This is my schedule for tomorrow... Orientation of the Central Tibetan Administration, formerly known as Tibetan Government in Exile, all fit in one day! I cannot believe, I am actually going to have an overview of a functioning government in one day! Will get back to you tomorrow with more experiences...
Thursday, July 23, 2009 : Gangchen Kyishong, Dharamshala, India
09:30 am Election Commission 10:00 am Department of Finance 10:30 am Office of the Auditor General 11:00 am Kashag [Cabinet (Secretariat)] 11:30 am Supreme Justice Commission 12:00 noon Planning commission 12:30 pm Tibetan Parliament in Exile (formerly: Assembly of Tibetan People’s Deputies)
LUNCH
02:30 pm Department of Religion and Culture 03:00 pm Department of Security 03:30 pm Department of Home 04:00 pm Department of Education 04:30 pm Public service Commission
Do you remember the two beautiful kid girls outside Grand Prince? The luncheons and the handshakes? The hugs? I am sure, you do, much more than I would.
In the similar manner, here, at Dharamshala, there are two or three ladies with their kids. Usually they stand outside the small cafe or the staff mess, where people have their lunch. they ask fro alms, but as well for food and water. From day one, I was struggling whether I should go ahead an offer them meals or just let it be... Don't forget, they were not kids, they were ladies. But, they did have two kids with them, a small girl who reminded me of the younger one in Dhaka. And why was I struggling? do you recall the debate about "feeding a fish vis-a-vis teaching them to fish" and the beggar syndicate thingy... I was unsure.
Today, looking at that young girl staring at me while I was having my meal, my internal debate reached its peak. And I remembered our talk on the way back from bank! Yes, I did accordingly, what my heart said. Handed over a plate of food to the little girl....
And let me tell you, I feel much more calm! At ease... A sense of peace!
Yes, it is more important to teach some one to feed himself rather than feeding them for free. But I feel, it is equally important to let that person survive for that moment when he can learn the skills, if ever someone who can teach them comes along! Till then, as we spoke, lets just embark on our li'l mission, in our modest capcities!
I am going to teach the kid the handshake tomorrow.. :-)
The monsoons, as you know, my favorite time of the year! And this is never complete without devouring the taste of monsoon literature! I bring you here one of my most favorite poems, I wish I had the translation for my English friends...
When Ruskin Bond speaks of rolling the cherry seed on his tongue, not to let go off the taste, he reminds me of the lyrics of this poems, that I have rolled over n over n over again in my mouth, every time experiencing a taste I had experienced never before..
I am an Indian!!! Proud to be one… This is my country, my culture, my tradition. We have our own problems, but this country works. The world’s largest democracy, though squeakily, functions. It still provides me with an identity and an individuality. But had I known this? Was I aware that I had certain privilege, because I had a nationality? Was I even aware that my nationality was my blessing?
