Attending His Holiness The Dalai Lama Teachings

5^th June

Despite our newly purchased FM radio failing to usefully pick up any English translations, the whole experience of attending His Holiness The Dalai Lama's Teachings, and being seated very close to his exit route, was incredibly special.

It has started on Thursday of the previous week, when the students advised me that the Dalai Lama was doing student teachings on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday morning the following week and it would probably be a holiday so that anyone interested could attend.

The holiday was actually confirmed to me by our new school captain, Tashi, on Friday afternoon, so part of my plans for Saturday then involved attending the Security Office to secure a pass to attend.  Security is very strict for these events.

I had ascertained by phone that the office would be open on Saturday afternoon for the issuing of passes (and also on Sunday I was informed), and I managed to acquire my pass with no problems, a simple presentation of my passport and visa, an apology that I had recorded my address in India wrongly on the application form and an admission that I am volunteer teaching at the school – I figured that these officials weren’t going to get upset at my doing that on a tourist visa.

Double checking everything, including emptying my handbag of anything with which security would not be happy, whoops, forgot the matches in my backpack, I ascertained that I needed to take my own FM radio for the English translations – best obtained in McLeod Ganj.  Since Sarah was there and I was not, I asked if she would buy me one; she agreed and asked if she could share if she bought a splitter.  Sounded fine to me.  We agreed to meet at 6:30am and then she said that Kelnam had reserved places for us (in the Spanish section!?)

After various conversations at school, I decided to get a taxi to the Dalai Lama Temple early on Monday – I was told I could probably find a room for 500 rupees but I was not overly certain that I would actually want to sleep in it.  And a taxi is only 350 rupees.  My taxi was ordered for 6am – I left that with captain Tashi before I retired for the night.  (There is something highly unpleasant about climbing into a bed that feels as if the electric blanket was left on too long – especially when I doubt if one of those could be found within a fairly large radius.)

I was up in good time to get ready and the taxi was 15 minutes early – about 2 sips into my second cup of coffee.  I acknowledged his persistent horn honking from the balcony, gave him a 5 minute sign, and quickly added a cushion to my backpack.

Despite a substantially lesser amount of traffic on the road, the driver still went like a maniac and we were at the Temple in about 20 minutes.  Travelling alone in the taxi did give me the opportunity to notice things I don’t usually see on that journey (plus go via a “short cut” road which is very steep and has many switchbacks) including a sign advising that there was a Pizza Hut 0.7m away!

A steady stream of people
approach the temple - more than
2 hours before teaching commences

I paid the driver just as I had a text message come through from Sarah, she was on her way.  I waited for her by the temple gate, avoiding the beggars (who appeared to be doing very nicely thank you very much) and watching the steady flow of people towards the Temple.

We duly checked in our phones and went through security.  Once again, the very thorough pat down to ensure than no part of our person or clothing secreted something unauthorized.  Our reserved places seemed to have been taken by others, but they moved when we pointed out our names on the places.  Let me clarify, these reserved places were sections of floor space!

We settled ourselves as comfortably as was going to happen and prepared to watch the place fill up even more over the next couple of hours.

An elderly Tibetan lady claimed the space she had reserved and in due course decided we should move closer to her to deter those that thought that stepping over her was a good access route.  Suited me ok, as it gave me a minimal portion of backrest against a pillar. 

Sarah started to try to tune the radio, without too much success.  I had a go, with a similar level of success.  We thought it might be easier once broadcasting started in earnest.  It wasn’t.

I knew I should have taken a cup for tea to be served, but I’m not keen on milk tea, so did not bother.  I also wondered about the logistics of serving bread and tea to several thousand people.  I was about to find out.  A small army of students and monks brought the tea in gigantic tea pots and the bread came in buckets and was passed around with a fine disregard for any finicky western ideas of food hygiene.  The monks and students picked their way carefully amongst those seated (tightly packed on the floor) providing to all those who wanted.

