Teachings from the Dali Lama and the end of India

Dharmasala India was supposed to be a stop over point for a few days before working my way further north still. I knew it was the home of his holiness the 13th Dali Lama and of Tibet in exhile and along the outer wall of the Indian Himalaya. I hoped to see the home of the Dali lama, enjoy the good nature of the Tibetan people as I had in Nepal, and to see the Himalaya one last time. I expected to be there only 3-5 days but ended up leaving 10 days later.
Arriving in Dharmasala was an experience in itself. I was wearing all the warm cloths I owned, which was practically nothing since I had sent all my warm clothes home after Nepal. I had no shoes as they were stolen some months back in Goa. Noir did I own a sweater or jacket let alone gloves or a hat. So in good Minnesota fashion I layered on 4-5 shirts, 2 pair of socks, and wrapped my khadi blanket around me. The bus ride out to Dharmasala was under a pouring sleet. One that never really abated. The roads were flooded and the rivers had gone beyond they’re banks in a muddy brown that recalled images of natural disasters viewed on the tele back home. The road felt like a game of connect the dots for seven hours, except it was connect the pot holes. But to make matters worst was the bus ceiling was more then a leak it was a faucet. So I arrived in Dharmasala late in the night to the cold mountain air. Watching my breath come out in plumes under the bus stand street light. And all the warm cloths I owned were soaking wet. It was a rough beginning.

But…… Good things come to those who suffer for it. I jumped in a jeep where I met my two Canadian counter parts Christie and Carrie. One from Nova Scotia the other from Labrador. I forgot Labrador even existed. The last time I heard it mentioned was in sixth grade geography with Mrs. Block. But it’s always good to be reminded of places unknown or forgotten in the world. Nobody but the Swedes seem to know where Minnesota is. So I suppose it all comes full circle.

When we disembarked from the jeep up top in Mcleoud Ganj with our packs after winding up and up the mountain for twenty minutes. I noticed hundreds of Burgundy clad monks walking the streets with they’re shaved heads and they’re huge smiles, as well as droves of foreigners from all around the world. More foreign faces than I had seen anywhere in the last four months. It didn’t make sense to me as it was supposed to be outside the busy season in India. It was supposed to be a ghost town up there with cheap rent and no waiting on your meals. I remarked the same to Carrie and Christie and that’s when they dropped the bombshell on me.
His Holiness The Dali Lama would be doing ten days of lectures on Tibet and on Buddhism. Covering the approach to it along with the fundamentals and how to live a life of love and compassion. Thousands of monks from all around the world had come in as well as hundreds of foreigners from every stretch of the globe. The talks would begin in 3 days. I had no idea that any of it was going to be happening. So it was a huge and beautiful surprise.

I had wanted to do something in my last three weeks in India with my spiritual life, as India is a very spiritual place. People from all over the globe come here for healing, seminars, teachings, and a hundred other reasons for their own spiritual benefit. Weather it’s a Yoga class, a week at an Ashram, meditation, Tai Chi, or so many others. So it was a bit of an answered prayer to walk right into this. We found rooms in Mcleoud Ganj (that is the town where the Dali Lama and Tibet in exhile live above Dharmasala) and three days later began the teachings.

The weather cleared out beautifully the day of the teachings and would remain so for the next week and a half. The views of the sourrounding snow capped mountains were breath taking as well as the sounds of praying monks and the honest smiles of the Tibetans. Each day you woke early, washed and made your way down the mountain to the monastery. Stopping to buy hot tea and donuts or muffins to eat as you walked the temple road down. And also stopping to hand out food to the gypsies and the lepers below. Whispering your prayers as you went in the crisp early mountain air as you wound your way down. (I did purchase a Tibetan wool sweater, wool socks, and a yak wool hat).

When you would arrive at the Temple each morning there would be a line of monks and nuns slowly walking single file waiting to get in. The burgundy robbed line would wind it’s way around the temple and back for blocks. You would then go through a security check and finally walk up some steps into the courtyard above. Each morning finding a place amongst the masses (Mainly Tibetan) set down your folded blanket on the cobble stones, then set down your pillow to sit on, and lastly your sandals before taking a seat amongst the many (A few thousand…not including monks – they were all in the temple).

The monks would spread out through out the crowd passing out Tibetan bread (A small round loaf☺) and pouring Tibetan Buttermilk tea from big metal tea pots into the out stretched hands of those who brought they’re tea cups (the tea wasn’t so good ☹). The Dali Lama’s talks were mainly aimed at and for the Tibetans so he spoke in his native tongue. But there was a translator….. So you would buy a small short wave transistor radio for 2 dollars, plug in your headphones and listen that way.

