God

"Is God willing to prevent evil, but is not able? Then He is not omnipotent. Is He able, but unwilling? Then He is malevolent. If He is both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil? If He is neither able nor willing? Then why call Him God?"- Epicurus

Saw these lines in Khushwant Singh's column in today's newspaper. Came to mind as I returned to my room and heard loudspeakers of a Jagrata from behind the campus. Thought of my time in my hometown when Gurudwaras and temples started off their loudspeakers at 4am and on the few occasions that I switched it off.
I am sure I am cursed to eternal hell for having done all that and all the sins and debauchery I have indulged in.

For those who came in anonymous

Dear Mr Anonymous,
Yes, there is a lot 'happening' in PGI, wish you could be here to have a look. Maybe the next time round you can make yourself known so that I can send you a cop of my log personally. Nothing better than catching up with old friends. As for this being a drag, I am sure that nothing forces you to be a part of it. And I am most excited to know what the prizes are. Please let the suspense end.
Breathlessly yours,
Immaculate

Face to face with the Dalai Lama-22.10.06

At about 9am on the 22nd of oct 2006, i finally stood face to face with HH The Dalai Lama, the reincarnation of Avalokiteswara.

I got up at 6.30 pm, was cold and dark outside, painful and stiff me. I remembered all the times that I had been to Mcleodganj and had returned without having been face to face with HH Dalai Lama-14. This was an effective deterrent against any thoughts and temptations that my mind may have entertained of going back to sleep. Got out of bed in my shorts and was frozen stiff, well almost. And wonderfully so, there was no electricity-so no geyser no hot water. I was almost besides myself and justifiably so, this being a ‘luxury’ hotel changing good money. Got out of my room without any footwear to give a rant to the guy at the desk and in a severe case of undress only to find myself face to face with the Tibetan version of Greta Garbo, and not withstanding the frigid floor had what a friend of mine calls a “vacuous jaw dropped look”. Greta, as I will call her smiled, but that was probably a smile of amusement rather than concern. To save me modesty, I rushed back into the room to put on something more and when I got out, found that Greta was no longer there. My already crystallized dreams of a home in the mountains with Greta and fireside jaunts with bowls of tsampa died a quick death. All I could do was to vent my spleen at the guy on the desk who sent me back with a ‘shrug of the shoulders; kind of look. But I always knew I was made of sterner stuff so I had a bath with cold water, changed quickly and walked down to the temple sans my camera and mobile phone, feeling quite the vulnerable waif. Was attacked by a dog and a cow that refused to budge right next to the Chonor house which incidentally is where Richard Gere stays whenever he is in town.

Chonor House

The obstinate cow

Helping bilingual trespassers

Reached the temple about 7.30 am and was ushered in by the same muscular Tibetans who I had met yesterday who let me in through a metal detector that wailed loudly, no doubt irritated by the ‘ounce of steel where it counts’ in the button fly of my jeans and a body search. I got into the compound and looked around; it was already filling up with tourists and locals. What a mélange of faces, a portrait photographer’s dream come true, all sorts of people; old, young, in-between, fat, thin, arthritic, non-arthritic, tattooed and non-tattooed. Everything and anything that one wants was there. Tibetans age so beautifully, the lines on their faces are beautiful. I could only look and look. I sat on a bench in the courtyard, was joined by an elderly Tibetan man who took out a box of snuff and rather bashfully offered me some. Of course, like a good boy, I refused and watched him noisily snort all of that stuff into his nostrils and look up with watery eyes and a look of bliss. The light shone beautifully in his eyes. There was this lady with a rosary who was carefully stepping on each paving stone while she prayed. It was beautiful. There was Leila with a friend of hers standing at some distance. People were gradually filing in and taking their places alongside the railing where HH would walk. By half past eight, the whole place was filled with people and the muscular fellows started to ask people to come near the railings. Suddenly, there was an excited gasp as they started to tell people to get down, sit down. HH is the temporal and the secular head, the living Buddha, and there is a protocol. The getting down bit was pretty tough for several old, arthritic Tibetan ladies behind me and they oohed and aahed their way down. But eventually they did, and soon enough everyone was craning their necks towards the gate of the swarga Ashram. Shortly, about 8.43 am, accompanied by his entourage, walked in HH the 14^th Dalai Lama. The first thing that struck me was the speed at which he walks a gently stooped posture and short, swift steps. The other thing was his expression, like an angelic, cherubic child, full of mischief and innocence. Beautiful, no wonder the world loves him. He stopped close by to bless a child, and I looked to see the reverence and the beseeching looks that his devotees gave him with folded hands and scarves, just for a personal blessing. As he walked past, I got up and he looked at me, I folded my hands and bowed before him; he raised his hands in blessing and walked up the stairs to the temple and to his prayers. And that was the end of the moment, and everyone was looking at me. Maybe, he doesn’t get to see big Sikhs standing in front of him with folded hands everyday, but that has to be a beautiful moment to go through.

