Off limits

Impermeable permits potentially permissible
Leh, Ladakh/Mundgod, Karnataka/Delhi

You may be wondering about the next chapter in the Adventures of Sirensongs. So am I. Following my semi-formal plan to follow the Dalai Lama around India for as long as possible, the next step should be Mundgod, Karnataka, in south India, where His Holiness will be teaching in January.

Mundgod is an official Tibetan Refugee area and as such requires a Protected Area Permit for stays of more than a day or so. Of course, this is an ordeal to obtain. It can only be gotten from the Delhi Bureau of HH the Dalai Lama and for some reason, takes up to 8 weeks to obtain.

I am having difficulty finding out anything about Mundgod. It's on the map, but is not listed in any India guide book, perhaps because of the permit requirements. (However Bylekuppe refugee area, which also requires a permit, is listed in these books.)

So back in the 2nd week of October, I got all the necessary elements (photocopies of passport and visa, passport size photos, etc) together and sent them via Speed Post/Registered Mail to the Bureau. (Just the trip to the deserted, forlorn Leh post office was like a parody of a post office. There were no staples in the stapler, no glue in the glue pots - Indian stamps require extra glue to be added - and they tried to sell me an extra stamp instead of just giving me my 5Rs change. AND the guy huffed and puffed indignantly when I insisted on getting my 5Rs. There was 5Rs sitting right in front of him in a dish.)

I sent off all the materials in plenty of time, and followed this up with a long distance phone call to the Delhi office to confirm, plus an email. Only yesterday (more than one month later) I received this reply:

Dear Ms ___:
Till today I didn't receive your mail so I couldn't write you reply of your messages. Regarding your protected area permit case, I check in the registered book whether your name is light in the book or not. At last i found and submission date is 11.10.2007 and your pap reference # is 362 as per our office records. Normally it takes three month to get the PAP sanction from the Ministry of Home Affairs Rehabilatation Wings office, Govt. of India. In our office, PAP dealing officer staff is Mr.T. C. and please contact with him. If I have got a time I will help you a bit.

With Greets,
T. J.

IF he has time to do his job, he might help me out a bit. Somehow, the period of time to get a permit has magically extended from 8 weeks to THREE MONTHS.

Looks like there is a trip to the Delhi Bureau in my near future.

I wonder why Dharamsala itself, with all the refugees there (and the occasional story of a captured Chinese spy), is not a Protected area? Let's just be grateful for small wonders.

However, I am looking forward to a winter in South India, which is the only time to be there (in December and January it's heaven. After February, it is just too hot). There is a great deal to see in Karnataka state - lots of Indian historic sites I have yet to see, like Hampi/Vijayanagar, Belur, Halebid, Mookambika Devi temple, Sravanabelagola and of course, my old stomping ground of Mysore (home of the best Ayurvedic massage that I know of).

Days of future passed
Thanks to Facebook, I am now back in touch with my erstwhile New York City boss, Ed Steinberg of Rockamerica Music. He recently dug up this vintage photo of Yours Truly circa 1983. Enjoy! Thanks to Ed.

Mountains of the moon

Lunar landing in Ladakh
Leh, Ladakh (Kashmir)

Joollay (Greetings in the local language) to all from sunny Leh, Ladakh. I can't wait to see my first yak! So far, it's only been donkeys and a few cows on the road.

Everything you have read about the stark moonscape of the surroundings here is true. It seems far too good (ie clean, quiet and peaceful) to be a part of India. You do feel a military presence at the airport, and in parts of town, because of proximity to China, but there is no real tension.

In fact the culture here is so distinct, it took seeing the vehicle license tags that say "JK #" to remind me that in fact, Ladakh is technically a part of Kashmir, that Indian state whose beautiful, lush name is now so associated with strife and violence. Ladakhis (predominantly Buddhist, many of ethnic Tibetan origin, speaking a distinct language) have little in common culturally with Kashmir, and there is a movement to form a separate state within India (Union Territory of Ladakh). It will never happen, IMHO, as for obvious reasons India is not keen to fragment the region further.

The tiny Rinpoche Bakula Airport is easily the cutest one in the land. It resembles a Tibetan monastery's visitor centre. We had to register as soon as we trooped off the plane, but all that meant was filling out a form ("Registration of foreigners, State of J&K) handed to me by a cute little Ladakhi lady in traditional dress. I didn't even have to show my passport.

