Dharamsala

I’m here in Dharamsala and I’m not quite certain I ever want to leave. But let me start from where I left off. We boarded the bus for Delhi with our Uncle chips, water, candied hibiscus flowers (courtesy of Trader Joe’s), melty chocolate bars and I-pods. Just before we had left we had walked in the heat around Janpath once more and then to a Tibetan market to buy a watch for Dickyi and a torch for Dharamsala nights because there are few street lights on those twisty mountain roads. The Tibetan market was a little ways away from the major bus terminal in Delhi and a lot aways from the metro stop, or so it seemed to me. I could not breathe on the walk—everytime I tried to take a deep breath, nothing but thick, hot air, exhaust, and pungent odor filled my nostrils and seemed to stop before it could get to my lungs. Man, I was glad to board that bus because I was half unconscious the whole time we were in Delhi. The bus was like a greyhound bus from the 60s that has seen better days. No AC of course, but at least the windows opened.

It was the best bus ride I can remember, and Dickyi agrees. I slept for the first couple hours and woke to find it dark outside and time to take our first bus stop. We stopped at a roadside cookhouse and Dickyi bought snacks for us to eat—she ate dahl and chapatti, but I thought I would stick with packaged foods. Ah, the return of the delightful bourbon biscuit. As soon as we sat down, I guess the tones of our English carried throughout the rest stop because almost immediately, the three empty tables around us filled with white people dressed in rucksacks and hemp. I mean, to each his own and everything but I’m a little taken aback by that breed of American/French/Isreali/German/British who, dread-locked within an inch of his or her life, feels the need to wear a full on rucksack layered over some kind of lungi (sp?) with a sari scarf draped about their shoulders whilst talking loudly about how comfortable he/she is eating Indian food. It’s especially interesting when all the Tibetans and Indians around us are dressed in jeans and t-shirts that say “Boston University” or “A & F” on them. People get really into the culture, and I guess it’s good but I don’t think I could change everything about how I dress or talk or eat so easily.

I was dazed at the bus stop, but regained a bit of consciousness and Dickyi and I listened to music and talked when we re-boarded the bus. We would sleep intermittently and always would wake up at the same time. But there are no words to describe the beauty of the moment when I was roused from hot, dreamless sleep, with my clothes stuck to every inch of my body to a cool, light breeze. It felt actually unreal and had I not been looking forward to that moment for 24 hours I think I would have thought I was dreaming. The breeze blew through me and it smelled woody and smoky and it felt like nothing else I’ve ever felt. Because usually when I go somewhere it is on a plane and as you move from A to B, flying above the weather, no change can be felt because by the time you step off at B, you’ve forgotten what A feels like. And so little wonder can ever be mustered. Although I, who ought to have by now grown blasé about traveling, will never stop feeling the really very simple feeling of being elsewhere, being not where you were. Or thinking the even simpler thought that “I was there and now I am here and it is different and I am different in it”.

I was very aware that we were passing into Himachel Pradesh from Delhi and Hariyana because you could simply feel it in the air and see it in the landscape, which changed from flat and dusty to bulbous and craggy and moist somehow. And what I thought about it was that it seemed that the land and the air were pushing and pulling on each other, that they necessarily felt the other’s elements and properties and that they would respond accordingly. And it seemed that the land was craning upwards in protestation as the air gave way and waned and thinned. And it seemed that the air, collapsing through itself, breathed and in that breath gave up its molton qualities of fire and heat. The air passed them, so it seemed, to the land. And so the land grew bulbous and craggy, mass upon mass seeping out from under and on top and from places we don’t even know exist, craning and crawing and growing with the properties of heat, as a hot air balloon grows pompous and uppity when it begins to breathe in the hot air. And that’s how the mountains seemed to form as we came into Himachal Pradesh.

It didn’t seem possible that mountains like this can exist, so varied they were in their makeup, some stretches lined with neat steps growing tea or rice or I’m not even sure. And it seems even unlikelier that these mountains, bursting with evergreens and other trees that are so lush they seem drenched in something wet and sweet, can exist here in India which has always been so hot and dry and dusty to me. Apparently these mountains, at the foothills of the Himalayas, are, further up from us, filled with leopards, foxes, panthers, monkeys galore, of course, and other wildlife. I’ve already seen a mongoose, goats, rats, countless monkeys, and you can’t throw a stone here without hitting a dog or three or four of them.

