medium holding séance. It’s a theory, anyway. Tibet has a tradition of numerous oracles in different regions, and they are frequently female; the one who’s famous, however, is the Dalai Lama’s traditional oracle, the Nechung Oracle.
Around the area that includes the Tibetan Exile Government building, the Tibetan archives library and the Oracle monastery, I twice saw benches flanking the wide entrance to temples or other buildings, and on these benches stray dogs were curled up.
After we had completed our tours and interviews for the day, we stepped outside, down steps between snoozing stray dogs, and stood on a paved area to gaze at the scenery. We could see plenty of snow-capped mountains from here, and I regretted not bringing my camera. Below the breathtaking view of the snow-capped mountains, we saw a group of Indian men and women digging rocks out of a lot, a more or less square area of dirt. A few very small children were on the premises and looked out of place and vulnerable. Behind the dirt lot was a veranda on which some Tibetan monks sat at tables drinking tea and observing the laborers, and I got to wondering if Tibetans don’t do hard work like that in Dharamsala but rather reserve it for Indians, just like the job of driving taxis. Gary and I stood watching the laborers, and he said, “These workers are from the Untouchable caste.”
“Oh my,” I said, staring with my mouth hanging slightly open as this information sunk in. Women in saris balanced very large dirty stones or even chunks of concrete on their heads and walked along the dirt and up a slope out of the square of dirt that would perhaps become the basement of a new building.
“I’m pretty sure they are, anyway,” Gary said. “Shantum would know more about that.” He said that they have no education—it’s not allowed—and that all the women are married. “You can tell because they have bangles on both their wrists.”
“And they were probably married at the age of fifteen,” I said. Then we got talking about widows. He said that when an Indian woman becomes a widow, she has to take off all her bangles and never wear them again. He said that Hindu widows have it really rough, and I mentioned the film Water and added, “That still happens.”
He said, “It’s probably not as dramatic now as it was in the film, but yes, it’s a bad experience to be a widow in this country.”
I mentioned that in Nepal they don’t have that problem because young women go through a ceremony in which they marry Vishnu, or maybe it was Krishna, and so symbolically they never become widows. It’s something I came across in a children’s book at work.
Amid the laborers, a toddler began crying, and its mother stopped walking to hold and try to quiet the baby. Gary commented that maybe the kid knows his prospects aren’t good.
Imagining what was going through the kid’s head, I jokingly whined, “Mommy, I want a Ph.D.!”
“Forget a Ph.D.,” Gary said after laughing. “Mommy, I want to drive a bus!”
While we walked to the prime minister’s appointment at the Exile Government’s library, Rachel and I were passing a cliff that ran along our left side; I looked up at it to see a high wall, and I could see trees sticking up from behind the wall. I saw movement and thought it was a dog, but within seconds I realized it was the beret-clad head of an Indian soldier. That was a bit startling, and I mentioned it to Rachel. She said that’s the compound of the Dalai Lama’s house. I hopped up in a futile and silly hope of a glimpse of the house and said, “Oh, I don’t suppose we can see it.”
“No, I doubt it,” Rachel said.
“Maybe with a pogo stick,” I said with a giggle.
“If you use a pogo stick to get a look at the Dalai Lama’s palace, then you’ll most certainly be arrested.”
Rachel then told me about an incident that happened probably within the last decade—it was when our landlady, the Rani, was still the M. P. (Member of Parliament) for the region. A taxi driver (and all the taxi drivers in Dharamsala are Indian, even if scarcely anyone else is) had a disagreement with a Tibetan, and this resulted in the Tibetan stabbing the driver, and the driver died from the wound. The Rani made a public statement in which she warned the Dalai Lama and asked that he keep Tibetan misfits (as in dangerous misfits) out of Dharamsala. Well, the Dalai Lama disagreed with her and people accused her of being anti-Tibetan. Shortly after that, a couple of Chinese spies were caught working for the Dalai Lama’s staff, and he realized that the Rani was right.
