Alas, it was bound to happen. We have all become sick. Trish and Magi have Delhi belly, the inevitable sickness caused by ingesting India in one form or another. Typically, they wake up in the morning with varying degrees of stomach cramps and yes, diarrhea (nothing is private or sacred in overseas travel). Trish, especially today, has very little appetite and Magi has been put on a bland diet that she has a very hard time sticking to. I have been battling a cold all week (accompanied by a raging appetite) that has taken itself through several stages from a sore throat, to headaches and congestion, and now, to excessive runnyness and sinus pain. I feel like we have become sick in the best of places though since Tibetan food is very nourishing and satisfying for the body and Dharamsala has the same effect on the soul.
Yesterday we learned to cook some of these delicious dishes with a new friend named Palden (we later learned that this is his Buddhist name but he never told us his given name). There are signs up all over town for different cooking lessons and with some deliberation, we decided to take Palden's classes and learn to make Tibetan thanthuk (pronouced "tan-tuk"; broad noodle and vegetable soup) and brown bread. We definitely made the right choice. At about 10 am we went to his apartment, only a few minutes walk from our guesthouse, and knocked on the door. He welcomed us in, we took off our sandals and sat on the floor in his very neat, cozy abode whose walls were graced by several images of the Dalai Lama. Then he served us Tibetan tea (Tibetans usually drink tea with lots of butter and sugar but we just drank it plain which is the way we all prefer it).
Soon after, Magi's Delhi belly returned with a vengeance (not because of the tea- that's safe) and had to go back to the hotel where she spent the rest of the day taking trips to the toilet and suffering stomach cramp pain (we brought her home some fresh brown bread and she smiled).
So, with only the three of us left, we put together the dough for the bread. Trish and I struggled to write down the recipes which are difficult because Palden does not use cups or teaspoons to measure flour, water, etc. but will hold up a hand of flour and say "one hand of flour for one person". As a result, our ingredient list looks a little like this: "three handfuls of flour, some water, (about) one tsp. of baking soda". After mixing the flour and water, it needed to wait for seven hours. In the meantime we made thanthuk which is what I have been eating for at least two meals a day while we have been here in Dharamsala (I love it and it makes me feel good). Like I said before, it's soup with some vegetables, garlic, salt, ginger, pepper, and very short and broad handmade noodles. The funnest part was making the noodles and I'm so excited to be able to go back home and make this soup myself. Tibetan food is rather bland, especially by Indian standards, and we laughed when Palden told us he does not like Indian food except for the chappati which is thin, plain, pita-like bread and probably the blandest aspect of any Indian meal.
We spent the better part of the time talking to Palden about his life. He is 26 years old and was a monk for ten years until he left the monastery last December. His family is from eastern Tibet and are nomads, moving about once every month along with the hundreds of sheep, yaks, goats, and horses in their herd. Palden knew early on that he wanted an education. This is, of course, is difficult if you are in a large family of nomads since you don't have a school to go to regularly and are usually very poor. Because he wanted an education, Palden and his family decided he should become a monk which was his only chance. So, when he was 17 he left his family and escaped here to India. It took him 8 days on bus to reach outside the Tibet-Nepal border and then him and the 20 refugees he was with had to secretly trek (on foot!) another 9 days through Nepal and into India. He has only heard about his family once since he has been here and says that if he chose to return to China, he would be imprisioned for 6-7 years because he escaped and met with His Holiness the Dalai Lama. It is wonderful that the Indian government has accepted all these Tibetan refugees but it is not a life without trouble once they are here. Unless you pay some very large baksheesh (bribes), it takes no less than 2 years for an Indian passport to be processed for the refugees. In the meantime, they cannot work and thus, tensions with native Indians rise. Being a monk is a good option for the refugees since they are housed and fed and given an education but Palden explained that because of this, many monks are "only Buddhist on the outside, not Buddhist in their heart." He decided to leave the monastery last year because he did not feel free. With over 250 vows to take as a Buddhist monk, he was not able to live the life he wanted even though he still strongly believes in the philosophy of Buddhism.