Around 8:30 prayers started and it was a wonderful experience to hear them being led by the monk who was at the microphone, but even more so to hear the echoing of the assembled throng when he paused.  It was also delightful to hear the children’s prayer – very young voices coming through above those of older children.

Some official looking movement on the floor below confirmed that proceedings were about to start, and that His Holiness was on his way.  The elderly lady next to me made sure I was aware which of those in the official procession was the great man.  Sweet of her.

After His Holiness is seated a few hundred people more enter from a back entrance, many of them students;  this is India – there is always room for one more.  The official tally reported later in the news is 10,000. http://tibet.net/2017/06/his-holiness-the-dalai-lama-begins-three-day-teaching-for-tibetan-youth-2/

We were positioned such that there was a section of wall between us and where the Dalai Lama was seated, but if I leaned forward when he was speaking, occasionally I’d catch a glimpse of a gesticulating hand.

His Holiness addressed those assembled for a while and then a group of monks (or maybe students, the following day I watched and listened to the broadcast on my computer back at school, and it was students and officials) debated some points, completed with some serious hand clapping noises to make their point.  Through this we completely failed to get a decent signal for the translations. 

The Dalai Lama then continued his teachings, others around us with better radios, or wanting translations in other languages, were getting decent signals.  Sarah decided to go for a walk to see if she could pick up a better signal – with no success.  After a bit more trying we gave up and were happy to sit and listen to His Holiness’s voice – it is a delightfully gentle and melodious voice, punctuated from time to time with his laughter. 

Watching those passing was also a good pastime.   There were the monks and students on catering duty with the tea and bread (and later with buckets of rice and probably Dahl), there were the mostly elderly mostly Tibetans devoutly doing their circumambulations of the temple (and I suspected in the case of my elderly neighbour also taking the opportunity to move some aching limbs – I certainly did later), the school children on clean up duty with their rubber gloves and plastic bags and a steady stream of people headed for the toilets.  There were also a significant number of people who had managed to get photography passes, some of them with VERY serious cameras.  There is one Tibetan lady who seeks a place to perform her 3 prostrations – there is not a lot of spare space around for such activities, and of course those visitors who thought it appropriate to walk and positions themselves to get a good clear view of His Holiness.  These tended to be gently dispersed by a team of officials with radios or one of the many armed police present.  

Armed police – we are not talking about carrying semi concealed weapons.  Nothing so effete.  We are talking rifles or sub machine guns (don’t ask me, I don’t know the difference, but these are big guns!)

His Holiness finishes his teachings his teachings and invites questions from the students.  I am guessing that a handful of students close to him have been groomed for this opportunity and a couple are posed in Tibetan and a couple in English.  His Holiness addresses the questioner in the language in which the question is asked.  There is one student who asks a rather long winded question starting off with reference to the mountains and forests and birds and animals and after a few prompts actually gets to the point – what is the purpose of humans on earth.  Not sure that the 5 minutes remaining is enough time to address that!!

While the students have been posing their questions, there has been a steady exodus of those trying to avoid the rush at the end.  At one point the security personnel come along “tidying” those who have encroached on the walkway.  This is promising.  This suggests that His Holiness is going to exit via this walkway – the one that I have a clear view of and Sarah has only one person separating her from it.

The question and answer time finishes and it is evident that is the end of proceedings, but as much of the foreigner crowd around us rises to move out, the man with the gun dictates that we should sit.  Not going to argue with that.  A stream of (presumably) high officials proceed to line up along the edge of the walkway in front of us.  Bother, view obscured.  No, they are just the advance party for the procession and move ahead as the more important people come behind:  the senior monks and high lamas. 

A LARGE cafe latte

I look at the face of my elderly Tibetan neighbour – it can only be described as absolutely radiant.  She is clearly incredibly happy – and as I write that, it sounds such a pathetic understatement - that the Dalai Lama will pass so close to her.  I share her enthusiasm for the event, even if not to the depth that her beliefs and loyalties would generate.