We passed under a Tibetan-looking gateway, walked down a narrow road, and arrived in a square with a Tibetan-style white stupa in a sort of gazebo in the center, and around the outskirts of the little square stood dark, long buildings. One long brown building included a sign over the entrance with the words “Tibetan Government in Exile.” We followed Shantum inside and gathered into a reception room with many chairs, a bookcase, and a big photo of the Dalai Lama on one wall.
The Tibetan Prime Minister, Lakhoor, is an old monk in the customary red and yellow robes. Members of our group presented him with five khattas, sheen white scarves with long silky fringe, and the prime minister went around the room while we stood, and we exchanged a little bow while he grasped each of our hands. We then all sat down, and I was the only one sitting on the floor, although earlier Shantum had, I think, said something about sitting on the floor. Still, as the youngest I felt like sitting on the floor, and I’m generally more comfortable sitting Indian-style than sitting Western-style. Maybe it’s thanks to past-life experiences.
Since nobody else took their shoes off, I didn’t take my footwear off, and I discovered that sitting cross-legged while wearing hiking boots is not an especially comfortable thing to do. I would have been fine with just socks, and eventually I sat with my legs stretched in front of me. Shantum noticed after we had been interviewing the Prime Minister for some time, and he interrupted the discussion to ask me not to sit with my feet facing the Prime Minister, who qualifies as a meditation teacher. The Tibetan Prime Minister, Lakhoor, reassured me that he didn’t mind, but I shifted positions anyway and was careful not to sit in that position again. Until Shantum mentioned it, I hadn’t thought of the Buddha story in which King Bimbisara complained to the Buddha that his soldiers or courtiers slept with their feet facing him and their heads facing the Buddha, thus showing respect to the Buddha and disrespect to their king. Oops. I imagined explaining this to Shantum later. It seems the foot-related belief dating to the Buddha’s time is a continuing tradition in Indian and Tibetan culture.
“Shantum has been a great friend of mine for a long time,” Lakhoor said.
Someone mentioned the rumors that there won’t be another Dalai Lama. “Usually Dalai lamas do not appoint successors; they inherit by reincarnation.” He mentioned that this involves Buddhist rituals. I remembered how the regent had had a vision, while he gazed into a sacred turquoise lake, of the house where the Fourteenth Dalai Lama was born, and that was a great help in finding the new ruler. I’ve also read how the Dalai Lama’s choice of the current Panchen Lama involved the tradition of divination with balls of barley dough containing hidden messages.
The Dalai Lama believes the Tibetan people should decide whether to continue the Dalai Lama institution. They do not generally agree with his solution to eliminate the position. If the Fourteenth should die, how will a committee search for the Fifteenth with the continuing Chinese occupation? Like the Panchen Lama, they could end up with two Dalai Lamas. Or perhaps instead of reincarnation, it will be an appointed position; that is one possibility.
Q: Is your vision that Tibet will become completely free of Chinese governing? Will it be like Hong Kong?
A: Our vision is very clear. Our policy on the future of Tibet has been since 1979; (scribble) for dialogue meant not complete independence. His Holiness has maintained the position of the Middle Path. Maintain genuine autonomy with China—Five Point Peace Program: how to give autonomy to the entirety of the Tibetan people. Not exactly the Hong Kong model, it involves a little more autonomy—but unfortunately the Chinese government is not moving to implement the national autonomy provisions, of the constitution charter; now there is no autonomy.
Motivations to stay under China (but with autonomy) are: 1) Diplomatic missions to other countries, 2) Defense, and 3) Political policy. I might add economy, since I visited Ireland in 2005, and thanks to its membership in the European Union, Ireland is prospering and has no resemblance to a so-called Third World Country anymore. With autonomy but still under China, Tibet could keep the culture, and such things as healthcare would be Tibet’s own. Tibet would make its own law and its own revolutions (maybe the word was resolutions)—almost independence—“so we are seeking that.” Sooner or later China has to agree to this and say, “Yes, we shall implement it faithfully.”
