Himalayan Respite

After a comfortable, air-conditioned train ride that included two servings of tea and a meal of naan and dhal, we arrived in Amritsar, in the northwestern state of Punjab. The population of Punjab is majority Sikh, a religion developed in the 1400s largely in opposition to the caste structure of Hinduism, with instead a core belief in the equality of all people. Amritsar is a pilgrimage destination for Sikhs because their most important shrine, the Golden Temple, is there. After a couple hours in our room to let the scorching heat of the sun dissipate a bit, we followed the pilgrims. Like them, before going to the temple we walked around a memorial on the site of the Amritsar massacre, a 1919 atrocity in which British soldiers opened fire into an enclosed crowd of unarmed protesters, killing a disputed but unquestionably grotesque number. (The British say 379; the Indians say almost 2000). We were there on a Sunday, two days after the anniversary of the event, and it was crowded with Sikh families making the circuit around different parts of the memorial. Leaving there, we bobbed along in the slowly moving crowd to the temple complex itself. Taking off our shoes (unlike in Delhi, we put them into our bag with no problem), we walked through the foot-washing area (much more symbolic than actual, given the number of dirty feet the water had seen!) and down the stairs. In front of us opened up a massive courtyard of white marble, surrounded by imposing white temple-related buildings. The courtyard formed a square border (albeit with 20 foot wide and 50 yard long sides) around a dark blue pool of sacred water. In the middle of the water, connected to one side by another marble walkway, stood the Golden Temple, shimmering wildly. For Sikhs, there are several sacred places in the complex in addition to the temple itself, and as we shuffled slowly through the crowd on the walkway we saw people praying at a holy tree and swimming in certain places in the water. The line to get into the temple was quite claustrophobic, and we didn't stay long inside the temple, but once outside again we could sit quietly and watch the setting sun soften the glare of the gold, creating a gentle reflection in the water. For Sikhs the last part of visiting the temple is partaking in a free meal in the open canteen-- people eating together as a symbol of equality-- and although we did not do that, we did sit in an area full of pilgrims and accept a drink of tea, following the invitation of a venerable Sikh elder to "feed our hearts".

The next day we left the agricultural plains of Punjab for the Himalayan foothills of Himachal Pradesh. The bus ride up to Dharamsala was, honestly, terrifying-- the bus seemed to lilt wildly with each turn, and the driver seemed scarily infected with road rage. We were happy to put the ride safely behind us, and to get settled into a room 15 minutes up the road, in the town of Mcleod Ganj. Mcleod is a very strange place, and one which even after two weeks here I haven't really figured out; nor am I exactly sure how I feel about it. In some ways it is wonderful: there are cafes everywhere, with atmospheres highly conducive to just hanging out; on a clear day, snow-covered mountains loom in the not-so-far distance; there are lots of activities to take part in, ranging from bootlegged movie showings to women-only dances to Buddhist debates to classes in any number of Eastern philosophies or practices (various forms of yoga, reiki, belly-dancing, meditation, Tibetan cooking, etc.). One of the unique things about it is that there are also a range of opportunities for both short and long-term volunteering, so even in a week or two it's possible to makes some connections with people and learn something about the community here. That community is mainly Tibetan: Mcleod is the home of tens of thousands of Tibetan refugees, and as the seat of the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan Government-in-Exile is really the capital city for Tibetans throughout the world. Between what we've learned from the Tibetan museum and what we've learned talking to people, we've gained some understanding of what Tibetans have been through since China occupied their country in 1959, much of it horrific. The Chinese goal was both to exploit the rich land of Tibet and to force the people to assimilate; to do this, they focused on oppressing the Tibetan language, culture, and-- crucially-- religion. This was to be accomplished both through measures like tightly controlling the education of Tibetan children, and through the systematic use of violence and torture, much of it directed against monks. The Dalai Lama, who is both the spiritual leader and the head of government, escaped by walking through the Himalayas in 1960, and 120,000 of the 6 million total Tibetan population have made similar escapes-- we've met several people who walked around 26 days to reach India or Nepal.

We've been very impressed by the organization and spirit of the Tibetan community in Mcleod. The language and culture are taught to the children and are celebrated in daily life, as evidenced in part by the beautiful traditional woven dresses and aprons many of the women wear, the ubiquity of "momos" (dumplings) and other traditional foods, and the prayer flags that hang in the air all over town. There are a great number crimson-robed monks, male and female, many of whom are involved in politics and the study and teaching of philosophy. There are also many community organizations run by Tibetans and geared toward easing and improving the lives of fellow refugees, such as an unemployment cooperative that provides short-term jobs for those who need them, or an environmental group focused on recycling and trash reduction. I've been spending my mornings happily surrounded by laughing, crying, runny-nosed babies and toddlers in a free day-care for Tibetan single or both-working parents; there is a permanent staff of 6, supplemented by volunteers who sign up for two weeks or more. Erik has written an article and done some editing for a community newsletter, and participated in English conversation classes for Tibetans trying to learn the language. (The four photos of the man in a room are of one of his students, who asked us to send them to his brother in New York.) Even the for-profit enterprises-- shops, restaurants, etc.-- tend to have a community-empowerment slant.

All of this has been inspiring to see and cool to be part of in our small way. At the same time, there are other sides of Mcleod that have troubled us. The most significant of those is the disparity between the Tibetan and Indian populations here. Sometimes it feels like the only Indians we see here are beggars-- and there are many of them, a large percentage tiny, filthy, malnourished children. Of course that feeling is not actually accurate, but it does seem that, with the exception of a significant group of Indian teachers (mainly of yoga), the other Indians in Mcleod are either construction or restaurant workers, Kashmiri store owners, or tourists. There is an Indo-Tibetan Friendship Society that works to establish rapport between the groups, but there has been tension in varying degrees in the past, in part because Western tourists tend to be engaged with Tibetan people and issues here and not Indian ones. I think the infrastructure is a part of that-- the Tibetan community is really well set up to engage tourists-- but I can see why there would be some resentment. We've also been rather disturbed by the amount of development in the area. As it is now, cars careen noisily down the pedestrian-clogged single lane streets, and looking out over the valley brings a view of densely clustered cement buildings, with many more under construction. They have done a good job reducing the use of plastic water bottles, at least; there are several stores where we can cheaply fill our bottles with filtered water. One final, less significant gripe: some of the tourists here are a bit too kooky, even for us. Like in Thailand, there are a lot of people who come here every year for months at a time, which sometimes strikes us as frustratingly escapist. Then there's the countless hordes walking around with their wool hats and seven scarves and big cotton pants and bare feet, looking so constantly soulful that it just feels a little ridiculous. It's funny to be in a place where we feel, like, "establishment"!

To be fair, though, we've met some really great people here as well, and we were singing as loud as anyone when "Blowin' in the Wind" was sung at an open mic night. This is the longest we've stayed in one place all year, with the exception of our dear Henrik's apartment in Cairo, and it has felt really good-- and really needed. Erik's done some meditation; I've taken a great, challenging classical yoga class; we've both done a lot of reading and writing. Yesterday we took a beautiful hike up to an alpine meadow at 9325 feet: after 9 kilometers of walking up, we rounded a final bend onto an incredible panorama of looming, snow-covered mountains. We had tried the hike a week earlier and turned around halfway because the sky was black with rain clouds; getting up there on a clear day was wonderful. We've been eating at the same restaurant almost every night: it's such a pleasure at this point not to have to study a menu every time we want to eat, and besides, they have great brownies and lemon cheese cake. Thus fortified, we're ready (we think) to head back into hot, dusty, crazy India tomorrow, and to enjoy our last two weeks as fully as we can.