Once his HH went up to the temple, the entrance to the temple was blocked by the policemen and the crowd started to drift away. Went down to have a cup of tea at the same chai wallah, there I met a naturally happy police man, again from Amritsar and since he smelled of drink at 9am in the morning, I was not mistaken for a long time. However, he was kind and considerate, paid for my cup of tea and bun and in a fit of bravado asked me to come up with him and that he would get me up close and personal with HH. I decided to take him on, and before he could wriggle out of it, met the police officer on duty there and introduced myself as a hot shot shrink and asked his permission to go up. He agreed and let me take Leila up to the temple where there was a ceremony going on. I could see HH presiding over the ceremony, on a raised platform and all manners of instruments were being played. I could see him over the sash of the windows but Leila being shorter could not. We were quickly hustled down and then we chatted around for some time about very many things. At about ten am, HH came down and got into a waiting car and was driven back to his residence. I bid farewell to my companions, and got down the stairs, celebrated with a sandwich made up of an omlette made out of 4 eggs and 4 slices of bread and walked back to the hotel. Midway, felt hungry again, had 2 paratahas, and 2 cups of hot, sweet tea in company of several Tibetan school boys who were smoking.

McLeodganj -Diwali

This picture would have benifited with a polariser but I pretty much like it the way it is.

I never thought I would actually get around to spending a Diwali all alone at Mcleodganj, but the I am glad I did.

A picture I took from the tearrace of the main temple with my Om1, supported on a tripod and a 28mm lens. The streaks are the fireworks.
If I came to Mcleodganj to escape from noise, memories and myself-I succeeded in some of these aims. And looking down from the temple, everything was quiet and everything seemed very far away.

I had a cup of tea at a little stall close to the temple and the owner was very happy to be able to converse in Punjabi with a sikh. Told me that he had run away from Amritsar in 1984 and had been living in Mcleodganj since then. had raised a family. I mistook his being stoned for natural happiness. He insisted I take a picture of him, called his wife to join him. She refused so he made do with the his friend who had wandered close to his stall by then. There is a story in every life.
The sun sets over Dharamshala and heralds Diwali night.

There was a debate going on inside one of the temples. I love the way the attacking monks claps to make his point and the audience make a sound in unison to support him. Quite fascinating. These debates are mostly associated with a lot of good humor and smiles, with a lot of laughing. I dont know what they find funny. Next time round, I will ask.

I walked out of the temple by which time it was very dark, and on reaching the Sardar Patel chowk was intrigued to see this open air party goin on, with a live band, lots of dancing, and many onlookers. the presence of an alcohol shop nearby no doubt helped up liven things immensely.

Fireworks were tossed up, the din was enormous and so i helped myself to a bottle of beer and took some pics with my mobile phone.

The audience- watching the crowd including some very tattooed and stoned looking whites dancing step for step on Himesh Reshammiya songs sung by a dude in a baseball cap. Reshammiya Rocks.

Photography, record keeping. This monk standing there was a handed a camera by a dude who asked him to take his picture. so, I took his. Its tough taking pictures with beer in one hand. I thought seriously about getting another one, but the party folded up as quickly as it started. I was about as disappointed as another guy who took great pains to explain to the alcohol shop owner that he wanted a quarter of good tasting, EXPENSIVE booze. By the time, he got his point across, the music was over and the guy lost the chance to have a hangover and the business man lost the chance to make another couple of hundred rupees. All for a Himesh Reshammiya song that never got sung. Such is life.


Walked back to Chinar only to find that was no dinner to be had for love or money. Helpfully told to take my butt to Pema Thang down the road and eat where all the goras eat. So I decided to live it up and went to Pema Thang and ordered a Tibetan "Thali". Wonderful stuff though I dont remember the names of the items now, what was better was this guy-Tsering. He is absolutley inexhaustable, wonderful.
So I took his picture and put in tip for him in this cute little box they keep in all restaurants.

Got a few phone calls from people I knew while i was eating.

Got back to my room with a head full of need for sleep and the thought that I would have to wake up early the next day and catch up with HH.
More on that tomorrow.

McLeodganj -3-day 1

At the Swarga Ashram

The swarga ashram is the residence of the Dalai Lama. From what I have read, HH was initially provided a residence in Mussorie but soon enough shifted to McLeodganj. The residence is a part of the temple complex, it being seperated from the main temple by a courtyard. This courtyard always has pilgrims, locals, tourists, animals doing everything from reading to praying and catching up on gossip. The faces are very interesting and a photographer can just sit and wait.