Here they still employ the old disembarkation method, like in a 1940s adventure movie - we de-planed down a gangplank right onto the runway, surrounded by high winds and dramatic mountains. There's a definite "wow" factor, but we were discouraged from taking photos by the soldiers ("This technical airport ma'am," a reference to the sensitive location). But the soldiers mostly seem bored with their jobs, and amused by all the foreign tourists.

When we flew in this morning over Tibet-like navy blue and grey mountains, with snow peaks in the distance, it was cloudy - had the cozy, cottony feeling of a winter day. I thought I would not be able to see the famous Ladakhi blue skies, and collapsed from altitude (blood singing and heart pumping through my ears, gasping for breath) on my guest-house bed. (Shanti Guest House in Changspa - $5 a day, clean, quiet, family-run, shared bath with hot water only 2x a day. The inside looks like a marble Indian maharajah's bungalow, the outside like an old Tibetan house).

The padlock and key they gave me to lock up my room look like something from a Tibetan artefacts museum - a hand-carved, hand-molded piece of silver metal with an abstract key like an ancient amulet. Works just fine, though.

When I finally awoke at 5.30pm, the sun was glowing off the mountains and I could see what looks like an ancient monastery far, far on the peak of an Arizona-like jagged hill. Most of what I've seen of Leh so far is like a big garden. I realized that I had no mental concept of what Leh would look like and sure enough, when Francesca (Italian taxi mate) and I drove through town, it was over before we knew we were there. "There is no there there."

All the medical advice says to take it totally easy the first 2 days, so I am dutifully following. We are at 11,500 feet elevation and it's about 65 degrees in daytime. So nice to be in a place with no bugs and no sweating or humidity.

HH the Dalai Lama arrived today (actually, he already came on 31st July, but went to a place called Diskit to give teachings and is back now) and will begin teachings in Leh on 16th-19th. I expect he will give me that same look when he sees me perched with my camera (half glad to see you, half "are you STILL following me around??").

Independence Day
Let me just say, flying international is a hassle everywhere these days, and it was an extra-extra hassle flying from Nepal to India and then within India on the eve of the 60th Indian Independence Day celebrations. Triple and quadruple checking, interminable lines, lots of delays. I am quite amazed that I got on board with my nail clippers (though they did catch my sewing scissors, which had to be deposited with a crew member for security).

The papers are full of celebrations, historical retrospectives and congratulations, and the mood around Delhi was a cautious mix of pride and severely paranoid double-checking, and rightly so.
No one wants this moment in Indian history to be marred by terrorist action. All Delhi hotels are prohibiting any unauthorized visitors (that is, unregistered visitors to a room) -period -until after August 15. And every cybercafe had been instructed to demand not only that I show my ID, but present a photocopy of my passport. That's okay. I am actually heartened that they are taking it all seriously and doing their jobs.

According to the NDTV Independence Day polls, most Indians surveyed felt that "Corruption" was the #1 shame of India today. Other contenders surprisingly far down on the list included poverty, untouchability and dowry scandal. Gandhi is still ranked as India's #1 Icon, getting 58% of votes; the only person who came close to him in votes was Mother Theresa who got a pitiful 17%. The nouveau-riche modern Indian industrialists also offered in the poll (Mittal, Tata etc), whom the press so incessantly tout as modern Indian heros, seem to not have made much of an impression on the public.

Off to Ladakh

Booked
Delhi, India

I was in Delhi just long enough to chill for 24 solid hours in the placid darkness of an AC hotel room, meet a fellow IndiaMike-er ("TNog") by chance in Saravana's, and book my JetAirways flight to Leh, Ladakh.

It was so simple and painless, it almost took my breath away. Ladakh has always seemed so distant and exotic, it's hard to believe it has an airport that accomodates jet planes.

Ladakh, literally "Land of High Passes" - Whee-ha! Twill be my first ever experience above 10,000 feet. Altitude sickness, here I come!

Finally

...the password is....
Dharamsala, Himachal Pradesh

FINALLY. After nearly 2 weeks of getting the Log-in runaround on my new, "improved" Blogger account, I can actually log in.

Had to try all kinds of weird combos of my old and new user name, as well as old and new passwords... and eventually came up with the right two at the right time.

