Human Strength

I have had more contact with people suffering from leprosy in the last three months than I have ever had before. Its a evil disease. Cannibalistic. Full of such a pain, that it not only eats the body but nibbles away at sanity. Mcleod Ganj is full of people living with leprosy. Living in a limbo. Mind trying to keep hold of the physical reality which the bacteria is destroying.

I had daily interactions with many people which would leave me feeling more than empty. I don't want to forget these interactions because it was during these times I saw real courage and human strength. It was during these times that a mirror was held up to my own beautiful life.

One morning I turned the corner to find the old mad but beautiful man sitting by the side of the road. He had removed the pile of dirty bandages from around his septic feet. He was holding a blunt grey knife which was was using to try to cut the dead part of his once living flesh from his feet. A small boy wearing a starched school uniform was standing in the middle of the road. The small boy was clearly mesmorisied by this live amputation. The old mad but beautiful man seemed not to notice either of us.

Another morning, the old mad but beautiful man was sitting outside of the Peace Cafe. I wished him a 'Namaste' as always but rather than smiling back, he complained about needing food. Today he was too hungry for jokes. I pointed to the cafe but he wouldn't come inside with me. Unable to communicate through any other way than hand signals and smiles I motioned to him to wait and that I would bring him some food outside. I asked the Tibetan man in the Peace Cafe to make some breakfast for the old mad but beautiful man. The Tibetan man appeared confused. So I asked for some eggs and toast. He nodded, but seemed reluctant and then a few seconds later took out a piece of Tibetan bread. The old mad but beautiful man refused the bread. I burned with shame.

Another Old Happy Man – a different one – asked me for food. I had just given away all my change, all my daily supply of bandages, iboprofen and iodine solution so I shook my head. He patted his stomach just in case I hadn't realised really how hungry he was. I shook my head again. I walked away. He followed. Someone had given him a lit cigarette. He showed me his find. He turned the cigarette around, he put the lit end inside his mouth and made appreciative eating sounds. I walked on.

One morning I passed the Young Wrinkled Man sitting in the quiet of Bhagsu. This was the first time I had seen him outside of Mcleod Ganj. Bhagsu is a twenty minute walk away from his usual begging area. But that morning the Young Wrinkled Man wasn't begging. He told me his just felt like a walk. He told me that it was a beautiful morning. He sat on the grass. Smiling. Begging tin hidden inside his coat. Fingerless hands hidden inside his pocket.

Another morning, I waited for the Young Wrinkled Man to find me. When he did I dug through my day pack full of expensive but unnecessary 'things' to find a Massive Magic Mandala. I offered him the Mandala. I decided the original owner of the Mandala would approve of its new home. I guessed the Young Wrinkled Man could sell it, or even wear it. The Massive Magic Mandala had been laying on the floor of my room for three months. I had been using it as a sort of carpet to shield my feet from the cold of the stone.

One day I caught myself watching the old woman who had eaten my flower. She was eating daal and rice. She was digging her wrist inside her begging pot, piling the rice onto her handless joint and then bringing it carefully to her mouth, rice falling down her dirty saire. She was squatting with her back to the street, facing the wall, surrounded by her collection of sorted rubbish.

I knew that the old woman who had eaten my flower liked sweets. I gave her a lolly pop. I forgot to remove the wrapper for her.

I had a pair of woolen gloves which I no longer needed. I wanted to give them to a beggar. I felt embarrassed. My gloves had room for eight fingers and two thumbs. The beggars have none. I still have my gloves, which I don't need even for my eight fingers and two thumbs.

For more about Leprosy see:

Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leprosy

Lepra: http://www.lepra.org.uk/home.asp

Prostration

The literal laying down of ones ego.

United Discord

A few issues remain unresolved in my mind. One is the lack of Indian support for the Tibetan cause – or rather their passivity. For example, the only shops to open during the local demonstrations against the Olympic Games were those which were Indian owned. When I asked directions to the Candle Light Vigil (in the Indian owned internet shop) I was told to “ask a Tibetan”. If the local Indian population support a Free Tibet for their neighbours, they appear to do so quietly.

Even more seeds of queries grew in my mind after I read a poster advertising a lecture entitled “New Realities in China and Tibet: after the Protest”. The 'protests' referred to were the demonstrations which broke out across Tibet last March. All that I knew from my own limited research were that the 'new realities' in Tibet were that the Chinese authorities had cracked down on movement, freedom of information and had began mass round up campaigns of ex political prisoners as well as men and boys under thirty years of age, meanwhile, China virtually closed all of it's international borders.

The lecture was given by a Tibetan Scholar, Robbie Barnett and sponsored by Tibet On Line. The audience was primarily international, and at a guess I would say composed of volunteers and long term residents, although there were also many smartly dressed young Tibetan women and men.

Robbie began his lecture by reminding the audience that the slide show he was about to present was of views from an 'outsider' and that he was aware that he was going to be “annoyingly antagonistic”. This was because he was trying not to show a purely sympathetic view of the situation by approaching his research from the point of view of a cynic.

He began with a quick lesson in political geography, reminding the audience that just like the definition of Occupied Palestinian Territories has a different definition for the Palestinians than it does for the Chinese, 'Occupied Tibet' also has a different reference point for the Tibetans than it does for the Chinese. For the Chinese State, the region referred to as the Tibetan Autonomous Region (TAR) is centered around Lhasa and is much smaller than the area agreed to during the 17 point agreement between China and Tibet which the young Dalai Lama was forced to sign in 1951. The rest of occupied Tibet is now referred to as the Tibetan Autonomous Prefectures (TAP).

Robbie explained that the March 2008 protests against the Chinese occupation were unique in that the majority of the protests took place outside of the TAR. After the main riots began in Lhasa outbreaks spread around Tibet with the aid of cellphones and the underground Tibetan radio. Unlike the 1980 protests which were based in Lhasa and primarily lead by monks and nuns, the March 2008 protests showed a massive increase in peaceful protests organised by students. This new mobilisation reflects the growth of a new elite or middle class. However, the majority of the protests were comprised of monks, nuns and lay people. Not only this but more and more people from the rural areas and towns were becoming involved in the protests, which represents a massive increase from the past and a huge shift in demographic organisation.

Now, after the demonstrations, Robbie described Tibet as “a kind of shadow world, where we don't know really what is happening”. Access to reliable information has become incredibly difficult to ascertain after the crack down on foreign media, combined with the closing of the borders. Admittedly China invited the foreign media on a tour of Lhasa, which involved meetings with Tibetan monks who were briefed with what to say. The monks actually sabotaged the tour by refusing their scripts and instead chanting opposition slogans to China while trying to interact with the visiting media. Robbie speculated that the “normal fabric of everyday life is probably ok” but that the number of prisoners had soared, and sources suggested that both ex-prisoners, returnees and anyone found without Chinese identity cards had been arrested. Despite the Tibetan use of the electronic media to coordinate the demonstrations, the advances in technology also means that China now has the ability to monitor and if necessary cut access to modern channels of communication. Not only that but Chinese manipulation of the media has also improved. In contrast to 1987 China has began to publicly acknowledge revealed or exposed incidents by providing their own version, or even preempting the release of information and report their own simplised version. This shows that while electronic media is making information more accessible, China is also become more adept at controlling it. Moreover, China is using the media to exaggerate tensions between the Tibetans and Chinese. For example, the Chinese news channels repeatedly aired isolated scenes of Tibetans attacking Chinese migrations.

