Dharamsala & Palampur July 1, 2009

A few days ago, on Sunday, I saw more Tibetan monks than any other given day in my lifetime. First, during our picnic, in which the spot we had chosen had also been chosen by picnicing monks who looked as though they were throwing a carnival, what with all their tents draped throughout the trees. We (well, I watched actually) played a game of cricket, which really just seems like another version of baseball to me. The heat had me semi-napping under a tree, while intermittently sucking on mangos and chugging water. Itty bitty monk children splashed about in the creek and I was entirely envious. Fortunately, my feelings of envy were remedied when a water fight was instigated by some of the volunteers and staff. Most were picked up and thrown into the creek, but when Jaggy grabbed for my arm I just walked along and had him escort me to the cool welcoming water. We were splashing at each other and just belching out uproars of laughter at the whole situation. I scooped my hand along the bottom and picked up a rock with a large amount of quartz in it. There I was, surrounded by gaping Tibetan monk children, fully clothed and splashing water without a given target in a creek that flowed over a bed of quartz and through a cattle grazing field in India. I never weary of these contextualizations.

My next encounter with an abundance of monks took place in Dharamsala, the town where the Dalai Lama resides and where the Tibetans were exiled half a century or so back. Monsoon season decided to give us a preview of its watery wrath on that very day, but we were set on going to Dharamsala to look around and eat at a highly recommended restaurant called Carpe Diam (where I ate the most delicious Thai soup and curry). The rain came for periods of ten or so minutes and guzzled down against the sides of the car and the front windshield like an enormous hose that wouldn't allow for any air spaces between its beads of water. I exerted all my calm energies to try and think "I am not going to die right now, this driver is very experienced." But I couldn't see out the windshield, how could he? By virtue of me writing this blog entry, yes, we did make it alive and well to Dharamsala, after having driven up a winding mountain road for a near forty minutes. I was intrigued by all the signs along the road with phrases like "Keep your town pure and clean and green" and "Protect the wildlife" etc. The environmental consciousness of this place is pretttty high, and I'm wondering if that in part has to do with the high tourist rate here. It was strange to see so many westerners amongst us. I'm so used to being oggled at and treated like some celebrity (every time we walk through the rice fields towards the hill to hike kids will be peeking out from windows or in the fields and yell out "Hi!" while vigorously waving to us). But Dharamsala is noteworthily quite the attraction. The narrow streets of the market with all their vibrant colors and wares of various jewelry, cloths, tapestries, deity statues and prayer beads is only the foreground for the magnificent view of the Himalayas that wows me every time.

I also noticed flyers catering to Westernized tastes, promising yoga and reiki certification, ayurvedic massage ... all the things I absolutely love, and know that most Indians don't pay much attention to. That's one of the cultural "shocks", so to speak, that I have gotten being here. The common person working in the rice fields or on tea plantations or selling their fruit in the stands at the market does not have time to practice yoga, they do not consider alternative forms of healing (Ayurveda) when all they want is quick relief so they can continue their work. These marvels may have originated in India during the Vedic times, but you're hard-pressed to find many Indians who actually do practice these things in areas such as Palampur. When the doctors came to talk with us, I asked how popular Ayurvedic treatment is here in Palampur, and they said that most people don't have the patience to wait for natural treatments to take effect, even though the painkillers they constantly are taking produce many undesirable side effects. And if you had to ask me how this makes me feel, I just don't really know. Some part of me wants to feel guilty - like I'm this Westerner who has the luxury to practice these things that originate in a country that can't afford to itself. Maybe I'm a bit disillusioned, thinking I was tapping into something so "other", so "Eastern", when really I'm part of that expanding minority in the west that can fork out fifteen or twenty bucks for a yoga class without a second thought.