Q: What would be the best policy for the West to help implement what you just described?
A: That Western countries do not adopt a policy of Chinese market. Important but very cheeky question! Democracy: the Tibet issue is very dear to our heart. If the economy is valued over all these things, then I don’t think there’s no hope for issues like Tibet, human rights, environment. “If you respect democracy, you should not support dictators.”
Q: Do you think that future Chinese politicians will be more Tibet-friendly?
A: Younger Chinese politicians are much more liberal than previous generations. Now even China has more exposure to the rest of the world thanks to technology [the Internet]. So we are very hopeful. It is better than ten years before, it will better in ten years. This is a very big issue.
Q: I ask as a Jew, the Israelis left their homeland—how does it affect Tibetans to be refugees?
A: Religion—Buddhism—is changing. Religion is basic fundamental principle, there will be dharma, there is no in between. Tibetans in exile until now, their religion is not diminishing. The latest generation is more exposed to science and modern education, and more understanding of dharma, which is consistent with science, so understanding of dharma is increasing.
Q: If the 14th Dalai Lama decides there won’t be a 15th, does he decide for himself or say there won’t be a search?
A: He can’t say that he won’t reincarnate. He will have to reincarnate, but the problem is how it will be handled—thanks to the Chinese, it is now a political instead of religious question.
Q: Do you encourage Westerners to travel to Tibet?
A: We always encourage the free world to visit Tibet. That makes a lot of difference. [This made me feel good about the fact that I’m about to go there, and I have every intention of writing a detailed journal in Tibet.]
Q: How do you balance your spiritual and political life?
A: The Dalai Lama asked his people to select their own prime minister, and he was hoping they would choose a young and dynamic person, preferably a lady, and they chose an old monk. [We laughed heartily at this.] I don’t have to deal with defense, etc, just the Tibetan people’s livelihood, and try to communicate with the Chinese government. The position is not much political mostly a social work situation which is compatible with spirituality.
Q: We’re aware there’s a march [from Tibet to Dharamsala thanks to the upcoming Tibet Uprising Day] planned, and I wonder if the government approves?
A: That is the responsibility of nongovernmental organizations, and we like their intentions, but we don’t know if the result will be good.
The land and people vary in (scribble) and separate consideration. We are looking back to returning to our homeland. The land is important to all the people born in India; they are not taking Indian citizenship. Because of Western countries, we have to assimilate.
Shantum said Thich Nhat Hanh is coming to visit in December and asked, “Would it be appropriate for him to meet with His Holiness?”
Lakhoor said, “I’m afraid he might be away from India at that time.” The prime minister, however, assured Shantum that he at least will meet with Thich Nhat Hanh. Shantum mentioned that Thich Nhat Hanh’s visit will be important for reviving Buddhism in India.
As she moved forward, Rachel asked, “May I take a close-up picture? I have an old-fashioned camera.”
“My face is also old-fashioned,” the prime minister said.
Tibetan National Library (same building)
Interview with a senior monk
When I was in Mumbai, my organizers tried to make a pilgrimage to meet with Shantum.
I am happy you are informal, I am happy to be informal.
Q: Do you figure you’ve gotten most of the manuscripts out of Tibet?
A: No, most of the manuscripts have been lost.
Many are in the original Sanskrit—all completely put to fire. There are hardly one hundred left, out of those six hundred monasteries. What was inside those temples—much sacredness, not just in terms of the art’s quality. Many things were lost.
We used to be so careful about those publications, carved wooden blocks, and if the printer made any mistake, they were thrown out. It was better than using computers—slower, but better.
Q: Was it a tradition that was only in an oral tradition?