Alternatively, although it is true that these more frequent out lashes against the Chinese migrants are happening this in itself is reflecting a change in the kinds of protests, which are indeed no longer without violent outbreaks. Images of young monks throwing stones and rocks were replayed throughout the Chinese media. Internationally this has also began to change the way which Tibet is thought about – and this is the reality, Robbie argued – that Tibet is no Shangri-la and that monks may be Buddhists but they are also young men, who are even being denied a proper religious education and guidance. Robbie argues that this change in how Tibet is viewed is an extremely important one, as until Tibet becomes a 'serious' issue, Western politicians will not take it 'seriously'. This internal unrest despite the massive restraint on the Tibetan people to demonstrate freely, shows that something has to give. For a long time, the Dalia Lama, the exile community, foreign analysts and even Chinese Human Rights activists have been raising the issue of Tibet, but with the increasing tensions rising inside of Tibet, it is definitely time for Tibet to be put on the international agenda.

And why now? Why are Tibetans inside Tibet finally finding a voice – even if it is at a high cost? Robbie began by warning of the dangers of making generalisations but continued to highlight several recent developments as possible reasons.

Firstly Tibet and Buddhism have been inseparable for years. With low levels of education, and a feeling of persecution, the Chinese State are having problems breaking this link. However, ever since their invasion of Tibet, the Buddhist religion has remained under continuous persecution. The Chinese state maintain that there is religious freedom, and indeed there are still pilgrims, monasteries and festivals in Tibet, but the actual 'substance' of Buddhism – the active instruction, debate and development of its teaching is a shadow of its former self. This gives further explanation as to why 'monks' are portraying particularly un-monk like behaviour. Furthermore, monks and nuns are provided with a complementary 're-education' programme by the Chinese state. Not only this but 'Tibetan Buddhism' is actually being reconstructed by the Chinese as monasteries are being rebuilt and Chinese pseudo monks reinstated. The result is a superficial 'religious tolerance' and a deeper rewriting of Tibetan Buddhist history. Likewise, government employees and family members are requested to abstain from religious affiliation. However, this is not an 'official' line, and perhaps it would be easier to over rule if it was, but rather it is through cohesion and fear that government employees either worship in secret or not at all. In 1996 all photographs of Tibet's spiritual leader were banned – and once again although the official line was that this was only applicable inside monasteries, in reality, anyone 'caught' with a photograph of their spiritual leader came under immediate suspicion of being a 'splitist' and risked harassment at the very least and imprisonment at the most. Tibetan university students also risk persecution if they are 'found out' to be Buddhists, although Chinese students have much more freedom to express their spirituality. This of course creates tension amongst some Chinese students, who find it impossible to believe the testimonies of their Tibetan counterparts after not experiencing the same infringement of their Rights.

Another explanation which Robbie gave for the March protests was that of economic failure: In 1990 there were 500 Chinese business inside Tibet and yet by 2001 this number had grown to around 45,000. In an attempt to buy the support of the Tibetan elite (which is a very small minority inside of Tibet) any government employees have received an increase in salary. However, this has done nothing to stem the economic gap between the rural areas and the urban areas. Even within the urban areas, many Tibetan businesses are reliant on foreign tourists, which (due to Chinese restrictions) is a highly unstable market. Although the Chinese state continues to pour funding into Tibetan infrastructure, the 'average' Tibetan is not feeling the benefits. On the contrary the forced expansion of Lhasa has only fueled tensions between ethnic Chinese and Tibetans living in the capital. Tibetans are feeling mariginalied – they are offered lower wages even though they are usually second choice to Chinese workers who are flooding to Tibet in promise of employment. The rapid expansion and modernisation of the city has only accentuated fears of its cultural erosion. Shop signs, road signs and public information is all written in the Chinese language. Military bases surround the area.

There are also other more recent catalytic events – such as the opening of the 2006 railway from Beijing to Lhasa. This facilitated the movement of Chinese business men and Chinese workers into the area. In fact in 2006 there was actually a policy that there should be no limit on migration to Tibet. During the same period the Chinese state stepped up its resettlement programme of Tibetan nomads. As with many other indigenous populations, the Tibetan nomads have been forcibly instated in permanent houses. This is a geographic move which immediately changes not only their location but also their lifestyle and breaking their relationship with the land and environment. At the moment many are entirely dependent on Chinese subsidies in order to survive. The next step for their 'resettlement' into towns is likely to be voluntary: As soon as the subsidies stop then they will have no choice but to move into towns in order to survive.

Meanwhile, Tibetans inside Tibet have no permission to go to India. There is a ban on passports. With a combined effect of these factors it becomes easier to understand why frustrations are being to surface in a much more dramatic and even 'violent' way. The pressure inside Tibet is increasing both directly through persecution and indirectly through ethnic tensions and economic failure. The 'new realities' is that 'peaceful protest' is no longer the mode of discontent, and perhaps a change is what is needed to recapture the attention of the international arena after the Olympic Flame has faded.

Thank you for this Food

My time in India has taught me more than I can imagine. Today when someone asked me smile deep inside as they innocently asked if I was performing Reiki on my food made me realise this...

Every meal time I actually sit in front of my food and give thanks. I don't try to 'heal' it or 'purify' it or do whatever the bewildered asker of the question was wondering. I simply Give Thanks. I don't think that I have ever really done this before in my life. As a child at school, a teacher would say a prayer, or even one of the students, but to me the words meant very little. For a start who on earth was I speaking to? I think that even when I was told to believe otherwise I was really a believer in Humanity rather than the Christian God creation.

My relationship with food has hardly been 'healthy' – too little, too much, wasteful or as my father described when I was still a tot “pick pick picking like a bird”. Yet here in India, my relationship with what I put inside my body has completely changed. I think the change began in Kolkata. When after working at Kalighat Home (for the Dying and Destitute), I would go to eat dinner in the evenings and find a block between the forkful of food and my mouth. The 'block' usually came in a vivid image of one of the old women who I would have been trying to coax to eat during the day: One of the old women who did not want to eat; who appeared to me to just be waiting to die.

Then of course there was the food programme: Handing out fifteen precious parcels of simple rice and daal to the same homeless and hungry people every day. Feeling the guilt when I spilt even a drop on the street when I was emptying the daal into the cardboard boxes.

Then there was 'me' as an observer of contrasts. Of watching tourists order massive deserts without even looking at the price, deserts with no nutritional value, which their consumers would complain were making them feel 'sick' or 'too full'; the same people who would the next day walk past a beggar and make excuses for parting with four rupees for a piece of bread.

Just now, while I have been sitting here in this nice Tibetan cafe, an Australian Buddhist monk offered around to the rest of us (well feed tourists) a sandwich which she couldn't finish. We all declined. So I suggested that she take it out with her and give to one of the many leper beggars on the street. She replied that she wasn't going that way...

The fact is that now I simply cannot see food wasted. I can't buy food without thinking of its nutritional value and likewise, I can't buy food knowing that I will only eat half and throw the rest away. The result has been a much 'healthier' attitude, and which leads to why I appear to be performing Reiki on my food. The 'Thanks' which I give is more a reminder to myself of the value of what I am about to put inside my body. This value is not just economic, but the fact that I don't have to 'work' just in order to 'eat' is certainly brought to mind several times a day as the beggars motion to their mouth or stomach before asking for rupees. I also give thanks to the incredulous existence of the food – from its natural creation, from the energy of the sun, the availability of water, the existence of fertile soil – the combination of which is not guaranteed in many parts of India. I then give thanks to the human energy which has gone into providing my meal – from the farmers to the traders to my Tibetan friends in the kitchen down stairs. And think of how this trade has in turn provided a livelihood for many people. I give thanks for my body for being 'healthy' enough to digest the food and to turn it into the energy which I need in order to live my day – free from preoccupation of hunger and free to perform four to six hours of yoga practice and to still have energy to smile and laugh. I give thanks to Nature, my Body and my good fortune. And I remind myself not to abuse this privilege of health and wealth. As I said, India has taught me more than I can imagine.