The population of Dharamsala is around 25,000. The vast majority are Tibetans. They are in self-exile and, against the odds, have whittled a life for themselves out of these mountains and in it, they have built a community that is a community in every sense of the word. And as much as the freedom struggle will break your heart, so the kindness of the people here and the way they feel and fulfill their community will fill it to its tipping point. We got off in McLeod Ganj at the depot, which is the square where the three major roads meet. Tenzin Norgay, my contact at TCHRD and Dickyi’s cousin, came to meet us. We would stay with him and this family at their house, which is a three story, three-unit house that they rent out to a few families. Dakpa, Dickyi’s cousin by marriage, and his wife, Yangzhin (sp) gave up their room on the second floor for us, and are staying on the first floor with the rest of their family. Beside us lives a young family—the husband and the wife are very young and beautiful, and they have three little girls. They are always singing and playing with their friends, painting in their coloring books, or running up and down the steps. Dakpa and his wife have a baby, Norzin. They also have the most adorable white puppy called Kartouk. Momo and two Popos live there as well. The three main streets of McLeod are beautiful—they are dripping with bright woolen Tibetan blankets, turquoise and pearl jewelery, chupas, salwar tops, beaded bags, fur-lined vests, carpets, scarves. Even after being here for a week and a half/a couple weeks, I’m always enthralled when we walk along the streets.

Let me talk about work first—I work in Gankhi (I have idea how to spell it, all I know that it is pronounced “Kanki”). The actual address is Top Floor, Narthang Building; Gangchen Kyishong, Dharamsala H.P-176215, India. I’m working at the Tibetan Center for Human Rights and Democracy, which is not affiliated with the government, though we are in the government’s International Affairs building. We are on the top floor which means it is HOT and it is even hotter when the power goes out, which happens quite a lot. There are two ex political prisoners here in the office and both of them speak Chinese so we talk in Mandarin. The others can speak English, but speak Tibetan to each other. Norgay was here but he is gone now, in a conference in Switzerland. The director is a short, stout man and very jolly. There are a few young people in the office, and even more when I first started here. Four girls are university students who are my age—they are all Tibetan and they all go to school in Chennai.

These four girls are interesting because they each have something tragic about them. My favorite one, Cho Mo (sp) has the saddest story. She lived in Tibet with her family until she was 11, when she crossed the Himalayas with her cousin, but with a guide and in a larger group. This girl, 11 years old, crossed the Himalayas without telling her parents. She planned it out with her cousin like it was a game and she has not seen her family since. Only a few years ago did she start talking to them on the phone. She misses them, but she can’t go back to Tibet because she has no papers. No one has papers here and many people are desperate to leave. The man who lives with his family on our floor, for example, is unemployed, and his profession is pretty much trying to get to America. He goes and tries for a VISA at every chance he gets. After two consecutive tries, you must wait for a year or two. So this is what he does. His wife is a cook. It is hard to live in your means here, Dickyi says. A normal salary is 10,000-20,000 rupees and food costs are quite high. People rely heavily on relatives or friends in America. Pema, my other friend, has a similar story to Cho Mo’s, except her parents knew she was coming over. The other girl, Rin Zin, was born in India, but her mother is gone and her father is terribly strict with her. She can’t go out after dark at all and she can’t go out on the weekends. The last girl, whose name I can never remember, is quite desperate to go to America. She does not want to get married and settled down. What she wants, it seems, and believes she can only get in the West, is freedom to do what she wants and go where she wants.

Work is good—I am writing about the Regulations on Religious affairs in China and the measures for implementing them in the TAR. I am learning a lot.

I’ve been to a few talks since I have been here. One was a debate on the mining issue in Tibet and how China is bringing in Canadian companies to destroy the mountains and look for resources. It was a massacre because one side (the side that supports mining) was horribly prepared and said things like “there’s no good trying to stop the Chinese”. I was embarrassed the whole time. One was a talk by Tenzin Tsundue who Dickyi is quite good friends with. He was on the cover of Newsweek or something ridiculous like that and he gave a talk at Sara (sp), a school for Tibetan youth to relearn the Tibetan language, culture, and religion. He spoke about youth responsibility and the importance of knowing the Tibetan language so that the culture and the heritage do not die out. The students were incredibly attentive and had lots of questions. Tsundue is a published writer and many students bought his works after the talk. The talk, however, was way too long and I fell asleep. The third talk I went to was a couple days ago. I don’t remember who was speaking, but he is quite a famous Tibetan as well. We went to this talk after spending a whole day in the sun at a pool resort further up from upper TCV (a school) so I was heat-drunk and half unconscious. I fell asleep. Last week, the Dalai Lama gave three talks on three consecutive days to Tibetan students. I went two of the days. I’ve seen the Dalai Lama about four times now.