The one basic thing that I took for granted, was for someone a dream. The freedom I take for granted every moment, is a fairy tale for millions of people in Tibet, in Sudan, in Gaza, in Somalia, world over there will be examples. The closest I come to feel this is, through my colleague at CTA. I joined CTA on Tuesday, and she was on a half day leave on Wednesday. What’s so unusual about the half day leave? The unusual is the reason for the leave. She had to go to the local police station to renew her residence permit. An annual chore of Tibetans settled in India. Every year, they have to struggle with the “great” Indian bureaucracy to fetch a piece of paper recognizing them. And how much does this piece of paper serve in recognition? Let’s know it from these two experiences…
She was supposed to leave to attend a conference in Italy. As usual, she arrived on Delhi airport, and went to the check-in line. After being in queue for about half an hour, she finally arrived at the officer’s desk. The officer asked for her papers, and she forwarded the “Green Card,” official refugee document issued by the government of India. To her dismay, the officer refused to acknowledge the document issued by his own country and she had to wait for an hour before he was satisfied that she was holding the “green document” of government of India. She was allowed to proceed… I should say, she was lucky because the fate of my other friend was not similar…
Lady 2… She is supposed to visit Dubai for a Hotel Management training program. In this case, she is lucky, not because she meets friendly officers, but because she is leaving from Mumbai airport, which is usually over crowded. No one cares as much to check her papers in detail. They see the Indian government logo on her green paper, and let her go. She boards the flight and lands in Dubai,, full of dreams to make the most of this training. To bring back to her parents, the dreams fulfilled. To be a burning flame of the Tibetan mission, by being genius in her field. With all these hopes, she walks out of the flight to the arrival lounge for immigration clearance, and her nightmare starts. The officer’s at the Dubai airport refuse to acknowledge the paper. The airlines refuses to give her nay feedback. The Indian authorities on airport do not even wish to speak with her. To add to all of this, her luggage is missing, and they have confiscated everything she has, including her purse. She is not allowed to move for around 20 hours. After which, she is allowed to make calls to identify herself. In desperation, she calls her family and the Indian Embassy. As usual, the embassy is out of reach, but family is there. The family contacts the Tibetan government, who in turn contact the Indian government, who are now forced to take action. Thus they inform the Dubai immigration people that the document is issued by the government of India, but it cannot be used in the lieu of a passport. The only out come of this is, after being stranded on Dubai airport for more than 36 hours without food or luggage, the lady is deported to India…
Are these only two stories? Nopes… There are thousands of such stories of the plight of not only Tibetans, but all those people whose government is either unable to provide them with an identity or who are compelled to forced identities…
For me, who has always enjoyed the freedom, and taken my identity for granted, it is really difficult to understand what it means to be an “alien in a foreign land”. All I can do is, pray, pray for individuals to find their anchors… Pray for humanity to find the ultimate truth, that if we all decide to live in harmony, everyone will have enough, but we need to choose to live, not to greed…
I am sitting at a Café. It has actually become a kind of second home for me here. Every evening, walk on the road to temple, and stop at this place to devour some tasty sandwiches and thick shakes. Compared to US standards, this can be an extremely cheap place, and for Indian standards, a medium range… I enjoy the food they offer and I love the ambience. And yes, they also have internet :)
So, it is a part of my routine. Finish off the days work, take a taxi up from the office, and then spend some time here serving my empty grueling stomach, while observing beautiful colorful sunsets in the mountains, beyond the rivers and plateau. I love it… Today is one another such evening. I have just finished one sandwich, but as I had skipped my lunch today, I am still hungry. I have ordered one more sandwich, while I am sipping thick mango shake, while checking my emails and observing the changing skies.
On the opposite side of the road is sitting an old lady. Have you ever seen those award winning pictures of old people, full of wrinkles? She is a personification of those pictures, or rather the elected representative. Full of wrinkles, old worn out saree, a small steel can containing her water and a piece of paper which wraps a few crums of food. She is neither a beggar nor does carry on her face the “laachari” or pity of a beggar. She has her smile, content on what she has. She looks at me and gives a half smile, unsure of me smiling back. And I proved her right… My smile did not get bigger as much as hers, I am engrossed in my thoughts. Possibly engulfed in a guilt…
A guilt for the expensive sandwich that I have ordered, guilt for the expensive clothes I am wearing and the money I spend on phone. I am guilty of my privilege, when I see her towards the end of her life still struggling for daily bread and butter. This is not a new feeling… I have always had this. While working in MIT, when I used to see the employees of the age of my Dad or elder, coming on bicycles, eating a small tiffin and thinking twice before having a cup of tea, I felt guilty for my position, for the privileges I enjoyed of bossing on them. At my Dad’s office, I felt guilt looking at Namdev and Yadav, the two daily labourers… Though they had never been treated so by my Dad, rather they enjoyed a privileged position!