Blinded

I watch the insects as they fly around the light bulb.
Drawn towards its brightness.
Blinded to the spiders web woven around the light shade. Suspended above.
Invisible.
Waiting.

I think of us.
Here on Earth - As we spin around the Sun.

For Sale or Survival?

I am smiling widely at the commotions happening in the kitchen downstairs. For three months I have been spending the two hours between yoga classes here. I am in a beautiful Tibetan cafe, which is very simple, very quiete and which shows great documentaries about Tibet every evening.

The owners of this beautiful Tibetan are a couple from Amdo, which is a province in north eastern Tibet. Due to its proximity to China, Amdo now has a greater percentage of ethnic Han Chinese than Tibetans. As a result of continuous discrimination against the Tibetans (such as lower wages and the forced resettlement of the nomads) a large percentage of the population of Mcleod Ganj are from Amdo province. The couple who own this cafe are successful in their new home in exile. Mr Cafe is the deputy director of the Norbulingka Institute, which is a fantastic institute dedicated to the preservation of Tibetan arts and crafts in exile. This explains why the decor of the Tibetan cafe is beautiful; with intricately carved low tables which are hand painted in red and gold. Mrs Cafe spends her days baking bread, cakes and supervising the lively staff. Her family still live in Tibet. They are nomads so it is very difficult for her to contact them directly, especially after China's crack down on communications between Tibetans in Tibet and the Outside World. I often wonder what a parallel life she is leading to the one which she would have lived had she remained a nomad?

After spending so much time here, I now serve myself and whenever I can, I loiter in the kitchen trying to learn more about the 'average' life of a Tibetan refugee my own age which leads to why I am smiling widely at the commotions happening in the kitchen.

In the kitchen there are three Tibetan men (all of whom work here) dressing up a fourth younger man (the newest recruit to the staff) in a traditional Tibetan chuba (coat). I will call the newest recruit 'Tashi' as this is the only greeting we can share, with my Tibetan being limited to two words and his exposure to English speaking tourists a recent event. Even so whenever I come into the kitchen and say 'Tashi Delek' (equal to 'Good Luck' or 'fortune') he finds it very funny. Although we can't communicate directly through words, 'Tashi' humours me when I try to explain scuba diving through sign language alone (usually I mimic putting in the regulator and then jumping up on down on the kitchen floor and then swimming in the air.)

I watch as they all fuss around Tashi, who stands in his old trainers and extra long jeans, while they try to arrange the massive chuba. The chuba is enormous, but that is how they are designed. “It is very cold in Tibet” I am told. They are all enjoying the fancy dress party, unconcerned about the waiting food orders, as if this traditional garment from their country is a relic from the past. Then again, I have only seen one Tibetan man wear a chuba here in Little Lhasa. I watch as each of my new Tibetan friends try to rearrange a different part of the chuba, as it is wrapped around Tashi. A big bright red blanket is produced which is then wrapped around his waist in order to tie the chuba shut. Tashi then removes his right arm leaving one enormous sleeve dangling near the kitchen floor. I ask why the Tibetan men never put both arms through their massive coat sleeves? I am given two answers. The first comes with a cheeky smile and ends with “it's fashion” and the second is “because it is difficult to work with the arm inside”. I keep pushing the question, wondering why the coat with sleeves twice the length of the arm is designed and then not used. Finally, I am told, “because then they can tie a bag around their back with the long sleeve, and if they need both arms they can tied the sleeves together, and if they wear both arms it stops any cold from coming inside”!

Tashi is also enjoying the fancy dress party. He watches as he is dressed by men who he only met a few months ago. Tashi has only recently arrived, and although he is also from Amdo he didn't know his colleagues before arriving. In the back ground Tibetan pop music is playing. I am told that is is “very modern music from Tibet bu not as modern as very modern Indian music”. And when they say 'Tibet' they mean Tibetans who are still living inside Tibet. And it is this continuous 'fight' to preserve what is 'Tibetan' which is so impressed upon the Tibetans living in India. The Tibetan shops are crammed full with ancient Buddhist relics: singing bowls, bells, beautiful silk mandalas – which at one time would have only been made with powder and usually destroyed (to return to the dust from where it came) after it had been used for the specific meditation or ceremony. Stalls sell the newest music of 'Tibetan Chants' and the shop windows are lined with books revealing the 'Secret Visions of the 5^th Dalia Lama'. There is a chain of schools called the 'Tibetan Children's Village (TCV)' where Tibetan children from all over the world can come to 'learn' about their culture. They study in Tibetan, learn Tibetan arts and crafts and learn from real 'Tibetan' teachers alongside other 'Tibetan' children. In Dharamasala there are two of these schools: One is for day pupils whose parents live in exile, and a boarding school for children of refugees who live outside of this Little Lhasa. There are also many Tibetan children from Tibet – whose parents have made the sacrifice to provide the Tibetan education which ironically is not available inside Tibet and as a result have sent their children into exile. These children live all year round at the school. They will grow up 'Tibetan' in India. Meanwhile, Tibetan food continues to line the streets, sold by mothers wearing the traditional Tibetan dress and adorned in malas, while their daughters wear hip hugging jeans and makeup. I suppose that this is what happens when a culture is not able to 'modernise' naturally and an identity is threatened. In the case of Tibet there seems to be three dimensions of this ancient culture which was closed to the outside world for so long. The Tibet which China is trying to control and 'modernise', and the two Tibet's here in India: the parallel world from a memory which both the old and young are trying to preserve and protect and even to reinvent.

Meanwhile, downstairs, the chuba has been removed, and the men continue to bake banana chocolate cakes for their customers, and thick Thupka soup for themselves. The modern Tibetan music changes to James Blunt, and I think once again how I need to pay more attention to the present than the past or the future. So I continue to flick between writing this, reading the Indian newspaper written in English and watching a monk play with his new shiny mobile phone...

The Evening of 20th October, 2008, Bhagsu, India

Bells dinging. Direct from the Temple. Chop Chop as the knife cuts my vegetables. A loud murmur of incomprehensible voices speaking in an incomprehensible language. Laughter. Singing. More bells but higher pitched. A chorus of ding ding ding ding. (Chop chop).

Bang as a pot hits a ...pot? The crunch of trodden pebbles. Trickle Drip (Ding). Water falling. Collecting. Fading. Dinging.

Loud steps. Crunch. Louder. The vibration of the table shaking my moving hand as a glass of hot water is placed next to me. Ding ding. Barking answered by barking. Moving singing. sizzling.

Icy cold air drying my lips, which crack as I move them. The changing of the seasons. Musical dharma searching Israelis. My dinner. A Hindu Puja. Barking dogs.

The evening of the 20th of October 2008, Bhagsu, India.

Karma Contradictions

I have noticed beggars today. More than usual. I don't know if there actually are more or whether I have my eyes more open today.

During my walk into Mcleod Ganj this morning, I stopped to watch the lady leper (who ate my flower) try to tip over a garbage can as it was too high for her to search inside. It was difficult for her because she is old and because she wobbles on her stumps of feet, and because her hands don't work so well without fingers. I hesitated about whether I should help her tip over the garbage can... In retrospect perhaps I should have 'helped' her by buying her breakfast.

Sitting on the side of the road, level with the smelly choking exhausts of the zooming taxis and decrepit buses sit her 'family': Two young women, both with bandages holding together the remains of their fingers. I don't know whether the women are old leper lady's daughters or just her companions, but they appear as a family, sharing their 'earnings' or 'rummagings' and every day they huddle together stretching their eaten hands upwards while remaining invisible to the pedestrians they wave along, in their parallel dimension.