The first few days of teachings there were many Tibetans visiting from Tibet. And I don’t want to say that the Dali Lama is Jesus Christ but that’s kind of what he is to them. He is the Buddha’s compassion reincarnate. He is also the symbol of they’re struggle and they’re love. So when these Tibetans saw him when he walked out and stopped to bless and talk to many of them it was a very emotional experience. One I didn’t plan on having. Seeing the Dali Lama for the first time was one I will never forget. In a way it was like the seeing Everest at sundown from Kalapatar. His holiness reminded me of my mother. She is the most loving and Compassionate person I have ever Known. And that’s the feeling you are wrapped in when looking at the Dali Lama….. And…. I cried. I haven’t cried in years and years. I suppose I didn’t have an honest cry but I did have huge puppy dog tears rolling down my cheeks. It was a powerful moment and a beautiful experience. Tibetans all around me were crying for Joy and for sorrow. It was a moment I will never forget. You don’t get many of those in life.

The teachings were of leading a good life. Of treating all with an unbiased compassion and love. Of shedding your Anger and opening up to forgiveness to all beings including your enemies. The message in all of it was a message of love and compassion. It was a great way to start every day for a week. Waking each morning early, walking down to the monstary, watching the Dali Lama walk by each day through the crowds, listening to the chanting monks, watching the crowds, listening to the translations of the teachings or his Holiness with out any translation, taking pages of notes through out all of it for future use, and returning back to the town up the winding Temple road with the milling masses and all the burgundy robed monks with they’re mala’s (prayer beads) and they’re smiles. You walked up each morning in the warmth of the afternoon sun to find lunch in the mountains and a good conversation.

The conversations I had in Mcleoud Ganj were many, they were diverse, and they were great. They were with people from all around the globe with one purpose or another, but all for the same reason. Each was looking into they’re own spiritual life. Or a different outlook on it. Like the Dali Lama said, “Each of you should stick with the religion you were born to and can identify to best. Buddhism can teach you in a few ways how to love and approach each day and all living beings around you in a compassionate way.” Every night and most afternoons I sat down to hot apple tea and good food with friends or strangers and shared in great conversations I wouldn’t fiind in any restaurant or bar back home. Those conversations with so many tucked away from the cold over steaming hot tea were priceless.

10 days later I left Mcleoud Ganj very early in the morning. Walking the quiet empty mountain streets in the dark. Catching a rickshaw down the cold mountain roads, counting out the rupees to pay in front of the single headlight of the rickshaw and then catching a bus out 5 hours away to the British Hill station of Shimla. Mcleoud Ganj in many ways was the highlight of India for me as well as the trip in many respects. I knew I was supposed to arrive there and luck had nothing to do with it. I felt god very strongly pulling the strings for me and that felt great. That was worth so much and more. A blessing I couldn’t be more thankful for.

Shimla would be the end of India for me. I spent 5 days there. In the snows and in the cold. Hiding under my four blankets from the sleet and the snow. Spending long hours high up in the mountains in cafes and restaurants talking with other travelers and photographing and journaling. I caught another early morning bus ride out of Shimla and said goodbye to the Himalaya as we wound our way down and through the mountains and back to Delhi where I would catch a flight to Bangladesh and then a day later to Thailand. I arrived in Delhi to grab a rickshaw to the Paraganj main bizarre with one wish on my mind… To have dinner that night with a friend met somewhere in India before leaving the next morning.

India granted me that last wish. I walked out of my hotel room to get dinner and at the same time Claudia and Phillip (My two Camel safari mates) walked out from the room next to me. They to were leaving for dinner and they too were leaving India the next day. The three of us walked the crazy streets of Delhi to find some good Indian Cuisine, our last dinner, good conversation of the weeks apart, and our last night in India. It was a great way to end 3 and a half months in India. A place I had loved to hate in the beginning but really came to love in so many ways by the end. It was a story like way to end it all.

It’s hard to write any last words on India as I am still trying to figure out in how many ways it moved me and changed me. India is country you must adapt to or you’ll never make it. It’s a daily love hate relationship. And a working holiday if I have ever been on one. It is unlike any other place in the world. At times you hate it for that and at other times you love it for that. Some day when I figure out the impact of India I will share it. But it is still something I have only a lassoed a thread of understanding around. Someday. India gave me so much. In he beginning I only felt the taking. But as you begin to understand it and accept it. It all seems to come back full circle. I leave India with a thousand stories and so much more. Some day I will return.