A: Yes—it is a small country, and people were out in nature. Songs and dances, they had time for all that—other attitudes were prayers and memory, and of course there were no computers. An important part of history slowly disappeared. In the library we have an oral storytelling department.
Q: Did all the six thousand monasteries have catalogs of their holdings, so you know what you’ve lost?
A: Often we had no proper catalogs, in many monasteries. Many didn’t know what was there. Some monks were not educated.
84,000 (scribble) of Buddhist teachings, 108 volumes (large volumes) = the words of the Buddha, that we still study. The three main sections of these teachings are: 1) Dealing with the monastery, 2) Ethical practice, and 3) 1- pointed meditation.
“Only a person with a cool mind can cultivate positive qualities.” Having created that foundation of not harming others, we have to cultivate concentration, engaging healthy qualities. One-pointed attention. Healing human beings needs to be supported by knowing how things are.
The whole process of cultivating Buddhist discipline must be done in agreement with the laws of nature: everything is interconnected, be it with us or be it with the environment.
Q: Are there a number of practices of one-pointed attention?
A: You can choose any object, but if you’re a Buddhist there’s an advantage to meditating on a Buddha statue rather than a flower.
Q: Reincarnation and the concept of the mindstream.
A: Mind, according to science, is nothing but function.
But for Buddhists, mind is consciousness. Subtlest mind: mental consciousness, different from gross physical body.
Now can we prove it? That is the big question. Tonight, when you go to sleep, your body is more or less dead. But in your mind…you could be having a dream of…New York. You are in traffic. Something is happening—this suggests there’s a separate energy that goes beyond the body.
We give emptiness to sense sensations, not mental consciousness. When you go from this life to the next, you keep your mental consciousness. Continuity of the mind.
Q: Jataka Tales and self-sacrifice.
A: Unlimited giving. Much of the problems and difficulties are because of this negative self-centeredness. People who grasp to self are more prone to heart attacks. When you see me and mine, you have too narrow a focus. You think in the whole world you’re the only sufferer—because of narrow mindedness, you suffer.
Bodhicitta = altruism.
The more you think about other people, the less you suffer. [This is very true—if I think of myself, I’m depressed, but if I think of others suffering elsewhere, I try to help and forget myself. It feels good to forget about myself.] There was a guy who was crying because he had no shoes, and while he was crying someone came along who had no feet. Gradually you didn’t see much difference between your body, somebody else, and a fruit. You can reach that level if you keep up practice. [But I don’t want to take a bite out of my foot, as if I thought it were an apple.]
Q: The practice of tonglen? [Pema Chodron, by the way, explains this practice. It involves breathing in someone else’s pain or anger or some other negative emotion, so that you’re taking it in; and then you breathe out healing, positive emotions. It’s similar to metta, or loving-kindness meditation, in the Theravada tradition.]
A: Tonglen is about giving and receiving. The initial stage is breathing in and out. Breathing out: offering my love, my compassion. “May all beings have joy and peace.” When you breathe in, “I take all the sufferings of other beings. I take those problems.” You place all these problems on the negative self-centeredness. Positive self.
Shantum said of tonglen that it is “when you see everyone in the world as your mother.” When you [pressure?] the group, you (scribble) and when you always try to do tonglen, it is difficult.
Think of friends as people who need support…enemies… the same way. What is the difference between these people—friends, enemies? No definiteness: husband and wife could become sworn enemies later in life [even if they remain married—just look at my mother]. “I love you as long as you love me” is marriage as a business transaction [which, actually, is why marriage was invented: a business transaction between the bride’s father and husband, both of whom saw her as the product, a thing to barter]. We all share because we all want happiness and do not want suffering. First thing a child does after birth is cry. Everyone has a basic sameness.
Hinayana, Mahayana, Vajrayana—it is not about which is better. [I should have thanked the monk for stating this.] A different tradition is what is being taught by different people.
Hinayana is the foundation; Tibetans practice all three. It depends on which text you’re reading.