As I turned the corner into the main market I had to side step a Poor Man. I don't know if the Poor Man was a leper or a beggar, or both or neither because I felt uncomfortable to stare. However, I know that he was poor as he was squatting pillaging through a soggy cardboard box of rotten vegetables. The Poor Man was picking out the most choice of the decaying mush.

I continued to trace the route which I have walked nearly every day for three months, and before the old mad but beautiful man has a chance to shout his usual “GOOR MORNING MADAME!!” at me I raise my hands in Namaste and sing across the street, “Good Morning, Good Morning!” He beams me the biggest smile and laughs. The old mad but beautiful man does not even lift his tin to me; as if my greeting is enough to feed his empty stomach and to save him from the cannibalistic disease which is slowly eating his flesh.

On my way down the steep steps to yoga – on my way down to worship the divine within us all, connecting each individual and the self with the self and with the universe; on my way to strengthen the energy of my healthy body and to balance my mind - a young leper man stopped to ask me how I was. I know the man. I 'know' that he speaks excellent English and that when he speaks he speaks truthfully. I know this because he told me openly that he is here (like the Nepali waiters) to “work the season”. The young leper man does not lie and instead he tells me that he is entitled to the 'free' treatment for the lepers, but I already know from my own investigation that this 'free' treatment is very difficult to access unless you live isolated from 'people' in a colony of lepers. I also know as the saying goes, nothing is for free, and at a cost of 50 rupees per injection this young leper man would rather save the money to help his 'growing' son rather than to try to save his 'disappearing' body. The young leper man's son (who is six years old) lives in Utter Pradesh with his mother, and this is why he as the father and the husband he would prefer to 'work' to earn money for them. However, as a leper he can earn no money in Utter Pradesh which is one of India's poorest states which a shortage of karma earning tourists. I like the young leper man's honesty, and usually he declines my offer of food because his persistent fever takes away his appetite. When I offered him paracetamol to reduce his fever he also declines, saying that he would rather try to save money for his family than to 'waste' it on an appetite.

This morning I looked into his young wrinkled face, buried under a brown wooly hat and perturding from a dirty worn blanket, and replied to his greeting: “Very well thank you” and before I could stop the automatic response I continued with, “How are you?” The young leper man, wrapped up in dirty bandages, his eyes blurred from fever, his body painfully being eaten a little more every day answered: “I am fine. Thank you”.

I noticed so many beggars today that after teaching the free yoga class I asked all the freebies if they would give 'something' to someone they wouldn't usually. If for some reason they found it difficult to give to beggars then I asked them to check out the fancy new non-profit cafe just outside of the yoga shala. The new cafe has an open front, with a simple bench and wicker chairs giving it a sophisticated air; it sells a selection of teas, has freshly painted walls lined with beautiful photographs depicting Tibet – in Exile. And all of its 'profits' go to supporting the Tibet Rogpa, an NGO aimed to help support the transition of newly arrived Tibetan refugees settle into their life in exile.

Just outside of the shop sits a very very very old lady who perches half way on the road and half way in the gutter. She speaks no English, but calls to me 'Memsaab' as I approach. I feel my eyes try to avoid her and my ears wishing they could close. Memsaab is a term loaded with colonial legacy, “a word replete with rigid social class differentiation, a word denoting nothing but absolute dichotomy of high versus low social status, a word used to address masters”. It basically means, 'Female Master'. My diverted eyes can't help but see her bare feet, her wrinkled shins and one small shiny red tomato perched precariously in her lap. I try to disappear before her fading vision, and then I try to make the image of her disappear as fast as I walked past her reaching hands. Her image fuels my internal questions. She is still firmly in my mind. I imagine to her, I am just another Memsaab - a rich white woman who she has to plead and beg to while she keeps her eyes open for another escaped tomato.

Further along the road squat even more lepers with no fingers and no toes. They all clumsily clutch a stainless steel pot shaking it in front of the turned up noses of passersby. While I hesitate to give to one, feeling my own conscience debate that I will them have to give a few rupees to all, I often see a monk or a nun stop and fish around inside their robes and pull out not a coin but a note. And more often than not, I am facing this dilemma while I am on my way to the 'health food shop' to stock up on 'natural probiotics' and 'spirulina' just to try to 'prefect' my health. As I walk along during my average day I also see the lepers line up at the momo stalls waiting for a plate of hot Tibetan fare. I wonder if they pay for them with their hard earned money? Or I wonder if despite the differences in nationality, culture, language and religious beliefs the smartly dressed refugees who serve them do so because of their belief in the cycle of Karma. I wonder why I asked my fellow yogi's and yogini's to “keep the karma going” when I don't believe that these poor hungry eaten people in any way 'deserve' this brutal rebirth. And I wonder all of this while I sit inside a beautiful Tibetan cafe, watching the mountains and drinking my second pot of herbal tea. And I wonder because I have the luxury to indulge in thought as I just sit and feel the warmth of the sun on my nourished and healthy body. And I wonder if I could smile and laugh and look someone living in another dimension in the eyes and say “I am fine. Thank you”?

Forgive me please - the young wrinkled man - for using your photo. But your spirit is so powerful that I wanted to try and share it; To open Eyes that otherwise cannot see yours.

Tibet Rogpa: http://www.tibetrogpa.org/AboutRogpa.php

A very interesting site on the use of language in Hindi: http://www.linguistik-online.de/21_04/pande.html

Stolen Child

I am still trying to work out the dynamics of the Tibetan refugee community here here in Little Indian Lhasa. Such a large percentage of the population seem to be nuns or monks – which I guess should not be surprising since they are following the Dali Lama and because it is the nuns and the monks who China has specifically persecuted. According to Gu Chu Sum, there are currently about 150 nuns and monks currently held by China as political prisoners. This may seem strange considering that China's public stance is that Tibetans can practice their own religion (as long as they are not working for the government), but in reality the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) view Buddhism with superstition – as if it is a superstition rather than a faith, a system of Life, or philosophy. Moreover, they closely associate the Sanga (the religious community, which is adhered by Buddhists as one of its very cornerstones, or in terminology as one of the Three Jewels) with the Dalai Lama. Therefore in order to overcome this Catch 22, they allow Tibetan Buddhists to 'practice freely' as long as they disassociate themselves from their spiritual leader. This means that amongst the Buddhist vows which the Tibetan nuns and monks take when joining a monastery, the CCP have added to the list a public denouncement of the Dalai Lama. Even to possess a passport sized photograph of the reincarnation of Buddha of Compassion (the Dalai Lama), is a criminal offense.

Last night I watched a documentary about the Eleventh Panchen Lama. The documentary was entitled 'Stolen Child' and it was entitled 'Stolen Child' because the Panchen Lama was six years old when he was stolen by the Chinese State. That was in 1995, a few days after the boy had been identified by the current Dali Lama as the Panchen Lama reincarnate. The Panchen Lama is a central figure for Tibetans as traditionally he is the spiritual leader of the nation and the reincarnation of the Amitabha Buddha (Buddha of Light). The relationship between the Panchen Lama and the Dali Lama (the more 'secular' leader) is symbiotic. Each generation one is the teacher and guider of the other. When the body of one dies the other living Buddha helps to identify the new body, supervise his education and act as a spiritual mentor, and so the cycle continues. The disappearance of Tibet's Dali Lama is as politically strategic as it is spiritually.

China's persecution of Tibet's religious leaders of Tibet is political precisely because it is the Buddhist sect which heads its government prior to occupation and now in exile and moreover, because the Buddhist philosophy interconnects the Tibetan people. It does so through its very teachings and its practical application. It is this spiritual commonality which bonds the Tibetan people – inside the geographic area as well as among the diaspora. By denying a peoples a spiritual leader they are chipping away at Tibet's political and cultural structure and it is this structure which is a central source of identity and a communal bond between the Tibetan people.