Yes, a feeling that has always permeated me, through my skin and soul. Rather, I recall an incidence, when the lady of my life was with me. We were, I assume, passing through a tough time. And she had made a statement, a profound statement that did not make much sense then but makes much more now. She had said, “Darshan, I cannot spend my lifetime with a person who would think of the farmer while eating his meals, who would think of poor while living his life. I don’t mean I do not feel for them, but I cannot put myself in their shoes every other moment. I cannot do this to myself.”
Now, looking back, I think she was right. I cannot do this to myself either. But, then how do I live a guilt free but considerate life?
P.S.: the picture is neither the old lady's nor is it clicked by me. It is thanks to google!
Here’s a story… “I was around 13, staying in a remote village. My parents are farmers, and so, I used to work with them. My responsibility was to take the cow to grasslands, and get her back home in the evening. There was no school, no electricity, nothing. The life was a mere routine. One day, my cousin said, let’s go over the fence. On the other side of the fence is where the school is, on the other side of the fence is where the teacher is… Let’s go… My heart cried, let’s go… And I started walking…”
This is not a story from a school text emphasizing the importance of education, neither is it a fairy tale, where she crosses over the fence and her struggles are all over. This is the story of my colleague, an employee of Central Tibetan Authority (CTA) functioning from exile in Dharamshala in India. And the fence is the Tibet-Nepal-India border, the teacher, His Holiness the XIV Dalai Lama. At the age of 13, she left her remote village in the Tibetan land, in search of education and a better dignified life, because her cousin told her so. She was told that they will arrive on Nepal border in 15 days, a guide was there to take them along. She had paid 700 Yuan for that, possibly all her savings. Without any idea of the terrain they are going to go through, without any idea of where they were headed, without even basic life supporting material such as enough food, this little girl started walking with seven other Tibetans, juts in the hope of a better life. Not even her parents knew, where she was… Rather, her mother went to a monastery every day for six months, and finally gave up the hope of finding her, choosing a thought that she dreaded. The thought that her daughter was no more… But, the daughter had pursued a dream. She walked, at times without food for 3 days, at times seeing one of her friends get blind because of the reflections from snow, at times begging from nomads, she walked and walked and walked. After a walk of “one month and fourteen days” (this is how she puts it), they arrived on the Nepal Border. This is when the pains eased a bit. Received by the Tibetan reception center, they were sent on a bus to Delhi, India, and from there she was sent to Dharamshala. Considering her age and her knowledge, she was further sent to a school in South India, and then University.
A girl, who had not learnt to read and write till the age of 13, started her education at the age of 14, today, at about 30, already has a masters in arts. Her quench for knowledge has not yet sufficed… She wants to learn more. Do more for Tibetans and for the welfare of her people. She has no regrets, no over-reacting emotions. It is just her matter of fact life story, that is what she claims.
I was left speechless listening to this. A casual ask-out, as you may want to term it, turned in an evening full of emotions. We were walking the streets of McLeod as Abhay wanted to do a bit of shopping. Abhay had called her to help us out with the shops, and she had immediately obliged. Without a word, without any hesitation. We finished the shopping, and I asked her out, asked her to join us for a cup of coffee, and she agreed. It was me and Abhay, bragging about our world, our topics. Two women with us on table, nodding to what we were saying. And, realizing the situation, I asked her a casual question, “What made you come to India?” And came the story…
I came to Dharamshala as per my schedule. Stayed here for 7 days, but was so bored and was missing home, so went back to Pune for 7 days, before restarting my internship. I proudly claim to everyone that my threshold to stay away from my parents, family, and friends is not more than 4 months, and here, I was sitting with a girl who had spoken to her mother for the first time after her escape, after more than a decade. And that was the only time she had spoken with her mother. Now she has some contact with her brother, but that too is occasional. She cannot call them regularly else they will be in trouble. She cannot visit them as easily, because she has to get papers cleared form Chinese embassy in New Delhi.
What is her threshold? What is the threshold of Tibetan patience? What is the threshold of infinite compassion encompassing the heart of His Holiness? What is the threshold of this world, where we will keep on watching these injustices around us every moment, until we react? What is the threshold that conflict has to achieve, to topple itself into peace?