It was very enlightening (no pun intended) to spend so much time talking with Palden and learning, first hand, about the effect the Chinese occupation of Tibet has had on its people. With only 6 million Tibetans and over 11 million Chinese people living in Tibet now, Palden feels that a release of Tibet to Tibetans will be difficult now, if not impossible. Moreover, the Chinese government has now placed the same birth restrictions on Tibetans as it did on it's own people in the 1980's. Now that Tibetan families will only be allowed to have one child, nomadic peoples who rely on their large families to survive and the whole of Tibetan population will dwindle and eventually, it seems, inevitably become extinct. This is probably the worst crime the Chinese government has committed against Tibet.
I am writing so much today. There is still so much to tell. Meeting with Palden was so moving and I wanted to tell you all about this situation. A Free Tibet is so much more than a summer concert featuring The Beastie Boys. And sadly, the issue seems to be losing its status as a fashionable cause.
On to other things (keeping Palden in mind, always).
We attended a two and a half hour yoga class on Thursday afternoon. Though we have both been practising yoga for years, this was our first live class. I can't imagine it getting any better that that. The yogi Vijay was your classic strong, short pretzel-bodied Indian yoga man who had a very powerful and deep chanting voice. He was built entirely of flexible muscle and stern joy. We practised our asanas during a monsoon rain and laid down to relax in time for the sun to break out from the clouds while outside, birds chirped and cows mooed to privately celebrate the end of the storm.
The monsoon has not been troublesome for us since we have become able to predict a storm's arrival (usually around 2.30 p.m.) and we seek shelter in time. We went to see a Tibetan movie set in Dharamsala the other day called The Cup. In this town, going to see a movie is a sketchy affair. The day before we looked at the listings and noticed a section called "On Demand" under which The Cup was listed. We enquired about watching it since Trish had heard of it travelling the film fest circuit and had missed her chance to see it in Japan. The burly Indian man told us to come back the next day at 11 a.m. When we did, he ushered us into a back room with wooden benches and a t.v. overtop a table holding about seven VCRs and DVD players. His assistant took about 15 minutes to get the tape to work while we ho-hummed. A woman came in asking about the movie that was originally scheduled for this time period and the man told her it would be playing the next day instead (apparently, our request overruled the schedule since we were three and she was only one). It was all very interesting, the equivalent to opening up your garage and charging people in your neighbourhood to see the new releases from Blockbuster. But whatever, this is India and everyone is an entrepreneur. The movie, despite poor sound quality, was really interesting. The plot centered around a young monk, a rabid football fan, who would sneak out at night to catch the World Cup matches. Then he gets caught and pleads with the superiors to help them rent a tv and satellite dish to watch the final game. It was wonderful for insight into the life inside a monastery and into the cheeky things that monks do as regular children.
We bought a number of gifts from the street shops run by Tibetan refugees. Knowing they would be so ridiculously absurd to carry around on our backs, we decided to send them home. Maneuvering Indian bureaucracy is no fun but we managed to finally get a solid answer on when the post office would be open (10-2 on Saturday for packages). Here you have to get your goods wrapped in a shop before you send them home. It's not difficult as there are many signs around (in places as varied as restaurants and tailor's shops) that say "We Make Parcels". We settled on a tailor's shop and he agreed to wrap the package for Rs 90 (about $2). We expected a box and some tape but instead watched in awe as he sewed together a bag of white cotton using a sewing machine and then proceeded to hand-stitch the loose ends to close it tight to the package. Then a coworker stepped in, melting a stick of red wax, and placing hot round wax seals along the edges to prevent the bag from being ripped open. In the end, it looked like a fat, white pillow with 10 red wax circles along the seams. They gave us a marker to write the address on it and it was finished. We mailed it today for about $18US by sea. I can't imagine the U.S. customs in Washington, DC will be very happy to receive a non-resealable package from India! In about three months it should arrive to Magi's parents' home and we look forward to finding out the condition that it arrives in.
Tonight we leave Dharamsala.
In the morning, at noon, and even at night, you can look out onto the mountains surrounding Dharamsala, watch strings of Tibetan prayer flags blow in the wind, and hear the echo of schoolchildren singing in groups. It's so beautiful here. We regret having to leave on this 12 hour bus back to Delhi. And then, tomorrow night we part ways: Trish heads to Turkey to meet her sister for a vacation there and we leave for Mumbai and eventually, the beaches of Goa and Kerala in the south.
I feel some strange urge to share everything with you. Perhaps it helps me cement these memories, good and bad, in my own head and try to make sense of India. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my ramblings.
tothesea,
k&m