Darmshala: It’s a Nice Place, But the Tibetans Just Want to Go Home

Like Boudinath, which doesn’t feet at all like Nepal, Daramshala doesn’t feel like India. Their residents are primarily Tibetan Buddhists and they seem like I imagine Tibetan villages would feel. A World Heritage site, Boudha has a timeless feel. With its famous stupa and scores of monasteries and temples, I think of it as Tibet’s spiritual heart.  On the other hand, Daramshala, especially the McLeod Ganj area where I stayed, is teeming with energy and political activism. It mushroomed in size following the Chinese invasion of Tibet, when the Dalai Lama settled here after his daring escape over the Himalayas on foot and horseback. Now, it is now home to the Tibetan Government in Exile, a host of youth activists, and a healthy arts scene (for example, while I was there I attended the 2^nd Annual Spiritual Films Festival at Daramshala’s beautiful cultural center). The town’s handful of roads are dotted with Free Tibet signs and billboards demanding release of the Panchen Lama (who was taken into “protective custody” by the Chinese years ago as a child and hasn’t been seen since).

I love street art. This piece was outside a small coffee shop and these hip young dudes were happy to pose, so long as I promised not to make money off the photo.

This is an example of one of the Free Tibet signs you see around Daramshala.

A billboard demanding release of the Panchen Lama, the world’s youngest political prisoner.

Everybody seems well-informed about what is going on at home in Tibet. The local paper carries news from Tibet, including a running death toll of people who have died from starvation or beatings in prison, and from self-immolation, something that happens all too often. They are not just numbers. Through interviews with friends and relatives, you learn about their lives, hopes and dreams, families, and details of the injuries they experienced at the hands of their jailers. Sometimes you read that their families are being threatened and harassed. You can watch live coverage of the exiled government’s hearings on television or wander down the mountainside to the teeming government complex and attend in person. I saw footage of the Dalai Lama testifying before a local panel; it was a more emphatic and serious Dalai Lama than the gentle, smiling person who makes appearances here in the U.S.

I wish I could have seen him while I was there. People speak familiarly about “His Holiness.” Almost every conversation eventually turns to him, though he is gone so much of the time, urgently spreading his message around the world in a schedule that would exhaust someone half his age. When he is gone, you’ll find a photograph of his smiling face in the central chair of every temple in the area.

The Dalai Lama is gone, but his presence is definitely not forgotten in the temples.

His Holiness has a seat in every temple.

He was overseas during most of my visit and only returned on my last day in town. He arrived a couple of hours after I was hit by a car in the busiest intersection of town. (I seem to attract disaster when I travel, but won’t go into those details.) In this case, I remember looking both ways, then starting across the intersection; the next moment I was upside down and flying through space.

I took this photo the day before I got hit by a car, right in this intersection. I wanted to memorialize the crazy traffic, not realizing that I would soon have scars to help me remember the place.

I was picked up, dusted off, and taken to the hospital on a wild ride down the mountainside on the back of a police motorcycle.  My wounds were cleaned and bandaged and I was given a tetanus shot but not examined by the doctor because that would involve…oh, the horror…disrobing. The next thing I knew, I was riding back up the mountain, bruised and hurting but able to function.  I was deposited at the temple, where the policeman was needed to manage the throngs of people waiting to greet the Dalai Lama’s motorcade upon his return. As it slowed down to weave around a clump of donkeys (who seemed unaware that something important was happening), the respectful crowd waved and lifted flags and flowers, in a gentle greeting to their spiritual leader. Some people were so old that they must have followed him to Daramshala decades ago. I realized how strong his connection is with this place and how deeply he is treasured by those who live here.  I felt an undercurrent of fear concerning what will happen when he is gone. But that goes contrary to Buddhist teachings of non-attachment, a concept that comes up again and again in Daramshala, where so many people have lost so much and yet keep on moving forward with equanimity.

These folks are waiting for the Dalai Lama’s return. Doesn’t the lady in the striped apron look as if she’s stepped out of a fairy tale?

This little nun, dressed in red, could hardly wait for the Dalai Lama to appear.

Tibetan people are quite beautiful. Look at the lovely bone structure of this woman’s face.

I was amused to see this donkey train passing in front of the temple just minutes before His Holiness’ motorcade arrived.