For me it is a very moving moment – and later as I am talking to Sarah over lunch and we are discussing people watching, she says she was watching people’s reactions at this time, and there were many in tears.

There is one Thai lady sitting near us, who has a khata printed with the 8 auspicous symbols and a money offering she clearly wants to make;  a Tibetan young man nearby points out a senior high lama who is wearing a cream drape over his robes, and this lama receives her offering, blesses the katar and places it around her neck.   

As the official party descends the stairs, my elderly Tibetan neighbour indicates that lunch is to be served – again sweet of her but rice and dahl is not on our menu, I’m keen for that second cup of coffee left on my desk at school – actually for something way better than it – and something we don’t get to eat at school.  

A different view of McLeod Ganj over lunch

As we join the crush to exit I pause for a moment on the stairs for a brief scan of the assembled throng on the floor below:  the areas reserved for schools – with the students in their uniforms, areas reserved for monks in their maroon robes, Tibetan ladies in their colourful traditional dresses, the married ladies with their striped aprons, small Tibetan children dressed in traditional clothing, looking really cute, and people from all parts of the globe who have come to the teachings for a wide range of reasons. 

The queue to retrieve our checked mobile phones is tedious – and there is the usual crowd that think pushing in the general vicinity of the cloakroom is a more appropriate way to go.  I studiously avoid eye contact with a very fat Indian lady trying to push in; she is complaining that she has been waiting for a long time – given that we’ve been queueing for half an hour and we saw her arrive not long before, I’m not giving a lot of credence to her claims.  Sarah asks, soto voce, am I going to hold my ground.  Sure am.  She manages to get in somewhere behind me and then firmly wedges me against the counter – making it almost impossible for me to move once I have retrieved our phones. 

The wrapper for my take away momo!

Sarah has an excellent working knowledge of the cafés of McLeod Ganj and leads me away from the area around the temple  to a nice little one down the short cut road to Dharamsala.  I order a latte and momo and the latte comes in something approximately the size of a noodle bowl.  The momo are cheese and spinach and I find the cheese so filling that I only manage half of them, but  my request to take them home is acknowledged and they come back in a clean, tough aluminium wrapper packet – with some interesting labels.  This is a country that really believes in reusing – which is good!

Vendor taking advantage of
traffic jam!

After lunch we separate, I peruse a couple of shops and spend a bit of money then head down to St John in the Wilderness church, about a km below McLeod Ganj.  Walking seems the best option but elicits some interesting reactions. 

There is the usual request for a selfie with me from a young man wearing what appears to be a cowboy hat, some outrageous giggles from a group of young women in a car, who park a little in front of me; one leaps out and gives me a hug and asks my name – we exchange those details and I comment favourably on her very colourful salwar kameez, which pleases her.  There is also a short conversation with a few of the people in the traffic jam heading into McLeod Ganj – including one with one man and his very large family; he inquires how I like the weather and I suggest it’s a bit warm for comfort and he tells me that improves with altitude.  They are going to Triund tonight (really – with all those small children and its already 3pm …) and I would be welcome to join them.  A kind offer, I’m not sure where I’d fit in the vehicle, but I momentarily forgot, this is India, there is always room for one more.  And, of course there are the vendors – roasted maize / corn on the cob, men with towers of fairly floss and assorted others selling unidentified stuff.

St John in the Wilderness - through the Himalayan Cedars

 A short time later I arrive at the church and enjoy the church and the grounds and look at the grave of one of India’s viceroys who enjoyed this place for its forests (which are lovely) and its view of the plains (which is non-existent today – the pollution is the worse I have seen so far – we cannot see the Dhualadhars today L  For the first time ever, I remove my shoes to enter a Christian church – in accordance with the sign.  I guess this is what is done in India – though I cannot imagine that the original congregations would have done this!