As mentioned above, the Chinese government's official line is that everyone inside its legal and occupied territory has the freedom of religion practice: In the Constitution of the People's Republic of China Article 36, “Citizens of the People's Republic of China enjoy freedom of religious belief.” However, the Law also states that government officials must be atheist. In practice this religious intolerance translates into the destruction of approximately 6000 Tibetan monasteries. Human Rights abuses towards nuns and monks range from murder, torture, rape to the removal of thumbs to prevent the passing of their malas. Ironically while denying the practical possibility of reincarnation, the government has done nothing but to reinforce the belief by capturing the Panchen Lama and by identifying another boy to take his place. Both the Tibetan and Chinese identified Panchen Lamas are being denied the freedoms of movement, speech, expression, education just to name a few, and (if they are still alive) they have now been imprisoned for over thirteen years.

This denial of the proper teachings (a twenty year spiritual education) will mean that even if the Panchen Lama is released he will be ill equipped to resume his role. Obviously one important question is: What will happen after the death of the Dali Lama? If the Chinese government attempts to chose an alternative, the boy will certainly not be accepted by the Tibetan community. However, the Dalia Lama remains undecided about whether he will choose reincarnation and if he does then his new body will most likely be born within the exiled community and therefore relatively safe from political persecution.

The stealing of the Panchen Lama raises a plethora of issues regarding the resilience of the Buddhist philosophy. It clearly reflects the government's confusion as to how break the faith and the loyalty of an occupied peoples to an exiled leader. It also raises significant questions about the future of the Tibetan government in exile, and how they will choose their future leaders if China continues to steal them as soon as they are born. The Tibetan public adherence to the cycle of reincarnation and its affirmation to the Dalai Lama's selection, demonstrates the extent to which the Buddhist faith is still firmly ingrained within Tibetan people. This is despite the superficial destruction of their objects of worship; including both monasteries and spiritual leaders. The ability of Buddhism to act as a tool to unite the people of Tibet, promote its cause throughout the world, and to provide Tibetans with a sense of identity is demonstrated by the very extreme reaction of the Chinese government. The fact that the Chinese government has shown that they will not only persecute the Buddha of Compassion, destroy thousands of years of dharma, imprison its Sanga but also steal child Buddha's which they do not actually even believe in. Ultimately, it could be argued that the Chinese government is actually providing the Tibetan people (both inside Tibet and in exile) with a new common bond through their persistent persecution. What continues to shine through here in Little Indian Lhasa is the sense of identity between Tibetans. The refugees who live here come from all over occupied Tibet, some where born here and others have just arrived, however, they are still able to unite and to associate with one another not just through their support of the Dalai Lama and belief in Buddhism, but also as refugees in exile, who are united as long as their Freedoms are persecuted.

Happiness

Love

Grounded/ Earth

Energy/Warmth

Air/Freedom

Water/Submersion

Nourishment/Connections

Movement/Potential

Sound/Creation

Pervading Peace

Calm/Warmth

ALIVE

Sensations/Feelings

Body

Touch

Smiling

Miss Tibet 2008

So the Miss Tibet 2008 competition has been and gone. After ten days of learning yoga, taking dance lessons and visiting local organisations, the woman to represent the country that doesn't technically exist, has been chosen.

This is the seventh year of the competition which was initially designed by the coordinator, Lobsang Wangyal, to “empower Tibetan women, giving them a platform to be themselves as well as express their aspirations and talents.” Not only does the event aim to achieve this by providing a thorough orientation to the contestants, developing their knowledge in Buddhism, the environment and various issues facing Tibetan youth and women in exile, but it offers the winner a substantial prize of 100,000 rupees ($US 2500).

It may therefore seem surprising that this years competition had only two contestants – which is actually twice as many as it had in 2003 and 2005. Indeed I was confused as when I shared the knowledge that I was teaching the two women yoga, as there were certainly many Tibetan men suddenly interested in learning yoga. So why the lack of interest from Tibetan women? The answer was not easy to find, partly because the two contestants spoke very little English (it was hard enough trying to teach them how to do a headstand through demonstrations only, let only begin a social, cultural or political discussion). However, my questions were answered by a French film crew.

The French film crew appeared at yoga one day with a stack of camera equipment following the already bewildered ladies through the practice and zooming in on the still to be mastered skill of standing upside down, on ones head, while trying to keep all neck's intact. This of course was not only vital to their continued participant in the competition, but as they were the only participations, vital to the continuation of the competition itself.

The French film crew confided that there was much local opposition to the competition, especially from the older generations, whose conservative stance on the role of a Tibetan woman dissuaded many of the potential candidates from entering. Personally, I think the competition gives the woman a great opportunity to become more involved in the community as well as to gain the much media attention after the Olympic lights on Tibet have faded. However, I would change two things:

Firstly I would omit the swimsuit round (definitely not appropriate for either the culture or for 'empowering' women). And Secondly, I would create a parallel competition of Mr Tibet 2008. In fact the winner was a recent arrival from Tibet. She is only 18 years old, and joined the competition because she needs money to fulfill her dreams to study. Indeed, now with 100,000 rupees she can not only fulfill her wishes but also lift some of the financial burden of starting her new life in Exile. As a young Buddhist Tibetan woman refugee I am not sure how much she has learned from her week of intensive NGO visits, but for sure she spent ten days twisting herself into positions which I know she had never done before (and unfortunately, I am not sure if she will do again!)


Yet in contrast to most other national beauty pageants, once in the international arena Miss Tibet is most definitely political.


Miss Tibet 2006 withdrew from the Miss Tourism Pageant in Malaysia after China put pressure on the organisers to bar Tibet from the event. As a result Miss Tibet was given an ultimatum to either wear a slash labelled 'Miss Tibet-China' or to pull out. Thankfully, just like the thousands of exiled Tibetans stranded in India because they refuse to take a Chinese passport, Miss Tibet 2006 did not give into pressure. Instead Miss Tibet 2006 stood firmly for the real principles behind her 'label'; which is that of a young exiled woman standing for a Free Tibet precisely because she has the Freedom to.

Om Shanti

Today I bought myself a yoga bag. Its a beautiful light blue – the colour of the sky on a sunny day. It has the motif of 'Om Shanti' printed on the front. My yoga mat (which is also blue and has clouds and rainbows on – thanks Super Yogi Chef) fits perfectly inside. I bought my new yoga mat from a small Tibetan shop. The proceeds go to supporting Tibetan political prisoners, so I didn't feel so bad about spending 380 rupees/ £4.50 (the equivalent to what I spend on three nights accommodation). Indeed I didn't feel so 'bad' until I walked outside and handed seven rupees to a Beggar with eaten fingers and eaten toes.

What hypocritical lives we lead. What gives us the right to think we deserve our fortune? To spend money to satisfy our whims, while others Struggle just to Survive? And then we feel like martyrs when we make small sacrifices. Or find excuses to keep our eyes closed by telling ourselves that we 'can't help everyone' or ' the beggars make plenty of money so why should we give them more'? Why give more small change to a young man who has already lost his family through a disease as well as his fingers and toes when Others may give him their small change?
What feeds this attitude of dis-attachment, superiority, ignorance? Where we can live happily in a world of parallels – the 'lucky' juxtaposed against the 'unlucky'?