There is more than one type of old monk. Seriously, I saw this old monk standing in front of the Swarga Ashram, he did not understand a single word of english or hindi but was happy to pose for a photo. He blessed me too, maybe it will be of some use.

The courtyard, some monks sitting and talking. Many are very camera shy.

The security man standing at guard in front of the residence. I took his picture through the grill. Thereafter, I went into the reception area and asked some muscular looking, crew cut tibetan men whether I could have an audience with HH. Fat chance, their expressions seemed to suggest. But they were very polite and told me that I could come down the next morning at 9am and be a part of the public when HH would visit the temple. Seeing my camera, they told me that nothing of that sort would be allowed, was quickly convinced that they meant business.
Next, I changed tack and went to an adjoining office and asked the man sitting inside if I could have an audience, similar response here too. Came back with a slip of paper with the phone numbers of the people I could contact if I wanted to do something about the movie/ documentary about mental health issues in refugees.
This dog was not at all impressed by my efforts and promptly went back to sleep.

Therefore, rather than feel despondent I went up to the temple. The temple is built on the first floor and is made of 2 shrines dedicated to the yellow hat or the gelugpa sect of tibetan buddhism of which the Dalai Lama is the head.
An old lady sitting on a bench on the terrace of the main temple, I liked the pattern the shadows of the railings made. Seemed apt for the situation most of the Tibetans find themselves in.

Meditation in front of the shrines.

There is a room where all the butter lamps are lit throughout the day. A vies of some currency notes stuck to the window of that room. I then asked some people sitting outside if I could go in. They were kind enough to let me go in. The light was beautiful. And i realised that I need a wider lens in a hurry. The gentleman sitting there, a Mr Pemba got around to talking with me later when I sat around typing my shoelaces. He spoke flawless Hindi and asked me where I am from. Took my phone number and promised to keep in touch. I asked him about his story. he told me that he had come from Tibet in 1959, he was a young man then and had led a hard life. As he opened his wallet, I noticed an old B/W passport photograph of a man in an army uniform. On asking, he told me that he had served in the 8 dogras of the Indian army. I asked him if he wanted to go back home, he shrugged and smiled. I dont know if I will was all he said.

McLeodganj -2-day 1

Its almost 1.30 am, India lost to Australia in cricket by more than a mile, there was a dinner and a little more than usual and a little less than needed to drink. Therefore, this is probably not the right time to be typing out all this stuff. However, lately I have found that I am getting pretty obsessive about keeping this thing updated. This post is going to be the walk from the shrine on the temple road to the temple. Its about 600 metres and there is so much to see. For instance, the picture above, a foreigner in the company of two tibetan women, they seemed to be engrossed in some discussion. I wondered what it might be.
The road is lined by shacks and wendors selling stuff like fake/real antiques, beads, jewellery and stuff. All the faces tell a story. There are many who probably came in 1959 and have seen life change right in front of their eyes. I am sure most of them cant decide whether its for the better or for the worse.


There are lots of pretty faces around, espescially at the cafes just down the fork that leads to the hotel complexes and the temple roads, here I met Leila Mead again. She probably thought I was taking her picture and we got talking. In hindsight, I think she was very quiet and very modest. Anyways, she told me that the Dalai lama would be giving an audience the next morning at 7AM. 7AM???????!!!!!!!!
SO I walked on......

The other thing that struck me was the absolute love and doting that parents shed on their children. I mean, sure all parents love their children. But here, wherever I saw, children were the center of attention, someone fawning on them all the time. And all the kids are really sweet.


On the other hand are the common people, the unemployed and the poor. They are here too, and no matter what people think, and I dont know whether there is Nirvana, peace, direction to life to be found over here or not; people need to earn and live in respect everywhere. And if peddling peace is the way to it, then so be it.







Just outside the main temple, I saw this old man dancing and singing an old Raj Kapoor song. He seemed to be alone, and his song had a poignancy that made me weep. Seeing me take a picture, some other tourists also started to film him, and seeing that he stopped. Some part of him realised his folly but soon enough he started again. I left there feeling a mixture of a parasite, a vulture and a voyuer. not a good feeling to have.



Later that day, I visited the Dolma memorial Tibetan hospital and asked the lady doctor there about mental illness in the Tibetan community. She looked at me a little dubiously but when I introduced myself and told her that I am a psychiatrist myself, she said that everyone was quite "normal", and there was only one crazy fellow around and he is quite harmless and roams about only "occasionally".
Thereafter crossing the mani stones lining the road below the temple, I walked into the narrow passageway that leads to the temple complex proper.
More on that tomorrow...