Whew. Got a lot of catching up to do. Last week there was damn-near a race riot (between Tibetans and Indians) here in Dharamsala. And yesterday Belgium (nice, neutral, EU-founding Belgium) dissed the Dalai Lama, and kowtowed to Chinese pressure by asking him not to come and address the conference in Brussels he'd been planning to visit for months. Talk about a Belgian waffle.
Taxi driver
If you're coming to Dharamsala, don't plan on taking any taxis, at least not if you're Tibetan. There's a gang of Tibetan guys going round telling all Tibetans (or anyone who looks kind of Tibetan, like my Nepali friends) not to take taxis or autorickshaws. It's effectively an unofficial boycott. This, despite an official show of reconciliation between the Tibetan govt. and representatives of the local Indian community. It's all because of the crazy brawl between some Tibetan youths and an Indian auto driver last week.

It's been really hard to get any unbiased or reliable information about the incident. The English-language papers were largely completely silent, while the Hindi language dailies wrote one-sided stories accusing the Tibetans of "bullying" the Indians. Every single person, Tibetan, Indian or western, that I spoke to had a different version of the story. An opinion piece sympathetic to the Tibetans went live on Phayul.com last week, but was promptly pulled after protests and pressure from the Indian community.

Trouble in paradise
In the understandable rush to restore order in the small town, some crucial issues have been swept under the rug, and it's evidently not the first time. The Tibetans are here as refugees with very few rights; however, their presence and that of the Dalai Lama brings in the vast numbers of tourists, around which the local economy is completely based. The Tibetans draw a great deal of international attention (read: money, sympathy and sponsorship). Jealousy and resentment manifest from time to time between the communities, alongside a great deal of mutual tolerance and cooperation.

On good days, which is most of the time, everyone is united by a common interest: making money from the "spiritual tourists." Ironically, all this comes just a few weeks after the Indian community had arranged a beautiful Hindu "long-life puja" for His Holiness, which entailed lots of Gayatri Mantra and some beautiful speeches about the mutual ties (commercial and cultural) between the two groups.

Another factor: the vulnerable position of many Tibetan refugees (in terms of immigration legalities) leaves them prime targets for harassment and blackmail from certain unscrupulous members of Indian law enforcement. Young Tibetan men are routinely stopped after dark with police demands to show their RC (registration card).

However, no one wants to talk about this, it seems. So once again, like the dysfunctional family we are, India and people living in India pretend "no problem, everything is fine." Until the next blow-up, of course. This time, total disaster was averted because there were no fatalities ("only" hospitalizations). I wonder how long the soothing statements about "unity" can cover up the glaring need for honest dialogue.

Curiouser and curiouser....

Uphill climb

Zoning out
Dharamsala, Himachal Pradesh


Wow, the past 2 weeks since the Vipassana retreat have gone in a sort of twilight zone. I did so much in the previous 2 months, I could hardly do anything these past few days. I decided to give myself a few "slop days."

The Dalai Lama left for his dates in Kinnaur, and then, America (he will be there twice this year) on Saturday morning. He'll be back in the Big D on May 15, and will give teachings on the 19th for a few days.

People complain about the heat here now, but that is a joke. It's nothing! Highs are in the high 70s F or so. That is positively chilly compared to all the Aprils I sweated in the south, or even right now in Rishikesh.

The Panchen Lama's birthday observation was weird. It was so decentralized here in Dharamsala, which is where I figured it would be most together. There were speeches at the Temple, all in Tibetan. No media were invited. There was a conference down at the government offices; again, no public invites. Far too much stuff around here seems to be preaching to the choir.

There was a "marathon" which seemed a strangely appropriate metaphor. Lots of Tibetan, and a few western, young people ran laps around the town, supposedly in honour of the Panchen Lama. What did it mean? Did they have sponsors and collect money as marathons usually do? Did they even tell the media? If not, what was the point of such an event? Running around in circles - the metaphor was all too obvious.

Delhi, London, Tel Aviv, Bangalore, Bhopal and other cities seem to have been much more active in their observation. And of course, there's the brave kids who got arrested in "Chinese" Mt Everest - the first of what I hope will be many protests of the Beijing Olympics (I don't want a boycott; I want people to use the opportunity to speak up).

I have been working hard lately on the 50 Million Missing project - we now have over 225 members and over 1000 photos. But that means a lot of screen-time and I am fried. Here are a few more photos from the past weeks. Enjoy....

Oh, and I managed to put a few videos (of the hundreds I have) up on my YouTube site.
It just takes so darn long for them to upload!

Oh crap, the net place is closing now. If you want to see more photos, go to my Flickr.com page.

Free This Child.

Today is Free Panchen Lama Day. --Who?
Dharamsala, Himachal Pradesh, India

Okay, you Gereheads and groupies. I know I promised the photos of His Silverheadedness Richard Gere last week.