Hinayana practitioners can be higher than Mahayana. All three practices can be understood by the same person. Hinayana is a coarser vehicle. Sutra teachings talk about ultimate qualities that give you enlightenment. In Vajrayana, you’re not a Buddha, but you practice visualizations in which you picture yourself as an idealized Buddha. We have a tendency to highlight negative qualities rather than see the good side. You should cultivate loving-kindness to all sentient beings and see them as your mother (in previous and future lives). All sentient beings and insentient beings are the same in that they have separateness. All sentient beings have Buddha nature.
In the Tibetan Exile library, we explored the impressive manuscript room, which was a room containing narrow aisles between very tall wooden, glass-doored bookcases full of traditional Tibetan manuscripts wrapped in cloth. Sonam is the assistant librarian in the manuscript room, and he showed us the a particularly big and old book that he first took out of a special cabinet, and he showed us a few other old books. A traditional Tibetan book consists of two long wooden boards with long, slender sheets of loose leaf hand printed paper in between. It can have beautiful hand painted illustrations inside, such as the medieval book that Sonam showed us, and it always has plenty of Tibetan calligraphy. The book is wrapped in typically bright yellow cotton with a hand written white label and tags of several bright shiny pieces of brocade, like the pointy bits of brocade that dangle from banners in a Tibetan prayer hall.
We stepped outside and entered the nearby Monastery of the Nechung Oracle, who works with all four sects of Tibetan Buddhism. We entered to the right a small shrine room with a large dark bowl of a strange fermented brew, and bottles of whiskey and scotch sat on the same table, below a glass cabinet. Hmm. These are ingredients for the Oracle’s altered state, his weird trance in which he makes predictions in an extinct, ancient version of the Tibetan language, while an interpreter quickly writes them down. When the Oracle is in this state, he is believed to be channeling a deity, although I’m more inclined to suspect him of channeling a ghost, just like a Victorian medium holding séance. It’s a theory, anyway. Tibet has a tradition of numerous oracles in different regions, and they are frequently female; the one who’s famous, however, is the Dalai Lama’s traditional oracle, the Nechung Oracle.
Around the area that includes the Tibetan Exile Government building, the Tibetan archives library and the Oracle monastery, I twice saw benches flanking the wide entrance to temples or other buildings, and on these benches stray dogs were curled up.
After we had completed our tours and interviews for the day, we stepped outside, down steps between snoozing stray dogs, and stood on a paved area to gaze at the scenery. We could see plenty of snow-capped mountains from here, and I regretted not bringing my camera. Below the breathtaking view of the snow-capped mountains, we saw a group of Indian men and women digging rocks out of a lot, a more or less square area of dirt. A few very small children were on the premises and looked out of place and vulnerable. Behind the dirt lot was a veranda on which some Tibetan monks sat at tables drinking tea and observing the laborers, and I got to wondering if Tibetans don’t do hard work like that in Dharamsala but rather reserve it for Indians, just like the job of driving taxis. Gary and I stood watching the laborers, and he said, “These workers are from the Untouchable caste.”
“Oh my,” I said, staring with my mouth hanging slightly open as this information sunk in. Women in saris balanced very large dirty stones or even chunks of concrete on their heads and walked along the dirt and up a slope out of the square of dirt that would perhaps become the basement of a new building.
“I’m pretty sure they are, anyway,” Gary said. “Shantum would know more about that.” He said that they have no education—it’s not allowed—and that all the women are married. “You can tell because they have bangles on both their wrists.”
“And they were probably married at the age of fifteen,” I said. Then we got talking about widows. He said that when an Indian woman becomes a widow, she has to take off all her bangles and never wear them again. He said that Hindu widows have it really rough, and I mentioned the film Water and added, “That still happens.”
He said, “It’s probably not as dramatic now as it was in the film, but yes, it’s a bad experience to be a widow in this country.”