As I said, some of Daramshala’s residents followed the Dalai Lama here in the 1950’s. Some were born in exile and some arrived as refugees as little as a day ago. Many left their families behind and can never go back. Some of them don’t speak Hindi and many come from remote rural areas, lacking marketable skills for the “modern world.” Most people I encountered were keen to learn English as soon as possible and volunteer teachers are in high demand. I helped out at two different places after finishing the 10-day yoga workshop at the Iyengar Himalayan Yoga Center, the activity that initially drew me to Daramshala.

The yoga studio at the Himalayan Iyengar Yoga Center in Dharamkot is quite beautiful. I took a 10-day training here.

The yoga center is located in Dharamkot, a little town just up the mountainside from upper Daramshala (McLeod Ganj). It’s said to be a bit of a party town, with a good number of expats there for yoga and meditation, and some folks (but not me) choose to stay there instead of in McLeod Ganj.

In English class, I asked students what they wanted to talk about, expecting it to be topics like movies, music and social media ,but inevitably the talk would turn deeper. People did want to know about life in the Western world, but always through a spiritual lens. What do we value and in what do we believe? What problems do we face and how do we handle them? Do we know about the Dalai Lama and Buddhism, and what do we think about it? Students were kind, thoughtful, serious, and also incredibly shy. Their homework was to engage a tourist in a brief conversation. We practiced the scenario over and over, but only one of them could ever get up the courage to do it. The next day he dutifully pulled out a notebook and reported on his conversation with “Frank.” I had a terrific time volunteering and have become Facebook friends with several of the students.

Getting a bottle of water for teacher. This young monk became a friend and I look forward to seeing him again.

The students in this English class are paying serious attention to the teacher.

I stayed in Daramshala close to three weeks and my days took on a predictable rhythm. In addition to spending time with my friend Susan, I roamed the streets of town.  Most days, I went to Tushita Buddhist Meditation Center for the morning meditation and hiked back through lovely mountain scenery.  There were usually troops of monkeys to amuse me on the way.  Along with Rishikesh and parts of southern India, Daramshala is home to many of India’s yoga schools and studios, so I took advantage of the opportunity to experience as many drop-in yoga classes as possible. During one class, the instructor sang a sort of Indian devotional rap music during the entire savasana, a practice I can’t say I intend to adopt in my own classes, but it was…interesting. I had massages, attended Buddhist philosophy sessions at the Tibetan Library, saw a traditional Tibetan astrologer (His Holiness has championed preservation of Tibet’s traditional medicine and astrology programs). Daramshala is a terrific place to visit.

There’s a lot of construction going on in Daramshala, most of it accomplished with human labor (or, more accurately, woman power) rather than modern machines.

Believe it or not, this building is a butcher’s shop and the butcher had a steady stream of business.

I have no idea why this kid and his mom were selling what looked like Halloween masks. But, with him taking a watermelon break, it made for a terrific photo.

Me with Susan and one of her friends at the Karmapa Temple.

This cow is quite adept at parallel parking, wouldn’t you say?

Susan and one of the nicest monks I’ve ever met (though I can’t spell his name).

View of Daramshala from the balcony of my hotel.

The scenery around Daramshala is incredibly beautiful.

Tushita Buddhist Meditation Center has a well-earned reputation. They offer silent meditation retreats, workshops of all kinds, speakers, weekly free movies and open meditations every morning.

This monkey family was foraging in the trash one morning when I walked back from a meditation at the Tushita Center.

How cute is this tiny monkey’s face?

This monkey chose the middle of the road for some mother/baby bonding and stayed right there, serene in the midst of passing pedestrians and tuk-tuk traffic. It really was quite amazing.

I spent an afternoon at the Norblingka Institute, a lovely non-profit in a nearby village where Buddhist arts are preserved and new refugees are hired to learn the old ways of wood carving, furniture making, rug weaving, bronze casting, lacquer work, thangka painting, weaving, and the like.

All natural ingredients are used to make the paint for thangkas. The blue green color is lapis lazuli.

Before the first dab of paint is applied, the thangka painter will stretch and stitch the canvas and then sketch the design with geometric precision.

Thangka painting requires a very steady hand.