St John in the Wilderness

I wander down to a lower graveyard and contemplate the mixture that is India. From behind a Christian grave, with its cross, I have a clear(ish) view across the forested valley of the sunshade sails protecting the open areas of the Dalai Lama Temple.  It is peaceful, when the horn-honking traffic on the road behind me lets up for a moment or two.

I attempt to ask a few people if they know when the bus to Dharamsala might pass – a very unsatisfactory conversation – so I start to walk back to McLeod Ganj to find either a jeep or a bus ride.  I am rewarded with an approaching bus, which I flag down and it is confirmed that it’s going to Dharamsala so I hop on and there is a seat for me.

This bus ride is even more interesting than usual – the Indian lady next to me has 2 children on her knees – a boy of about 5 and a girl of about 8.  This seems a bit much for her and I offer my knee for one of them but the girl opts to squeeze into a miniscule space beside the guy in front, who is sitting with his back to the driver.  She is falling asleep, with the window wide open, which clearly distresses her mother, and the child refuses to sit on my knee – which the mother is obviously requesting her to do.  The mother finally indicates to me to change places with the girl, and I oblige, the man on the seat move across to the window (damn!) and I take the half a space that is left.  The bus jolts its way down the mountain, then comes to a complete stop.  There is a fairly major army convoy coming and it seems that while drivers are generally happy to play chicken with anyone, army trucks, especially when traffic is being directed by armed army personnel, are exempt!

The history of St John in the Wilderness

In due course we move on but the convoy has not finished passing and the road is narrow.  This is where the additional duties of the conductor come into play.  He is leaning out of the window of one of the doors, whistle in mouth, blowing a series of blasts to indicate whether we are only dangerously close to the edge of the deep gutter or in imminent danger of descending irretrievably into it.  I think the long loud blasts mean the latter and the short sharp blasts mean the former.  But I could be wrong.  Just as well I am not driving.  His signals are similarly used when passing parked motorbikes, shop signs and other hazards further down this road that is really way too narrow for buses, trucks or really anything other than pack horses.

The mixture that is India.  The shade cloth sails to the right
of the central tree protect the outside area of
The Dalai Lama temple

We stop at one point and my neighbour identifies this is Dharamsala, as I get off I query “bus station?” and the conductor tells me to get back on.  Once at the bus station he kindly inquires about my next destination and points me to the correct bus.

I buy some vegetables in Fatiphur, there may be no students at the school tonight who will cook dinner, and am back at school by 5pm.  It’s been hot at school today and one weather website says its still 31 at Fatiphur up the hill. 

I manage to extract about half a bucket of water from the tap in the shower room and indulge in some ablutions.  If you have never travelled on a crowded, grubby public bus somewhere like India, in the pre-monsoonal heat, you could probably not appreciate the joy of tipping a jug of cold water over your head to run down your body!

Lundrig is at school – he has moved from the empty staff bedroom downstairs to camp in the office while everyone is on holiday – I apologise for disturbing him as I go through the main office to put my food in the fridge there.  He lets me know he is going out for the evening – I can’t be bothered cooking my vegetables, I eat my left over momo and half a papaya and some bananas (I did chase the monkeys away from my bananas yesterday – one sneaked into the office while my back was turned!)

The pollution haze dulls the sun

An Indian man lights some burn-off fires not only dangerously close to the school, but with the wind blowing in our direction and smoke and smut periodically comes my way.  I signal to him that (a) the fire is dangerously close to a large clump of bamboo that overhangs the school buildings – something he addresses with a container of water and (b) that it’s not pleasant (or easy) for breathing.  I’m not sure how much notice he takes of me when I signal that I’d rather he didn’t light any more fires, but the lighting of new fires does cease. 

The pollution haze is seriously bad – my mountains have completely disappeared and the trees across the valley are hazy.

I’m hoping for a thunderstorm and some rain to cool things down tonight!