I mentioned that in Nepal they don’t have that problem because young women go through a ceremony in which they marry Vishnu, or maybe it was Krishna, and so symbolically they never become widows. It’s something I came across in a children’s book at work.
Amid the laborers, a toddler began crying, and its mother stopped walking to hold and try to quiet the baby. Gary commented that maybe the kid knows his prospects aren’t good.
Imagining what was going through the kid’s head, I jokingly whined, “Mommy, I want a Ph.D.!”
“Forget a Ph.D.,” Gary said after laughing. “Mommy, I want to drive a bus!”
Shopping in Dharamsala
I had a dream in which I was in Dharamsala and it was something like a historical documentary of Dharamsala at the same time. According to this dream, the British took over it in the nineteenth century. Later India took it back and then the British took it from them again. And there may have been some military types in this dream.
Earlier, I had a dream involving the Dalai Lama and Dharamsala, but now it escapes me. I also vaguely recall that I had a weird and disturbing dream involving monsters of some sort.
I’m getting an image of a field and vehicles—in association with probably the last dream. I mentioned I’m afraid that’s the best I can come up with. I was hoping that if I kept writing on these dreams that they’d come back to me, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Maybe the one that I described as being about monsters was really about the Chinese picking on Tibetans—that seems likely. Or maybe it was about my personal monsters.
After we ate dinner last night, Shantum made his announcement and said we would have a forty minute talk with the Tibetan prime minister of the government in exile, so we should think of some questions to ask him. Questions I could ask the prime minister:
Do you agree with the Dalai Lama’s intention of not making Tibet completely independent, but rather keeping the connection with China for the sake of the economy and military defense?
How do you picture Tibet fifty years from now?
At breakfast this morning, I sat at a long table, as did Rachel and Jamie. Rachel said it was a rather odd table, as if we were part of a panel discussion. It also added, I thought, to the lack of coziness in the big, cold dining room. We should have been huddled around a smaller table, sitting close together, instead of three people spread far apart and facing the same direction. Other people sat at other tables, but I was feeling shy toward them, which is my normal state. I had the delicious masala omelet for breakfast; it includes several vegetables, including hot chili peppers. As I was sipping masala chai, the Rani arrived wearing a salwar-kamiz and with the brown and white puppy on a leash. Of course I oohed and aahhed and petted the puppy and took a couple of pictures of it. The puppy wagged its tail at me.
Early in the morning, probably before seven, Sheila and a few other people and I stood in front of Cloud’s End and waited for the taxis to arrive. Three taxi cabs were parked several yards below us, at a turn in the narrow road that ends in front of the guesthouse, but the taxis all suddenly drove off at the same time. “I wonder why they’re leaving,” Sheila said.
I said, “Maybe they’re spies. They’re Chinese terrorists! Ahhh!” in a comical and melodramatic manner. Since seeing the Dalai Lama, I was still feeling euphoric.
“Ah, Susan must be a morning person,” Sheila said. “You’re up and making jokes at this hour.” That's funny--I've never thought of myself as a morning person.
Enid, Mimi, and I went shopping in the heart of Dharamsala. I did not yet know my way around and simply followed along. Mimi led us to a store that sold semi-precious stones in countless sizes and colors, and she explained that she was looking for a stone to carve. I found that fascinating and impressive and certainly a kind of project that I can’t see myself even attempting. I mentioned that I sculpt, mostly with polymer clay, but I rather suspect that carving something out of a hard surface is infinitely more difficult than sculpting with soft clay.
We entered a second shop that sold stones, but it was mostly full of shawls, which rather distracted me. The Kashmiri shopkeeper was very friendly and chatty and told us that he has pashmina shawls. He showed us a picture of a shaggy black and white sheep that he explained is the one source of pashmina, the softest wool in the world. He had a tall mirror off to the right side of the shop, and Mimi and the shopkeeper draped shawls on me, a beige shawl and a brown shawl and finally a bright orange shawl that seemed to transform my appearance for the better. Who would have thought orange could be such a flattering color? I bought the orange pashmina shawl despite the high price, and I also got a dark red cotton shawl embroidered with orange loopy designs.