Another challenge of being in Dharamsala is that I covet practically everything there. I could wear all the clothes, hang up every mandala tapestry and completely cover my walls in them, stack bookshelves with statues of Ganesh and dancing Shiva, drape my neck in stone prayer beads. It was like pure spiritually materialistic gluttony. Fortunately, I hadn't brought many rupees with me, so I could keep myself under control. I shall, however, be returning for a Ganesh statue, and these really cute pants called Ali Baba pants. The monsoon struck again right when we got into Dharamsala, so we stood under an awning for a good ten minutes just watching in a trance as the rain poured down. I have an image blazened to my mind of a hunched over little old Tibetan woman with tarp like material draped over her back, and her face is just beaming with smile as she gradually makes her way up the path. She is the only one on the path while everyone else has taken cover.

We found a really awesome store with gorgeous rugs and tapestries, I was simply looking at the tapestries out of interest and without the intention of purchasing one. An employee, Vijay, was showing me tapestry after tapestry and explaining them all to me. Some had those meditation squares, I forget the name, and others had the mandalas with the gods inside. He laid out one in particular, and something in my heart region was just tingling, and I knew I needed that tapestry as a presence in my life. It's a mandala of blessings - sounds pretty general - but I can feel its potency. So yes, I did purchase that. Vijay offered to take me out for Chai tea next time I came to Dharamsala. Jaggy had warned us of men in Dharamsala who offer to take western girls out for Saffron tea, and then occasionally drug it or some such other debauchery. Either Vijay tried to get me with the Chai, or he genuinely wants to take me out for tea. He was really polite and nice to talk to, but he was also making a sale, and I sense that people in the more touristy regions would tend to be more corrupted. But then I met another really awesome employee who's an elderly Brahmin. He asked me if I'm vegetarian, and when I told him I'm vegan his face just lit up and he told me that I'm going to live two hundred years and that he gave me this blessing. He also told me I'm not like the other Americans because I look very simple without a lot of jewelry and makeup, and he told me that I am a daughter to him now. It was both hilarious and very heart-warming. He asked for my address and said he would send me a copy of the Bhagavad Gitta, and I told him I would come back to visit him at the store, and he promised multiple times that even if he wasn't there, the books would be waiting for me and that no one else would be allowed to take them.

I had an interesting revelation whilst hiking the other day. Standing there at the top and looking out on the expanse of rice fields and brightly painted homes and vast expanses of grazing fields, I realized that I'm not so small or insignificant. Most people would perhaps have the opposite reaction, seeing as they are this one smaller proportioned person in ratio to all the landscape that appears before them. But it occurred to me that all that landscape is in fact a part of me too. My own existence reaches out beyond my physical frame. I was in that position to view that landscape because of my karma. Through my past karmic actions, I brought that situation into fruition. Therefore, I am the creator of that moment, and that moment encompasses all I see before me, so all I see before me is also me.

I sat in on the Hindi lesson last night with the interns and was way more concentrated than I've ever been with French. I love the way French sounds, especially in poetry, but there's something about Hindi that really speaks to me. I was writing out the alphabet and learning how to pronounce each sound, and then I actually wrote a couple words. It makes me think that I should actually study Sanskrit (the ancient sacred language from which Hindi originated and in which the Bhagavad Gita is written ... hmm. I've been singing a few songs in Hindi with the kids at placement, and although I have no idea what I'm saying, it goes to show how singing allows for a more primal and truthful connection between people despite the language and cultural barriers. Music is such a significant component of the human experience.

Today I have a slight fever and missed out on my placement, but I have no real worries about it. I went to see a doctor and he gave me a few antibiotics, which I am normally quite opposed to, but felt that I might as well "when in India"... I do just want to get better already, I missed out on a trip to the tea plantation. But I had an interesting experience today while lying in bed and listening to the kirtan song "Om namah shivaya" (which is arguably the most sacred of mantras). I was suddenly overtaken by a complete understanding of all my blessings in this life, and just started weeping. I feel so very blessed for my family, for my friends, for all the love in my life, for all my gifts that I can use to give back to the world ... I felt healthier after that cry because to realize one's blessings is to become more present in one's own life.