Indian Tibet - Tibetan India

Feeling incredibly happy. Really loving McLeod Ganj, which is once again warning me of the transience of my first impressions. Cool Rider and I arrived at midnight after sixteen hours of intense riding. We wound our way up a dark hill, through several police check points and into the centre of the town. The light of our old Enfield bike shined on sign after sign: Tourist Central. Billboards advertising hotels, cafes, yoga classes, meditation, Indian cooking classes, Tibetan cooking classes, caperioa, Hindi lessons, ayruvedic massage etc etc etc. This was not the place I wanted to be. I had arrived at the centre of the exiled Tibetan government and the main destination for Tibetan Refugees and I felt as if I was at a ski resort out of season, and not only that but a ski resort in Israel. Even the shop keepers spoke Hebrew as packs of Israelis straight out of their en/forced military service monopolised the restaurents and guest houses. We drove up to the small town above McLeod Ganj – Bhagsu. My 2000 edition of the Lonely Planet had described Bhagsu as a much quieter place, with a bubbling stream and a cold water spring. We came face to face with a river filled with rubbish and a car park filled with auto-rickshaws.

The next morning I woke early, apprehensive. I walked the 20 minutes back down the hill which only a few hours before we had stuttered our way up. The walk was quiet. No cars. Only a view of rolling green hills, muffled by the falling mist. Lord Elgin – one of the British viceroys to India requested to be buried in McLeod Ganj because it reminded him so much of Scotland – I guess that is a Scotland with hills half the size and without 200,000 thousand Tibetan refugees. As the road from Bhagsu fell down into McLeod Ganj I realised that the busy market streets were filled with 'local' people – and by local I mean Tibetan as the 'local' Indian population is scarcely visible. There were no other tourists in sight. In fact compared to Leh, this place is a virtual tourist desert. Even the number of volunteers is not comparable to the massive influx of religious, poverty and good will Volunteer Tourists of Kolkata. And this is not a party place either. Apparently there is only one restaurant which sells alcohol, and from the quantity of locally produced apples, I am guessing it is mainly fermented cider. The tourists here seem to stay for a while – they come to catch a glimpse of the Dalai Lama, to learn about Buddhism or just out of curiosity and once they are here they learn about something partly related or totally obscure – macraem for example is a popular 'ropes course' teaching tourists the ancient Arabian art of knotting after which they will be able to purchase crystals and precious stones from the rock piles outside of every shop and transform them into 'ethnic jewellery'. The place seems like a magnet for anything 'alternative' or as my Irish Priest friend would say 'Hippy'. And perhaps this is why I now don't mind the 'tourists' here – because they are quiet, and humble and ok probably totally stoned on locally produced, wildly growing Indian hashish but if it wasn't for the tourists, then the local Tibetan refugee community would certainly be struggling.

What confused me when I first arrived was the absence of an Indian population: Where were the inhabitants who lived here before 1959? Even the Indian waiters are here looking for seasonal employment – and like the Nepali's in Leh they are also visters: working in northern India in the monsoon and Goa in the summer. The other Indians are either pilgrims coming to visit Bhagsu's Shiva Temple built by the raja of Kangra in the 16^th century or tourists. They walk down the hill barefoot and 'bindied', or spin down on motorbikes, three to a seat, shouting nothing and red flags flying. All the begging children are Indian – working - as they follow the tourists with eyes open wide and hands extended, only to then turn around to an Indian gang leader and non nonchalantly hand over their palm of coins. In contrast the Tibetan community here appears to be very strong. They have welfare committees, government offices and official and unofficial social networks of old family friends who support new arrivals. Those who are less wealthy are probably already connected to a nunnery or a monastery – which provides food, shelter and education.

After a few persistent questions I have found out that indeed tension does exist between the old and the new – the Indian and the Tibetan – but that relations are better than before. In 1994 after continuous fighting between the two groups of young men, the Dalai Lama actually agreed to move the exiled community. While looking for a new area he spoke at a conference in the south. The meeting was attended by Tibetans from all over India, as well as tourists. McLeod Ganj emptied and for one week the local Indian population realised their symbiotic relationship with the Tibetans – without them there would be no tourists and with no tourists there would be no business. So apparently now relations are better.

As for me? As I have said: I am incredible happy. I am finally going to pursue one of my long time dreams, and I have began to practice Ashtanga Yoga with a teacher called Vijay. The classes are between six and seven hours a day, the teaching fantastic and ultimately I will be certified as a Ashtanga teacher after fifty days. This also leaves a few hours in the day for me to learn more about the local refugee community, and in the evenings I have began to volunteer for an organisations called Gu Chu Sum.

Life is about balance, and luckily I have the means to realise that balance. After over two months in the madness of Kolkata – in a dirty city full of poverty and inhumanity I am now in the foothills of the Himalayas – totally focused on my physical and mental energies. The persistent guilt which I feel for not being proactive is still simmering, but it is being dampened by the opportunities to continue to learn and for new forms of social work. Time has taught me that for continuity I need inner strength, which is fragile but accumulative. I still miss Gita, but that can only be a good thing – for otherwise our relationship would have been too superficial. Now I have the space and the peace to reflect on what Kolkata has taught me, and to decide how best to use my freedoms to continue to learn about our World.