McLeodganj -1

I reached Mcleodganj about 1.30 pm. The weather was great and I was hungry. Wondered where to stay, have often wanted to be a politically correct traveller and stay at a place run by Tibetans (lots of em), but then the temptation of a clean bed and hot water was tool great and I walked down to the Chinar lodge, a fancy place opposite to the Bhagsunag hotel. Sure, its expensive, but when its just one day, it doesnt pinch too much. The guy at the counter recognised me and seemed to be really pleased to see me. It was Diwali and there were decorations being put up, and so I asked him what was all that for. Sure enough, he said that it was diwali and there would be a celebration that night. He seemed a little crestfallen when i told him that I had come to Mcleodganj to get away from Diwali. I am sure he didnt quite get the drift then.


After this, I walked down to the hotel Tibet for lunch, love that place. Plus there are always lots of interesting people around, and the service is good. The best part is that the beer is always chilled and they get it in the restaurant, right under the nose of HH's picture.

The walls have beautiful prints depicting tibetan nomadic life. There always locals, monks and foreigners around. And there were a couple of Tibetans who obviously had a taste for alcohol. Each time I go to Mcleodganj, I come back with this impression that all the foreign attention that HH has brought to them may actually be a double edged sword. I always get the impression that under the surface, there is drug addiction, HIV and other such stuff. Tibetan kids go into paratha shops to buy cigarettes, and all lay people seem to smoke.
The other thing that never fails to irk me is the snootiness that some shopkeepers will display to Indians, and whats even more galling is that I have had this experience more often with Indian shopkeepers. Espescially if there are foreigners around. A Canadian woman I talked with the next day also had a similar impression. She told me of an NRI who was on his first visit to India at the age of 30+ and was amazed at the sort of subtle discrimination he faced in his own country at the hands of his own countrymen. I wonder if we will ever get over our need to be servile to white skinned people.
Getting out of the Hotel Tibet, one is assaulted by posters and bills pasted indiscriminately all over all available places.


These extol the virtues everything from painting, meditation, astrology, yoga to massage, cookery classes and other such stuff. Talk about hard selling Nirvana!!!! One particularly interesting one dealt with Thai massage in Himachal Pradesh India taught by some practitioner who had decades of experience in Amdo.

Walking back to the Dalai lama temple, came across the building that has the prayer wheels. There was Mr Big playing in there somewhere, so I walked over and this boy was painting a mural on the wall of Marpa (I think) and the stereo was his. Upstairs there were Indian/local men painting some more murals. Its all about adaptation everywhere.

This when I met Leila Mead, but more of that later. There were people going about their work everywhere. And a circumambulation of the wheels i probably a part of the daily routine.


I get beads from whenever and where ever I go, sort of an obsession with me. Walking out I stopped at a roadside stall and brought a rosary, slipped it around my wrist. Mcleodganj is a portrait photographers paradise, the faces are fantastic.

More tomorrow..

Tonight-27.10.06

Saw Hansraj Hans in the Upper cafeteria. Got a pic with him, I love some of his songs. Was here to get someone treated probably. And to the anonymous who left a comment, Thanks for the kind words.

Journey-3, Forsythganj

Between Upper Dharamshala and Mcleodganj is Forsythganj. The wonderful thing about Forsythganj is an old church, the Church of St John of the wilderness and a settlement of monks nearby. The area opposite the church is a bus stand. The church is known for its wonderful stained glass windows. When I reached, everything was bolted and there was no one around. It was very quiet, and the light was playing ever so often. Beautiful place to be. Mcleodganj had its heyday after the conquest of Maharaja Ranjeet Singh's Punjab by the British. True to form, McLeod founded Mcleodgunj and it had its moments too. After an earthquake in 1905, they decided it was too dangerous to be and shifted down to Dharamshala. The churchyard has some gravestones, most of them have been vandalized over the years.

The tomb of another high ranking British official who died in Dharamshala some time in 1858. Forgot his name. There was a beautiful flower next to the tomb, I sat there for sometime and imagined how it may have been. All of these people lived through history, some of them actually made it. All to die in faraway lands. I dont believe in god, the body after all is just that, a body but then I did think it might be nice to end up in the midst of known people.

There is a graveyard next to the church, most of the names can still be read and there are so many children buried here. India probably wasnt good for English babies, born in Jullundur and other places, dies in Dharamsala. Particularly poignant were two siblings laid out next to one another. The graves are mostly from 1870's, does anyone remember them any longer. Do their descendants even know??



The light played beautiful tricks, it was lovely, directional and golden. The only problem was that with a camera without a meter, it takes an awful lot of guesswork to get it right each time. Backlit leaves always attract me.



Lost in my thoughts, I was roaming about in the graveyard when I saw these two guys rolling a cheroot. Talk about getting stoned in the middle of headstones!!!



Next stop Mcleodaganj, Diwali.