The friendly Kashmiri shop keeper encouraged us (Mimi, Enid, and me) to visit Kashmir because it’s “the most beautiful place in the world.” Not of course that he was biased. It does indeed sound beautiful, with the mountains and houseboats with hanging gardens, but Enid was particularly dubious about whether it would be safe, what with the terrorist activity for which it’s famous. But the shop keeper said it’s been safe. Still, Enid pointed out that “people hate Americans.” In my world travels since 2004, I’ve often felt embarrassed to admit to being an American, even in London. I am sometimes tempted to claim that I’m from Toronto, Canada, but I have this thing about honesty. Anyway, we had a nice talk with the Kashmiri shopkeeper, and he even invited us to tea, but we were dubious because of our busy schedule, and as Mimi pointed out, typically Shantum didn’t tell us what we’d be doing until one day in advance.
Mimi or Enid or someone said this, and later it came up in conversation that sure we get the details in advance on flights, train rides, and guesthouses, but it’s really Bina who handles all that. Shantum isn’t exactly the greatest at organization, at least in the sense of letting us know things in advance. Maybe it’s more like he isn’t big on communicating such things, just as he often isn’t good about checking his e-mails.
After we left that shop and wandered down the narrow, busy street, past many stands and shops, I paused in front of another Kashmiri shop where hand embroidered items were on display on a table by the front steps; they included bags, elephant tea cozies, and circular hats, all embroidered in bright colors. I tried one of the hats on, but it was too tight for my enormous head, but the shopkeeper saw me and invited me into the store, telling me that there are plenty of hats inside. Mimi and Enid said they’d wait for me outside, so I followed the shopkeeper up the alarmingly tall, narrow bright blue steps into the little shop. We walked down a narrow hallway where beautiful rugs lined the walls, and there were two small rooms with other items on display, including more rugs, tea cozies, and hats like the one I tried on. I found a burgundy hat that fit me, and which I’m wearing. The hat, or more specifically fez, is completely covered with a chain stitch design of birds and flowers. We went to a café and sat at a small table outdoors with our headphones on, but the reception on the radio was lousy.
Earlier, I had a dream involving the Dalai Lama and Dharamsala, but now it escapes me. I also vaguely recall that I had a weird and disturbing dream involving monsters of some sort.
I’m getting an image of a field and vehicles—in association with probably the last dream. I mentioned I’m afraid that’s the best I can come up with. I was hoping that if I kept writing on these dreams that they’d come back to me, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Maybe the one that I described as being about monsters was really about the Chinese picking on Tibetans—that seems likely. Or maybe it was about my personal monsters.
After we ate dinner last night, Shantum made his announcement and said we would have a forty minute talk with the Tibetan prime minister of the government in exile, so we should think of some questions to ask him. Questions I could ask the prime minister:
Do you agree with the Dalai Lama’s intention of not making Tibet completely independent, but rather keeping the connection with China for the sake of the economy and military defense?
How do you picture Tibet fifty years from now?
At breakfast this morning, I sat at a long table, as did Rachel and Jamie. Rachel said it was a rather odd table, as if we were part of a panel discussion. It also added, I thought, to the lack of coziness in the big, cold dining room. We should have been huddled around a smaller table, sitting close together, instead of three people spread far apart and facing the same direction. Other people sat at other tables, but I was feeling shy toward them, which is my normal state. I had the delicious masala omelet for breakfast; it includes several vegetables, including hot chili peppers. As I was sipping masala chai, the Rani arrived wearing a salwar-kamiz and with the brown and white puppy on a leash. Of course I oohed and aahhed and petted the puppy and took a couple of pictures of it. The puppy wagged its tail at me.
