Late Night Escapade

Out in Kodai late last night, I found myself in an unusually precarious situation. Sitting around a bonfire singing songs with some locals, I barely noticed the massive bison staring at me from across the flames. Thus, on my way home after hours through Kodai, aside from avoiding the usual miscreants that may be lurking in shadows, I must now also remember to make my way very slowly as not to startle any large bison that may be out for a late night snack.

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!

Gandhi's Legacy

A few years ago when I was living in Delhi, on October 2^nd, I visited the memorial of one of India’s most beloved heroes, Mahatma K. Gandhi, along with thousands of mourners. This national holiday known as Gandhi Jayanti typically celebrates the affectionately dubbed Gandhi-Ji as the Father of India, devout vegetarian Hindu, political activist, national hero, father, husband, and icon for world peace.

(Gandhi Park, New Delhi, 2007)

This year, I celebrated Gandhi Jayanti by attending a school-wide American BBQ. There was no beef included in the buffet, yet, even though I’m not Indian, I couldn’t help feeling a little bit guilty enjoying my corn on the cob while knowing that Gandhi-Ji starved more than once to save his nation. Perhaps legacies are simply a thing of the past.

Party in Maisuru

On the way back to Kodai, we stopped in the city of Mysore (formerly Maisuru), one of the major cities in the state of Karnataka. There we saw palaces, Tipoo the Tiger's burial grounds (a sultan who stood up against the Brits, did well for awhile, then lost), and a very tall Christian Church that seemed to be aiming pretty high to the heavens. It makes you wonder whether they were trying to make up for something. Anyways, I was mostly impressed by the script that Karnata speakers use as it looks something akin to upside down macaronis. I will admit, however, that the languages here in South India are getting very confusing. For example, here, while there are five ways to tell people to be quiet (from top to bottom: English, Karnata, Tamil, Hindi, and Urdu), camera and mobile usage is presumed self explanatory with a mere icon. Hmmm.

Lucky for me, while being in Mysore, the city famous for it’s sultans and lavish royal families, we happened upon its biggest party of the year: Dussehra. Dussehra is a Hindu festival that usually lasts for about ten days, and involves a lot of colored lights, parades, fireworks, greetings, and food. Not only was I fortunate enough to spend this glorious occasion in the city most famous for its Dusserha celebrations but I got to yet again be part of the holiday honoring my favorite Hindu goddess, Durga.

Durga, the most awesome of all the female goddesses, sprung from the energy of all twelve major male gods to slay a buffalo demon that could only be weakened by female seduction. You see, despite all the male power present in the Hindu pantheon, it lacked a certain element called shakti, female power or essence. This special feminine energy is needed for the universe to exist. Yet, this energy is so powerful that it has the power to both maintain and destroy all the balance in the universe. Durga herself is the very incarnation of this shakti energy, as she is the all-powerful female goddess, capable of destroying demons in a unique feminine way that the male gods could never even begin to conjure up. Basically, nobody messes with this feisty lady.

Thus, my Durga rants and biases aside, happy Dusserha everyone! This tradition of Dusserha (known as Durgapooja in North India) has become so deeply embedded into Indian culture that even now, sitting in my house back in the Christian town of Kodaikanal, the sounds of Indian music and fireworks in honor of Durga sweep through the hills like wildfire. Shakti is indeed all around us. 

Minds for Momos

I just came back from a weeklong fieldtrip with the grade 8 students to a Tibetan refugee settlement in Karnataka, India known as Bylakuppe. Because we lived in a monastery for a week straight, I was not able to blog regularly. Thus, I have pieced together a few snippets from this wonderful week of monks, Buddhism, momos, relaxation, and piece of mind. At first, I thought about apologizing for the length of this entry. Yet, knowing that monks spend twenty-two years memorizing over 1,000 pages of scripture puts certain things into perspective.

Novice Perceiver

Initially, I was a little nervous about heading to a refugee settlement. Naively, all I had ever presumed about these ‘camps’ was dry arid land with lots of people living in very difficult and primitive conditions. Once in Bylakuppe, I quickly altered these judgements. Pulling into the area, I suddenly felt I was no longer in India as all around me I saw a huge clean beautiful landscape with little clusters of developments and industry neatly erected underneath slews and slews of prayer flags. The Tibetans in this community have done an unbelievable job creating a living environment that both satisfies their needs and adheres to their beloved culture and tradition.

Chosen Path

On the way to Bylakuppe I was told to sit in the middle of the bus in the middle of the row so I could blend in with the children and escape the problems that could arise from me being a foreigner in citizen-only part of India. Fortunately for me however, the police seemed to be conveniently diverting their eyes this time. Even here in India there is no avoiding this whole ‘Free Tibet’ business.