Now I want to talk about some of the places we go to:

Kanki (sp) is where I work and it is the headquarters of Tibetan Government in exile. It’s essentially a compound with a couple cafes, a huge stupa in the middle, and many many governmental buildings. The library is here too. The prime minister of Tibetan gov. in exile is here too. I walk to Kanki in the morning because it’s a nice walk and there are other girls that walk. We meet at the temple/monastery and walk down

Namgyal temple/monastery—it is at the end of Temple road which is one of the major roads. It is beautiful and huge. We have been quite a few times, once to get blessed by one of the three highest lamas. I’ve seen lots of interesting things there, such as the monks practicing their debating skills, which is awesome (and loud) to watch, with all the belligerent clapping one could hope for. I’ve done the Kora a few mornings, which is basically a holy route around the temple that people do early in the morning while praying. It’s nice.

Lower Dharamsala is very fun, but I’m the only one who seems to think so—it’s like half an hour from Kanki. Being in Lower is like being in India again after being in little Tibet. It reminds me of Saudi a lot—lots of cloth shops, bata, sugarcane juice stands, sweet shops, shops selling kitchen wares etc., fruit stalls.

Norbulinka, which is a drive and a walk from Lower Dharamsala. It’s a beautiful garden with Tibetan flags draped all over the place, a temple, a museum, and a gift shop. The time we went there we timed it badly and could only spend like 10 minutes there but it was ok.

Norbuling is the nunnery that Dickyi’s dad used to run and where Dickyi used to live on holidays. It was truly beautiful—the buildling were clean and had red accents that were really nice. The gardens were beautiful and everything was just very clean. Visiting there was quite sentimental, since the nuns were so happy to see Dickyi again and grew sad when she had to leave.

Forsyth Ganj is about twenty minutes walk from here and there’s not much there except a church, but the mountain roads are beautiful. We’ve been there once or twice.

Last Chance—this is like five minutes from our house and it is a very breathtaking view. Young kids go there in the morning to study and memorize. There are benches and places you can sit further down the mountain. Me and Dickyi like going there.

Bhagsunad (sp)—it’s a kind if Israeli settlement like 15 minutes from us and there is a pool there. Me and Dickyi and Tenam went there one night and Dickyi and Tenam went swimming. Further up is a waterfall that we went to yesterday—it was amazing. It’s a beautiful waterfall and on the weekends all the monks go there to bathe and clean their clothes and play monk games. The water is clean and icy cold and filled with minnows.

TIPA—Tibetan Institute for Performing Arts. I’ve been there a few times. Last night we took a walk there, but I’ve been there for two shows now—one traditional dance and song show that was really good and one concert by a local band, the “Buddha boys”.

Ok, on to the people. Dickyi’s family is amazing and so kind. Her cousin is a great cook—the food is really good. Dakpa, her husband, is so nice as well. He hangs out with us sometimes and snacks and shows us Tibetan music videos. He is always smiling. Momo is Dickyi’s grandma type person and she is in excellent shape. She does three koras every morning. One of the Popos is a monk and prays all the time, and one of them just kind of hangs out. Norgay was so much fun to hang out with and like a complete encyclopedia about everything.

Dickyi has so many friends. Question mark, who got his name because his head is literally shaped like a question mark, Thum Thind (sp), youdon, japan (who got his nickname because he looks like he is Japanese), Palmo, Tenkyi, Khewang, Tenam, Kunjodorje, and so many others. We’ve hung out with them a few times and they are all very nice. QM is kind of bellig and likes to argue, but he does it in Tibetan and about Tibetan independence and Buddhism, so it doesn’t really affect me. Everywhere we go we run into Dickyi’s friends—everywhere.

The two that I hang out with the most are Tenkyi and Tenam. Tenkyi I know well because she stayed with us in Boston for a few weeks--she is really beautiful. I haven’t hung out with her that much because she had a few little cousins here and has to take care of them One of them is very small and speaks Chinese randomly. One of them was a dirty little thing with lice and for the first few days, she was so quiet you would think she was mute. The last time I saw her, though, she was talking a blue streak. The oldest is in high school but looks very young—she is very sweet. Jigme is Tenkyi’s boyfriend and he lives here too and he is really nice. He, like Tenkyi, went to school in the states and his parents and family are there. He left last week to visit Tibet. Tenkyi is awesome because she’s so chill and fun and easy to be around. She works at TWA, the Tibetan Woman’s Association. Dickyi’s helped out there a bit since she has been here. Now, Dickyi goes to Tibetan language classes at the library quite early in the morning and visits people during the day.