Early in the morning, probably before seven, Sheila and a few other people and I stood in front of Cloud’s End and waited for the taxis to arrive. Three taxi cabs were parked several yards below us, at a turn in the narrow road that ends in front of the guesthouse, but the taxis all suddenly drove off at the same time. “I wonder why they’re leaving,” Sheila said.
I said, “Maybe they’re spies. They’re Chinese terrorists! Ahhh!” in a comical and melodramatic manner. Since seeing the Dalai Lama, I was still feeling euphoric.
“Ah, Susan must be a morning person,” Sheila said. “You’re up and making jokes at this hour.” That's funny--I've never thought of myself as a morning person.
Enid, Mimi, and I went shopping in the heart of Dharamsala. I did not yet know my way around and simply followed along. Mimi led us to a store that sold semi-precious stones in countless sizes and colors, and she explained that she was looking for a stone to carve. I found that fascinating and impressive and certainly a kind of project that I can’t see myself even attempting. I mentioned that I sculpt, mostly with polymer clay, but I rather suspect that carving something out of a hard surface is infinitely more difficult than sculpting with soft clay.
We entered a second shop that sold stones, but it was mostly full of shawls, which rather distracted me. The Kashmiri shopkeeper was very friendly and chatty and told us that he has pashmina shawls. He showed us a picture of a shaggy black and white sheep that he explained is the one source of pashmina, the softest wool in the world. He had a tall mirror off to the right side of the shop, and Mimi and the shopkeeper draped shawls on me, a beige shawl and a brown shawl and finally a bright orange shawl that seemed to transform my appearance for the better. Who would have thought orange could be such a flattering color? I bought the orange pashmina shawl despite the high price, and I also got a dark red cotton shawl embroidered with orange loopy designs.
The friendly Kashmiri shop keeper encouraged us (Mimi, Enid, and me) to visit Kashmir because it’s “the most beautiful place in the world.” Not of course that he was biased. It does indeed sound beautiful, with the mountains and houseboats with hanging gardens, but Enid was particularly dubious about whether it would be safe, what with the terrorist activity for which it’s famous. But the shop keeper said it’s been safe. Still, Enid pointed out that “people hate Americans.” In my world travels since 2004, I’ve often felt embarrassed to admit to being an American, even in London. I am sometimes tempted to claim that I’m from Toronto, Canada, but I have this thing about honesty. Anyway, we had a nice talk with the Kashmiri shopkeeper, and he even invited us to tea, but we were dubious because of our busy schedule, and as Mimi pointed out, typically Shantum didn’t tell us what we’d be doing until one day in advance.
Mimi or Enid or someone said this, and later it came up in conversation that sure we get the details in advance on flights, train rides, and guesthouses, but it’s really Bina who handles all that. Shantum isn’t exactly the greatest at organization, at least in the sense of letting us know things in advance. Maybe it’s more like he isn’t big on communicating such things, just as he often isn’t good about checking his e-mails.
After we left that shop and wandered down the narrow, busy street, past many stands and shops, I paused in front of another Kashmiri shop where hand embroidered items were on display on a table by the front steps; they included bags, elephant tea cozies, and circular hats, all embroidered in bright colors. I tried one of the hats on, but it was too tight for my enormous head, but the shopkeeper saw me and invited me into the store, telling me that there are plenty of hats inside. Mimi and Enid said they’d wait for me outside, so I followed the shopkeeper up the alarmingly tall, narrow bright blue steps into the little shop. We walked down a narrow hallway where beautiful rugs lined the walls, and there were two small rooms with other items on display, including more rugs, tea cozies, and hats like the one I tried on. I found a burgundy hat that fit me, and which I’m wearing. The hat, or more specifically fez, is completely covered with a chain stitch design of birds and flowers. We went to a café and sat at a small table outdoors with our headphones on, but the reception on the radio was lousy.
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