Mind Games

During the rainy season, Tibetan monks meditate for three months straight. After this time of serious devotion and practice, they get precisely eight days off. Coincidentally, we are visiting during exactly those eight days. What does this mean exactly? Well, in short, there will not be any meditations, rituals, or debates to witness. Rather, this week is about watching monks play ping-pong, squirt water guns, watch the latest Korean flicks, listen to their ipods, and take part in a feature-length documentary film starring Miss Tibet. I plan to meditate on this paradoxical span of one short week just long enough to figure it all out.

Soul Survivors

One morning I went to the Tibetan Children’s Village in Bylakuppe. After watching 1600 students drill through their morning assembly, I had the opportunity to meet and chat with some of the young ladies from grade 8. Their stories all go something like this:

“When I was eleven years old my mother told me to leave Tibet. So I went with a group of other children, all strangers, on a month-long journey across the Himalayas on foot. Some of the kids died and many suffered from frostbite along the way. When we finally reached Dharamsala, India, someone split us into three groups: future monks, nuns, and students. Thus, I went by bus to Bylakuppe to study until I am twenty years old. Then, hopefully, I can go back to Tibet see my family and serve my country by being a teacher. I only get to talk to them here once a year, on Tibetan New Year’s. Maybe one day I’ll get to see them again."

These brave young teenagers are not bitter, angry, or scared. Rather, they accept their responsibilities as young global citizens and playfully ask if I will come visit them once Tibet is free. I would love to be able to oblige someday.

Materialisms

Visiting the Golden Temple includes the following rituals: spinning hundreds of prayer wheels, sitting in front of an enormous gold Buddha, and being summoned to prayer by fifty monks blowing into various instruments crafted from conch shells and animal bones. All this takes place amidst a rainbow of bright reds, blues, yellows, greens, and whites of the prayer flags and the maroons and oranges of monks, nuns, baby monks and nuns going on with their daily lives.

Life, Death, Life, Repeat

At one point I had the opportunity to have a debate with a real live monk. Thus, I sat down for a few hours with a Lama (teacher) named Sonam. Rather than getting into the deep complexities of the eight-fold path and four noble truths, I’ll briefly reflect on the complexities that boggle my mind on a regular basis. That is, the eccentricities in life.

Firstly, at the start of out meeting, upon entering the meeting hall we awkwardly interrupted a monk on roller skates practicing on the marble floors of the large space. This vacation for the monks, at many points, started feeling quite unusual for me. However, like the Lama spoke about later on, the best way to focus the mind on things that truly matter is by distracting it first.

Another memorable moment occurred when a fly landed on the Lama’s shoulder. One of the other listeners in our little group brushed it off of him, feaux pas number one. Then, when the fly landed on the floor next to him, she went to swat it dead with a pen. In an instant, the monk’s hand flew down to protect the fly from imminent death with more determination and compassion than I have seen in a long time. Naturally, the woman was quite embarrassed. The Lama just relaxed back into his cross-legged position and smiled.

Road to Enlightenment
Despite the overwhelming peace of this lovely community of Bylakuppe, the sense of impermanence is ever-present. With this, I do not mean to conjure up any Buddhist ideologies but rather note the face that these Tibetans are simply waiting until the day they can head back to their Tibet. Yet, with Tibetan Buddhism as the main player of Tibetan tradition, this sense of impermanence perhaps takes on a whole new meaning. For now, shoontenjaago (goodbye).

Soggy September

Greetings from 7,000 ft. above sea level, where in Kodaikanal, I am pleased to inform you, the start of monsoon season no. 2 is officially underway. In true South Asian style, the rains of the monsoon make European drizzles look like a sunny day as here in India, when the rains do finally come, everything and everyone gets doused in a nice layer of torrential downpour. Fortunately, I just heard the rains are due to last through the middle of November, so I’ll have plenty of time to get the melody to “rain, rain go away…” branded as the soundtrack to my autumn.

Whistle While You Work

This morning I visited another orphanage near Kodaikanal called Shenbaganur. Actually, it’s not quite an orphanage but a type of day care center or kresh where single parents can leave their children while they go off and seek work elsewhere.

Walking into the dark two-room building, the children are all standing, heads bowed down and hands folded together, reciting Tamil Christian prayers in perfect unison. The discipline here is unbelievable. The same goes for snack time, as once again, these little children sit in perfectly straight lines, girls on the left, boys on the right, patiently awaiting today’s delicacy.

After playing basketball, cricket, monkey bars, boat sailing in the well, coloring, and reading and writing with the kids, I decided to get my hands dirty and help some of the older girls plant their garden. After a lot of hard work and song singing, we finally got the job done and hopefully, within a few months, these children will have grown their very own beets and cauliflower, which they can then consume with pride. There’s no telling how long the dirt will remain under my fingernails. Yet, the thought of homegrown veggies and full bellies makes it all worth it.

After just one morning of playing and working with these children, I truly admire the patience, enthusiasm, and love the owners and workers (in this case Sisters) of such an organization possess and share all day everyday. I guess in the end maybe we could all use a bit more discipline after all.