Tenam's this guy around our age, and Dickyi and I actually met at the same time. He is Khewang’s very good friend--Khewang is special because he is Dickyi’s very oldest friend in the world. They were babies together and were best friends until middle school or something. Khewang was here for a few days for the Dalai Lama's teachings, but he has gone back to Bir, where both he and Tenam are from. So I haven't seen much of Khewang, but he is very sweet. Tenam is cool and fun to hang around with and pretty much has the in on everything. He has lived here since he finished at DU and kind of knows everything and everyone in Dharamsala. He, like so many locals, do things we would never dream of doing in North America, like strolling into the kitchen to order food straight from the chef and just generally being all up in the thick of things. He speaks really good English because he had lots of friends at Delhi U who were from nagaland or Bhutan or something and that’s what they speak He’s friends with a bunch of dickyi’s friends besides Khewang too, like people from SFT (students for a free Tibet) who we hang out with sometimes. Through him I got to meet people from Nagaland, who look Chinese but they are actually Indian..it’s weird and crazy but very cool. It’s unclear who Tenam lives with--i think he technically lives with one other guy but it seems that the whole neighborhood is always there at his house. His house is like a giant, extended balcony, except for one room and the kitchen that are indoors and there are always like 7 random people hanging out there. We go to his house now and then because he's our neighbor. He also works like one minute from me, in kanki as well. Sometimes me and dickyi will meet him for lunch at this café--let me just talk about this cafe--it's the one that everyone goes to so I have to go, but I'm deathly afraid of it because the woman who runs it looks and acts exactly like Jade Fox from Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon and frankly it’s scary.

Let me just talk about the life-style here. I absolutely love it. People just hang out here. They hang out a lot. It’s a very different lifestyle and a very relaxed one. People are chill about work and don’t let it stress them out and at the end of the day it’s just work and they get on with their real jobs, which appears to be hanging out. Everyone knows everyone and you can't walk down the street without seeing someone you know. This goes for me as well and I've been here only like two weeks. Everyone is constantly just hanging out—I can’t stress that enough. I really like Tibetans and their culture—they are just very kind. People are generous with what little they have. One thing that’s odd and takes some getting used to is the class divide here. Tibetan people are very much a higher class than Indians here in Dharamsala—they have more money, in short. Basically it’s all about who has more money. It's weird to see the nicest Tibetan in the world treating an Indian waiter a little bit rudely. But Dickyi said that's just what it is like. Tibetans in general have a lot of complaints about Indian manners and etiquette. I think that is one reason why they feel they can treat them with such little courtesy. Another thing that's strange is that in Tibetan houses, people don’t have couches or chairs really. They have beds or mattresses on the floor in the living room. I’m pretty sure it’s because there are like 12 people crammed into a space at any given time and beds and mattresses give more sitting room than couches.

There have been a few hard things here--one is the incredibly heart-breaking stories. The stories are very very sad and what breaks your heart is that at the end, the person telling it will say "but I'm very lucky" and then you feel ashamed and spoiled and generally just like a bad person because you didn't trek across the Himalayas, away from all your family forever, when you were 11. Another is the fact that I am Chinese and that that part of me won't go away and I wouldn't want it to because I like being Chinese and I am proud of it. I am not proud of how the Chinese government is making its decisions. I feel a little bit guilty but then I get angry because I should not feel that way and I know that. This feeling is compounded by the fact that many things are very political here. People have forged their identities out of the freedom struggle and much conversation and activities center around this. Work, of course, for me, is entirely political and it took some adjusting and some thinking to be able to not take things at all personally. I think I'm there because I haven't felt bad for awhile. That is why I like hanging out with certain people more than others--I like hearing stories about the culture and the lifestyle more than people's thoughts on the freedom struggle, which I think about everyday at work. Another negative thing has been the language barrier, which is lessening everyday. Tenam and Tenkyi are both really comfortable with english and talk english almost entirely around me, which is probably why I enjoy their company so much. I've reached the point, though, where I can kind of tell what's going on by picking up a few words here and there and just knowing the general contexts of situations. It's pretty cool and makes things considerably less isolating.
Another thing that scares me is how happy I am here and why the hell do I have such an itchy foot and a thirst for experiencing communities and cultures of which I am not a part and never will be? I'm really sad that I have to leave so soon. Boo.