Is it religion? Is it that we feel fulfilled by doing a Service to God rather than by doing a Service to a fellow living creature that allows us to draw a line? Is it this 'disconnectedness' from our blatant interconnectedness with each other that makes us believe the suffering of others is nothing to do with us? Or conversely, is it a belief in 'Karma' which gives us the excuse to stay blinded? So as we make time in our busy schedules to pick and choose the selected 'Western Friendly' teachings of the Dalai Lama, such as the 'Art of Happiness,' our consciouses are smoothed by the idea that we have each been fed a fate which we 'deserve'? That leprosy or any other debilitating disease is a consequence of our own actions and therefore we can let the lepers live with their 'punishment'. That is of course if we even find the time to hear or to challenge our consciousnesses. However, this attitude would suggest that we would all feel grateful and satisfied with our 'lucky' lives..

Alternatively, perhaps our dis-attachment and view of compassion, it is a reflection of our consumer society which is becoming Increasingly Individualised and Isolated? Or even a continuation of colonalism which allows us (or in this case Me) to walk to the street and feel a flash of pity before continuing in my bubble of self assurance?

Anyway, apologises for using the plural to express my frustrations. I guess it makes me feel less heartless if I include 'You' within the same questions I am being forced to ask myself.

Om Shanti Indeed.

Expectations

I have nearly been in India for six months, and yet it feels like no time at all. When I meet other travellers who tell me they plan to stay for two or three months I am reminded (as I am frequently throughout every day) of how fortunate I am. I feel fortunate because to visit this incredible country for such a short period of time would leave me feeling empty – unfilled and I feel fortunate because finally I am living another of my dreams.

I have wanted to visit India for so many years. Perhaps my first wishes to come here was during my first degree, when I spent two years listening to Professor Subrata Mita speak so eloquently about his country. In retrospect I actually think that I simply enjoyed the way which he taught more than the politics which he was teaching. I loved his unique perspective to the political, social and economic issues which he discussed. Ironically, it was because of Professor Subrata Mita than I have taken so long to come to India, as after my first degree he simply insisted that I take another. So I ended up studying for another two years. But Life brings you the unexpected with you least expect it and it was during those two years at Oxford that my paths crossed with another Guru – Mariella.

Mariella was my first yoga teacher, and this remarkable yogini continues to be an inspiration to me even over so much distance and after so much time has past. Mariella taught me asanas with such compassion and expression that I quickly realised their was more to yoga than simply 'stretching'. I spent two years listening to her talk about Mysore (the centre of Ashtanga yoga in India) and dreamed about one day practicing there. Although Mysore is in the middle of India and I am now in the north, I know that Time will carry me south eventually and in the meantime, I am now experiencing a new level of yoga which is making me feel so alive and yet grounded. Again, I am not sure that I expected to have such a strong reaction to three months of practice. However, these incredible new sensations have not come from within me, but with manipulation. My time here has been scattered with challenges – the erupting volcano under my arm, the bent neck, a chest infection, sinusitis... But for these – I am so thankful as without I would not have met a Healer who has healed even what I did not realise was broken.

Throughout the duration of my many months in India, I keep coming face to face with remarkable people. My eyes have been opened innumerable times from situations, experiences, encounters and most importantly from observing the reactions of these stranger friends: Real Social Workers, a Bengali Mother Teresa, a small pineapple girl, an Amazing Actor from Argentina, a tiny Buddha called 'Gita', a Magic Man, a Wild musician from Ancient Alexandria, a Crazy Yogini from Berlin who simply radiates energy, a Super Yogi Chef, a professional snowboard/sushi chef with the warmest smile, the waving fingerless lepers, and amongst many 'unexpected' others: A Healer.

I met the Healer in yoga. He kept catching my eye. I am not sure why, he just would. Then one day he asked how my head was. I had just had five days of severe head pain, so I replied honestly and told him 'not good'. He asked to touch my neck, and sure enough his touch ran directly to my forehead and then deep inside my body, making me feel a pain I thought had disappeared with Dhondup's Singing Bowls. After laying on the yoga mat for an indiscernible amount of time, the Healer had manipulated my body and my energy to levels it had never before known, and which has given me a firm belief in the power within our bodies and between our bodies. The Healer touched pressure points on my body which were so sensitive but which would lead my mind to flashes of forgotten images. I felt almost naked, as if he were reading my thoughts rather than just my tense muscles.

Unable to walk without assistance due to the intensity of his treatment, he led me to his room where I slept in a sea of colours and sensitivity. The next day I woke up literally feeling Lighter. As if my body had been washed of poisons and cleansed of self destruction. My yoga practice flew. The energy I felt streaming through my flesh felt so Alive, that I relaxed into the asanas, smiling uncontrollably from the combined sensations of the 'second layer of yoga' that was pervading my new body; my new self.

And this was how I made another Friend. Unexpectedly – like all of the Wonderful others - and as a result of a long chain of difficulties, and in this incredible country. It is another encounter which leaves me thinking that there are layers upon layers of experiences to face, challenges to dissect, and connections to remake and the importance of keeping ones eyes wide open.

Thank You from the Heart which you found.

Leaving Fear Behind

'Talk Tibet': A weekend public forum which aims to bring the people of Dharamasala together – to Talk – about Tibet. It is a space for news to be dispersed, experiences to be shared, and opinions to be formed and reformulated. The people who gather together every weekend are mainly Tibetan, but they could be Indian, and very often there are just like Me; tourists, travellers, volunteers, yogis, outsiders trying to see through the eyes of the insiders.

This weekend a recently filmed documentary was shown which was shot by Tibetans, of Tibetans and filmed inside Tibet. The aim of the film was to ask 'ordinary' Tibetans what they really felt about the Dalai Lama, China, and the Beijing Olympic Games. The mixed audience totally reflected the public forum as a space for the voices of Tibetans to be heard by exiled Tibetans.

The documentary was called Leaving Fear Behind (or Jigdrel in Tibetan) and it was precluded by a eight minute radio interview with the film makers wife, Lhamo. The radio broadcast began with a description of the “a petit woman, who shaved her head in solidarity with the March 2008 protests in Tibet, and who wakes at one o'clock every morning to bake bread in order to support her family.” From the description I immediately knew the woman. I turned around to see Lhamotso sitting behind me. I pass Lhamo every morning as I walk to yoga and she walks to the market. As I walk to feel the energy of life, she walked to preserve it: carrying her massive basket of bread by passing a rope around her forehead and then over the basket. She attracts my attention because her head is not bald enough to be that of a nuns and neither it is long enough to be a lay woman's.

On the radio interview Lhamo spoke about her frustration at having to bring up her children without a father. She spoke about her support for her husband. She pleaded to all listeners to fight for his release because just days after her husband, Dhondup Wangchen, had finished filming Leaving Fear Behind, he was detained by Chinese security authorities. Dhondup was held in Ershilipu Detention Center in Xining for three months and before her was moved to another detention center, and then another, and then the news stopped coming. His assistant, Jigme Gyatso, a Tibetan Buddhist monk, was also detained, and has also 'disappeared'.

One hundred and eight Tibetans were interviewed for the documentary and all insisted that their identity should not be hidden, but that their faces are shown. Although not all of the footage was included in the final film many have since been identified by the Chinese authorities and also detained. It could be argued that Dhondup was irresponsible by not taking measures to protect his interviewees; that he purposefully interviewed 'ordinary Tibetans' who were uneducated or nomads and who may not have realised the full implications of their testimonies nor the ease at which their identity could have been disguised. However, as Dhondup himself explains in Leaving Fear Behind, the 'ordinary Tibetans' felt their messages to be more powerful than fear and too important to be disguised. The 'ordinary Tibetans' wanted this opportunity to talk to people outside of Tibet – face to face.