Incidentally, my threshold seems very low. The overwhelming incidence already has shaken us (me, Abhay, and Fahmida)… I feel a need for a hug, and once again I remember… What did she do at the age of 13, arriving in a foreign land? Who was there to hug her?
July 2008: Me and my would be roommate, Ketan are looking for apartments. Our main criterion is dollars, and then a decent living place. We do not mind if we have to “share a bath.” The search continues for a while… My host father has offered to check an apartment that seems to be good online. The finalization is postponed till we arrive in the US.
August 2008: We check the apartment. And yes, we have finalized it. The change is, primary criterion has already changed from “dollars” to “separate toilet bath.” Many reasons propel this change, the most evident being the stay with a friend who shares a bath with his roommate!
Today: Today when I look back, I am glad the priorities had changed at the right time. Now, after more than two months of traveling and experiencing dozens of toilet-baths, I realize the pleasure of having your own li’l corner in the house… ;)
I wake up this morning and proceed to the bath, to see it all strewn with foam and water and hair. AND, this is not only for this morning. It has been a picture most of the times, where I had to share a bath. My day has been starting with a bucket of water, liquid soap, and cleaning gear. Before even I step in, I get a mug of water from some other tap in the house to clean my walkway in the bath. Then starts the actual cleaning… I always wondered how someone could take half an hour for a shower. Now, I claim to take more than that, but fortunately or unfortunately, 90% of that time is spent in the cleaning routine.
Since my childhood, the only responsibility I might have religiously shouldered in my house, was of cleaning the toilet, the washbasin, and the bathroom. I still remember the moment, while reading Mahatma Gandhi’s autobiography, when I read about his routine of cleaning the toilets of his Ashram, I was so proud of myself. Cos I was doing it (though just for the sake of my Mom, but…)…
Anyway, so back to today… I enter the bath strewn with everything I didn’t wish to see. Spend my routine “30” minutes in cleaning it, and now when I am supposed to use it… “Knock Knock” the door bangs… Abhay is under urgent call, and wants me to rush out… I choose the blog to vent out my emotions…
Om Mani Padme Hum.. Om Mani Padme Hu.. Om Mani Padme Huunn..
Being led by a Tibetan lady to rotate the praying wheels in the Dalai Lama temple at McLeod Ganj near Dharamshala, this is how our (mine and Abhay's) mantra transformed... Starting with a proper Sanskrit 'Hum', I ended up with a proper Tibetan "Huunn" pronounced with cupping your lips!
Now you would ask, why was I doing that in first place? Because first of all I believe in higher power, second I believe in experiencing the culture of my geographic location (which in last 3 months have changed several times), and third, I love Tibetans! Though I have been warned several times (by Tibetans) that I should stop seeing the Dalai Lama in every Tibetan, I can't help it.. ;)
Anyway, so I'm getting in touch with you all after long. You were accustomed to my mood swings in person, but my mood swings in writing are much extreme. Till I do not nail it down, writing is not my cup of tea! Ohhh.. that reminds me, I have progressed way beyond three cups of tea... Though started only more thna a month back, my tea drinking habit is picking up the speed of Rajdhani express (those who do not know, it is the India superfast train connecting metropolitan citis with the capital). So, anyway, I am loving it. And my favorite is black ginger tea with lemon and honey... And also, once in a while, the typical kattyacha chaha, round the nook and corners of Pune! Long ago, once on an early morning drive with my girl friend (who loved chai), we went to this old chai place in the old city of Pune. She tried coercing me to taste a sip, but I would not budge. Chai was a big big no then. And, the other day, with another friend of mine, I went to the same place, but this time devoured the chai! That's how one changes... ;)
Most important, while I am writing, some one has to come in... Abhay's already done with his work and wants to go for a "cup of tea." So guys, I'll see you around soon (hoping to continue with my writing spree for a while). Till then, adios! Miss ya all..