These fellows are Tibetan refugees who are receiving training in thangka painting at the Norblingka Institute.

The Buddha is a favorite design on thangka paintings.

This is a thangka painting of the Medicine Buddha.

Close-up of a refugee working on the casting of a bronze statute.

Refugee working on a lacquer box at the Norblingka Center.

I loved this bird design that was painted on a piece of furniture. Wouldn’t it make terrific upholstery fabric?

I couldn’t resist taking a photo of this snappily dressed man at the Norblingka institute and he was quite willing to pose for me.

I visited as many temples as possible and even had an audience with the Karmapa (2^nd in line to the Dalai Lama) at his temple.

This little temple was on the side of a busy mountain road.

This little darling is waiting for her dad to take her photo at the Karmapa’s Temple.

There was a beautiful column of yellow silk hanging from the ceiling of the Karmapa’s Temple. I took this shot while standing inside it and looking up.

A lovely flower lamp at one of the temples.

Almost every surface of this temple was elaborately decorated.

These nuns are fairly glowing after visiting one of the temples.

This young monk unlocked the temple at his monastery and gave us a private tour. Like most temples, it was full of intricate carvings and paintings.

All alone and gazing out the window, this young monk made for a terrific photo.

The monks were having some kind of a special prayer session on one of the days we visited the Karmapa Temple.

Most mornings I got up early and made a kora (walked in a circle) around the mountainside. So I wouldn’t get lost along the way, I tried to find old ladies to walk with or follow; they kept up such a fast pace that I could hardly keep up with them.

I tried to snap a photo from the front of these ladies who were walking up a steep hill from the temple — but couldn’t catch up with them. They could really hustle.

With her cane and advanced years, this lady was slower than most. It’s one of the few front shots I have of these generally fast-moving women.

Kora ends at the Dalai Lama Temple, where the early morning chanting sessions are so powerful that they drew me like a magnet. The monks enter quietly, some yawning widely, They are dressed in dark red tunics topped by deep golden robes wound tightly or loosely wrapped depending on the morning’s temperature. They sit on red cushions facing each other in two sections of parallel rows along fluted columns that reach from floor to ceiling. Intricate thangkas flutter overhead and before them are bells and dorjies (a bronze object representing the thunderbolt of enlightenment). At the end of the first row, one monk, a master at throat singing, leads the chant. Barely a second after he begins, the others join in and the chanting soon begins to take on a meditative rhythm. The monks sway as they chant, lips seeming to barely move, but emitting an incredibly powerful, rich and resonant sound. Their hands move in graceful mudras and there is a soft rustle as they turn the pages of their prayer books. Musicians occasionally chime in, raising the noise level considerably. Some blow into conch shells that are as long as your forearm and are trimmed with silver. A monk in the back row sits with a bit upright bronze horn; in front they play bells, brass cymbals and big drums.

I do not understand what the monks are saying but since preparations have begun for the Kalachakra festival, I know they are praying for universal peace and for the health of the planet and all who live on it. Among other teachings on the temple wall are these words: “We pray that all major religions of the world may live in harmony and develop mutual respect and understanding and that all sentient beings may be happy and overcome suffering. May the aspirations of the Tibetan people to regain their freedom be fulfilled. We also pray that our great spiritual teacher, the Dalai Lama, may live long and that all his noble wishes be realized. Through the teachings of the Kalachakra may the world live in harmony and free of war, famine, and natural calamities.”

On my last morning at the temple, I feel a surge of emotion for these gentle people who have taught us so much about non-violence and devotion. Then I remember one of my students telling me that there are 2 types of people: those who are attached and those who show compassion but remain unattached. As I sit in the temple, I try hard to regain my composure. I want to be one of those people in the second category, those who feel compassion but don’t become entangled in it. About that time, two small, inquisitive monkeys lean through the window high above us, craning their little heads towards the monks.  They look for all the world as if they are about to swing into the room and join them on their meditation cushions. The monks look up and then break into huge smiles. Though their chanting is surely important, they seem not too attached to having a serious environment. Unattachment message reinforced – but, to be honest, I have become very attached to these people and to Daramshala. I hate to leave, but I need to head back to Rishikesh for a a 6-week, 300 hour yoga teacher training program at Rishikesh Yog Peeth.