The faces without fear spoke of their objection to the Olympic Games, which to they argued should represent Freedom and Independence: Two ideals which China is denying not only them and other minorities, but to the Chinese people. The faces without fear spoke of their fear of losing their Tibetan identity – in Tibet. They spoke of their resistance to the Chinese aim of 'modernisation' which included the eradication of their culture: The 'banning' of religion, the denial of their spiritual leader, the forced resettlement of nomads, the massive drive to repopulate Tibet with Chinese nationals, the replacement of the Tibetan language with the Chinese language, and the spreading of the Chinese 'mentality' through both child and adult (re)education. Tibetan parents even spoke of their refusal to send their children to Chinese schools, feeling that this would eradicate their 'Tibetan-ness'.

The faces without fear spoke of their undercover projects to keep all which they felt threatened alive. I looked around and saw the faces in the audience; the women dressed in traditional dress, the translators working non stop to translate the 'Tibetan' words of the Tibetan participants into English. Ironically and in contrast to the thriving reactionary Tibetan culture here in India, the faces without fear spoke about how mobile educators are now traveling around Tibet to set up undercover Tibetan language classes for Tibetan children.

The faces without fear spoke of their wishes to see the Dalai Lama before they died and their eternal loyalty to his government in exile – not the government of their occupiers. Dhondup even showed a group of nomads a video clip of the Dalai Lama receiving the Congressional Award from President Bush; which was an incredible risk to take considering that even a passport sized photograph of the Dalai Lama is forbidden inside Tibet. However, what was extraordinary was the spontaneous reaction of the nomads, who all immediately stood to their feet and began prostrating towards the television set. It is clear that the interviewees were all united in their reverence for their spiritual and exiled leader.

And what was the central message of the documentary? Well the question was put to the Tibetans in the audience, and one of the opinions was this courage in publicly voicing their discontent, and of using the public forum to show their frustration was a relatively new phenomenon. One Tibetan took the microphone and simply said; “The World must know of the responsibility of Tibetans inside Tibet are taking to let the World know of their struggle.” This brought back the theme of communication, represented by the public forum itself and work of the Tibetans in exile in order to keep information coming out of Tibet. The embodiment of which is reflected by the massive sacrifice Dhondup took - of his family and freedom - in order to produce the documentary and give 'ordinary Tibetans' a stage to speak.

Since the March 2008 demonstrations only five new refugees have managed to make the journey out of occupied Tibet to Dharamsala; all communication with friends and family inside Tibet has been locked down, with all phone calls now filtered through Chinese Security. This means that there are now approximately six million Tibetans in Tibet who are unable to speak. As a Tibetan member of the audience stressed: “This is not development; the Chinese drive for modernisation is not for Tibet or for Tibetans. Only once we are free to speak can we even begin to talk about development.”

Alternatively, the Tibetans in the audience spoke of the need for their own intellectual development. The spoke of the importance of learning to read and write both Tibetan and English, to study Law and to use these tools to fight for their freedoms with words rather than the weapons which they do not possess.

The discussion ended with a live interview with Lhamo. She sat in front of our mixed group and spoke of the need to tell the world about her husband's work and his arrest. She explained that free copies of Leaving Fear Behind were available for distribution, and they were free because it was her husband's wishes that as many people as possible here the voices of the faces without fear. She pleaded for us to take a copy, and to show it to as many people as possible. She spoke as she cried, from the heart, with conviction and so much courage.

I passed Lhamo this morning. She had already reached the market and was squatting on the pavement selling her freshly baked bread which was piled onto of her massive bamboo basket. I smiled – in Solidarity and with Respect.


You can download a copy of Leaving Fear Behind from the website
http://www.leavingfearbehind.com/

A Beautiful Flower

Today – as if left over from a dream - I found a beautiful flower. It was already picked and just waiting to be loved a second time. It looked like a rose but a rose without thorns. It had soft petals, but many of them, row after over lapping row. It had a sweet scent, but hidden within its coloured pleats; like a ballerina hidden within the folds of her intricate tutu. I stroked the flower, and brushed its smoothness against my dry flesh. Its touch felt strange to my skin – almost too soft and too tender.

I felt sad to waste the beautiful flower. I wished that somehow I could preserve the flower, to take it home with me and to look at it every day and to smell it every day. But even as I thought these thoughts, the flower did what was natural – for without its roots and without the life force of the water and soil it had already began to fade. In my hands its soft petals were too delicate to last; the petals were already turning outwards, as if making a final bow to a mesmorised audience after an incredible performance. I felt sad to think of the flower starting to wilt and then to disintegrate and then to disappear.

As I was thinking these thoughts I felt a pair of eyes staring into me. I looked up to see an old and wrinkled lady smile - at me. Her face was creased upon itself, her brown eyes peeking first through her sunken face and then through a pair of crooked specs. Her hair white like snow, and her golden nose stud looking too large for her shrunken nose. I thought I knew the lady but I couldn't quite place her face; that is until I saw her hands – her hands which were not there – the hands of a leper.

The old ladies fingers had been eaten, along with her toes, and part of her feet. As she smiled at me, she was still being eaten – and this was how I recognised her. The old lady with eaten fingers and eaten toes was a beggar from the side of the road. But now she was not begging, she was simply smiling at me as I stared at the beautiful flower.

As instinctively as I had felt her eyes look into me, I found my arms reaching towards her, passing the beautiful flower into her hands without fingers. The old ladies smile spread across her face. The old lady with eaten fingers and eaten toes stopped staring at me, and instead she turned her attention to the delicate petals she was trying to balance in her hands without fingers.

Now it was my turn to watch her become mersmorised by the beauty of the rose. I watched as she brought the flower to her nose, but the old lady didn't stop to smell the sweet scent. Instead the old lady with no fingers and no toes took a bite out of the flower. She smiled at the flower which was half in her mouth and half in her eaten palms. She chewed its petals as if it were a succulent fruit and when she had finished chewing she bowed her head to take another bite.

I smiled, and then I laughed, and then I thought how perfect that the rose without thorns - with petals so smooth and so soft, with a colour so deep, and a scent so sweet - should not be wasted, and certainly never forgotten.

Happy Corpse

I have just finished my morning yoga class. The mornings are harder than the afternoon, but this morning was brilliant. Every few days I feel a massive burst of adrenaline at the very end of the class. Just before we are about to lay down into Savasana. The literal translation of Savasana is the 'corpse Pose'. The pose is considered one of the most difficult, as rather than controlling the body, you must calm the mind – finding a resting meditating state between waking and dreaming. So today I lay down, like a corpse, flat on my back, with my palms facing upwards and covered in my shawl in order to retain the heat from the two and a half hour practice. I rested my head on the floor and felt my lips fall into a natural smile. The smile extended to the muscles of my cheeks, and before I knew it I was grinning from ear to ear, utterly unable to control the burst of happiness which I was feeling. Vijay began his usual low chanting. A chant reminding us to relax each part of the body. But my smile would not relax. I was completely unable to relax my face as it was contorted into an expression of Happiness. And this is what Ashtanga yoga does – it rapidly opens up the body – clearing blockages caused by stress, emotions, lifestyle or injuries and which are held in the body. Once these blockages are removed both the blood and the energy flow more freely. This morning I felt the energy circling around my body, lifting my lips, as if smiling was the most natural action in the World. As if all corpses must be smiling, and all those waiting to be born must be suspended in the mother's womb – grinning.

The Monk who Isn't

Sonam is a Monk. Well he is sort of a monk – but not really. He wears monks robes, but the only vows he has taken are those of your average Mr or Ms Tibetan. He is 'allowed' to wear the maroon robes because at the age of 24 he has already completed one of the toughest Buddhist pilgrimages.

