Samsara

Every once and awhile, I find myself in one location more than once. Seeing as I’m constantly drawn by my own curiosities, I rarely seek out repetition in fear of boredom. However, as I’ve learned this past week, sometimes revisiting a specific place can also help bring about new revelations.

I was asked to return to Bylakuppe to chaperone a group of high schoolers to an Interschool Program organized by the Foundation for Universal Responsibility by His Holiness the Dalai Lama. In short, this was a week full of intense dialogue regarding various religions, global awareness, and approaches to conflict resolution. Overall, things that are basically all  my cup of tea.

Even though I had just visited the Tibetan community of Bylakuppe three weeks ago, this time I was able to experience almost a completely new side of Bylakuppe. That is, the Tibetans themselves. Throughout the week, I had the opportunity to study jewelry with a Tibetan refugee, learn the art of silk brocade Tongka making, sit amidst ten people who spoke only Tibetan for an entire day, envy the genuinely beautiful laughs that Tibetans emit on a regular basis, stand next to three giant unfinished bronze Buddhas, cry with elderly Tibetan spiritual seekers, visit a nunnery (below), and finally get to see Buddhist monks in their ‘natural’ habitat (not roller skating this time).

Since I can’t share all of these experiences fully, I thought I’d just quickly show you a glimpse of what was certainly the most bewildering thing I saw in Bylakuppe this time. Every sundown at the monasteries, there occurs an event known as a debate session, a sort of ritual that challenges all the 2,000 something monks at once on their knowledge of Buddhist philosophy in a very demanding way. Basically, one monk stands over his seated disciple, yells a riddle at him, and the seated monk must respond by the time the stander lurches forward and claps in his face (usually about 5 seconds). Every time their hands clap together, it is supposed to signify heaven and hell clashing together. If the monk answers correctly, order will be restored. Who knew it was that simple?

While heading back to Kodai, I found myself yet again in the middle of a countrywide celebration. This time however, the city of Bangalore was celebrating Diwali, the festival of lights. Crammed into one auto rickshaw with three girls and three pieces of luggage, our driver was forced to laboriously swerve around random spurts of fireworks shooting off in the middle of the streets all around us. Despite all the chaos, there’s nothing like getting hit in the rear end by a few pebbles blasted from the sparks of Indian firecrackers to remind you that you are back in India, a place where anything can happen, and festival season is still here. And, in order celebrate the occasion properly, and with this I mean in keeping with the theme of new beginnings, I did the unthinkable and ate at my first ever Indian McDonalds! I had a 'panir salsa wrap' which is apparently one of the staples of the veg menu here at MceeDees. As a somewhat American raised individual I'm not sure this is even koshir, however, I'm glad I was able to put some spice into my cyclical adventures. Thus, with this Tibetan/ Indian tale of samsara, the ongoing cycle of life, happy Diwali everyone!