I know Sonam because two months ago he came to a yoga class asking how 'flexible' Vijay was. When we replied 'very' he wanted to see, so he asked Vijay if he could join a class – as I said that was 2 months ago, and now Sonam is Vijay's new assistant. This morning I helped in his forward bending. I laid on top of his back (he is a Monk don't forget) and pushed him down with all my might. After 5 breaths, I was exhausted. When I asked him how he became so strong, he replied by telling me a little about his life...

When Sonam was one year old his mother died. His mother died by jumping into a river to try and save his nephew who had fallen in. Sonam then went to live with his grandmother who he describes as a 'very religious' woman. Sonam and his grandmother lived next to a monastery in a remote part of Tibet and they daily routine would be to 'pray, eat and sleep.' When he was 18 his grandmother died. In her memory and in the memory of his mother, Sonam then went on a pilgrimage to one of Tibet's most holy sites: Mount Kaliash. Mount Kaliash is 6417 meters and revered by both Buddhists, Bons, Jains and Hindus. He walked around the mountain slowly; he visited all the 'holy caves', praying that he mother and grandmother would be given favorable rebirths (ideally as human animals rather than any other type of animal, and praying for them to be free from the ghost realm). Sonam stayed at Mount Kaliash for two months, and then when he finished he decided it was time to leave his home 'country' and come to India.

After walking for 22 days, Sonam and the mixed group of Tibetans he was walking with finally arrived here in 'Little Lhasa'. The walk (which nearly every single Tibetan living in Dharamsala and Mcleod Ganj had to make in order to leave Tibet) is tough. The refugees need to cross high mountain passes, while all the time avoiding Chinese military patrols. When they arrive they are greeted by the Tibetan Refugee Committee and life becomes a little easier. But not for Sonam. Sonam arrived a stranger. He knew no one here. The ra ma la accent of his 'country' men and women was difficult for him to understand. He laughs as he recalls his 'red' wind battered checks, and white skin. But he found the weather too hot, he missed his country, he missed his mother and grandmother, and before long he found that he had taken himself – on another pilgrimage.

Sonam’s second pilgrimage was to Bodghaya – another famous pilgrimage site in the state of West Bengal, and this time he showed his dedication to his mother and grandmother through an act of supreme humility: Three months of prostrations. He travelled around the holy sites of Bodghaya and and with each step he prostrated himself as only the most devote Tibetan Buddhists know how; by kneeling down, leaning forward, hands in prayer above the head, lifting the body back up, taking one step and repeating the process. He prostrated himself so many times that he wore holes through his robes, and then he wore through the flesh around his knees. But he tells me all of this with a smile, as this was a sign of his devotion to the two women who had given him life, and an extra 'insurance' that they should be blessed in their reincarnations.

This morning the Dalai Lama is teaching at the Tsunglakhang Complex. I asked Sonam why he was not attending. His reply was that the 'Dalai Lama has given Tibet away to the Chinese'. I ask him why he doesn't try to return to Tibet (although it is illegal for any Tibetan who has left the country to return) and he replies that if he did he 'would have to act'. And to be an activist in Tibet means a young death – and for now Sonam - the Monk who isn’t - has far too many yoga asanas to learn.

Indian News

I am reading the newspaper. I have always 'enjoyed' reading newspapers. But don't mis-interpret my words. I usually don't 'enjoy' what I am reading about. When I hear people remark that “the news is always bad”, I always think that “no news is good news”, so it follows that if the news was always good there would be nothing to write about.

Anyway, I read the Indian English language broad sheets. They tell much more than news items which they report. For example, the way which they never seem to contradict government policy. At the moment the news is monopolised by Prime Minister Singhs ten day trip to the United States and France, in order to lift the three decade ban on nuclear commerce with India. However, I have yet to read an article against the expansion of India's nuclear technology. Even the editorials and letters to the editor seem to have been debating the different advantages of nuclear technology rather than the massive concerns which it will also bring, including that even more people will be displaced from their lands for the 'greater' economic good, while India's track record of safety and waste disposal is hardly reassuring.

Perhaps it is the diversion from discussing anything controversial which means that intermingled with news of India's growing international status or the latest bombing in Delhi are the most bizarre stories. For example, Yoga for Paramilitary Jawans was one of the stories recently reported by The Tribune newspaper. Apparently, in order to cope with the pressures of combating growing threats of terror and Naxalite violence, paramilitary personal are now attending 'yoga camps' with the aim to improving the men's mental and physical health. However, this hasn't seemed to pacify the army's lust to 'empower' the local population of Indian women - through the use of fire arms: On the same page there is a colour photograph of a woman police officer (looking butch and 'modern' in her olive green slacks and hard hat), 'instructing' a local Indian women (dressed in a cotton sari, gold bracelets around her wrists, and her head covered for either modesty or denial, I'm not sure which) on the finer 'empowering' points of combat. The photograph shows both the women holding the same double barrelled shot gun, surrounded by a crowd of curious onlookers (who are also wearing their beautiful brightly coloured 'traditional' saris, adorned with gold and looking bemused).

On the same page, there was a harsher reflection of the Indian reality, as it was reported that “Three debt-ridden weavers end [their] life”. India has an incredibly high rate of male suicides, which is partly a reflection of the growing consumer society and the subsequent trend of the poor to take bank loans they are unable to repay. This is especially the case amongst farmers who use bank loans to pay for new seeds and then when their crops fail, or the price drops, they are left to face the pressure of the public humiliation and legal responsibility; unable to fulfil the role of the main bread winners and unable to repay the loan they end their lives. I recently saw a fantastic piece of investigative journalism, which revealed the deadly impact of the North American company, Monsanto, on the livelihoods and lives of Indian farmers. The documentary (The World According to Monsanto) was immediately banned.

The Tribune also referred to the continued discrimination of the scheduled castes. It was reported that the “provision for reservations” remains disrespected. A recent example was given of two high scoring students from the scheduled castes failing to be selected for government jobs, despite having higher grades than the high caste candidates who were selected.

However, news seemed to be looking up for animals as an NGO named People for Animals have been protesting about the forthcoming sacrifice of bulls by a local Gurka Regiment. It brought to mind an ancient ritual which I had read in the Kathmandu Post a few years ago, where it was still tradition for the oldest man of the village to sacrifice a male goat – by biting it.

Social activism has also been taking a rather imaginative in regards to the health education of prisoners: Another story reported how a “magician educates jail inmates on TB.” The 'magic' including showing a human skeleton and saying that the skeleton was a healthy man, but due to ignorance about TB, he remained undiagnosed and untreated, so he turned into that state. The story made me think again about the fantastic art of Clowning, and how this is another potentially powerful area of expertise which I would (seriously) like to learn.

Meanwhile in Punjab, security was put on high alert after a balloon floated across the Indo-Pak border with a message written in Urdu. The message had yet to be translated.

A report from Islamabad detailed that 225 women had been killed in karo kari (honour killing) in the last six months only. According to the survey, the number of women murdered for reasons other than honour was 722. In the same period only two men had been sentenced by courts for murder.

Finally, in the business section was a photograph of David and Victoria Beckham at the launch of the Beckham Signature fragrance collection at Macy's in New York. The photograph of the couple looking posed and rather ridiculous, but for some reason brought to mind a beggar who I had stopped to talk to today. I asked the old man if he wanted some fruit as this was all I had with me. The man replied in the Queen's English, that “fruit is God's gift so yes please Madam,” and in return for my one apple and banana, would I like to read his paper? Indeed he was sitting in the dirt at the side of the road, begging tin by his feet while leaning over a spread copy of the same newspaper. Would presuming that he has larger concerns than the new Beckham Signature fragrance be just fulfilling another of my preconceived ideas? Just in case, I read my own paper and left him reading his, eating 'God's gift' and wishing “Madam a pleasant afternoon”.
If your interesting in more 'Indian News' please let me know and I will be happy to oblige!