Well, I finally uploaded them today! See Gerespotting, below!
Feringhee: The India Diaries: Gerespotting

-----

Today's installment really isn't a blog. It's a political op-ed piece. Robert will hate it. But, I feel it's important. All over town the Tibetan Women's Association and others are gearing up for the Panchen Lama's birthday, tomorrow. Here is the piece I published about it, on Newsvine.

At right is the only available photo of the Panchen Lama, taken when he was six years old. Today, he is eighteen. He has not been seen for twelve years.
---

Imagine, as a six-year-old, being recognized by the Dalai Lama as the incarnation of a revered Tibetan lama.

What a great honour! Your family is so proud. Your whole community celebrates!

Then, a few months later, imagine being kidnapped (along with your parents) by a communist government, known for its brutality to its own citizens. You live the next 12 years under house arrest, and don't know where your parents are.

The months run into years. Perhaps you don't even know that it is your 18th birthday.

If only you could know that across the world, particularly in India, people are pasting up your photo, shouting your name, holding protests and candlelight vigils.

The only photo ever released of you - as a ruddy-cheeked five year old with a shock of black hair - adorns walls, stickers and flyers all over Delhi, Dharamsala, Bhopal, and other cities.

You spend your 18th birthday in silence and solitude as thousands, far away, chant your name.

Tomorrow (April 25) is the birthday of the Panchen Lama.

----
Gendun Chokyi Nyima, aka the "Panchen Lama," was, at the time of his disappearance by the Chinese Government, the world's youngest political prisoner. His only crime is that he was recognized as the incarnation of an historically powerful Tibetan lama - one who was traditionally instrumental in identifying successive Dalai Lamas. Therein lies Gendun's worth to the Chinese government.

Traditionally, only the Panchen Lama can truly identify a newly incarnated Dalai Lama. This is their way of preventing the lineage of Dalai Lamas, and thus, genuine Tibetan Buddhism itself, from continuing.

Remember "Free Nelson Mandela"? Eventually it worked, didn't it? Why can't we at least try to do the same thing with the Panchen Lama - the world's youngest political prisoner?

Gerespotting

Celebrity cameo!
Dharamsala, Himachal Pradesh

I just met Richard Gere and he is really cool. He and Robert Thurman (Uma Thurman's dad) were here for a scientific conference with the Dalai Lama and 11 top neuroscientists, cosmologists, astronomers, physicists and psychologists. The conference is called "The Universe in a Single Atom," which is the name of one of the Dalai Lama's many books. The Dalai Lama has always maintained a keen interest in science. It was a pretty amazing conference, covering the confluence between Buddhism and its traditions of "mind training" and modern science's technological manipulations of consciousness.

Richard Gere had just walked out of the Dalai Lama's residence and was having coffee at Ten Yang, my regular hangout, with Matthew Ricard (a French Buddhist monk and Tibetan translator) and Jeremy Russell (another Tibetan translator).

My friend Victoria had sent him some material about her current project, "Stand For Tibet." So we boldly went up to the table at an opportune moment and asked whether he had a chance to review it.

Amazingly, he had read the whole thing and gave Victoria very valueable, detailed feedback about her project. He lamented the relative uselessness of the United Nations regarding the Tibetan issue ("They won't do anything - I mean, they won't even let me be an International Ambassador for fear of offending China") and suggested that, since "face" and "honour" mean so much to the Chinese, that an appeal to their global-image-conscious side would be an effective approach.

Richard then graciously posed for photos with the Ten Yang coffee shop employees, who are Tibetan. When a few excited westerners started snapping his photo, he smiled at first, then gently said, "Okay, enough. I'm trying to talk with friends," and smiled.

The Gere Foundation literally paid for all the paving and sewage and drains on Temple Road here. He is quite the local patron saint/hero.

In case you're wondering, he looks great in person, with a huge crop of thick silvery hair, glasses, and somewhat pinkish (sunburned?) complexion. I have a photo I snapped of him walking down the street with 2 friends and promise I will post it tomorrow!

--A week later: Okay, the photo is here, you Gere-heads!!! and in case you can't get enough, here are 2 more random ones...he is a normal person who walks down the street dodging garbage and cows (we are in India) like everyone else!


Bad looks = Good luck
Looking like hell must be my good-luck charm for meeting famous people. As luck would have it, this morning I tumbled out of bed with no time to brush my teeth or hair or even wash my face. Naturally, this would be the day I would meet Richard Gere in a coffee shop. The first time I shook the Dalai Lama's hand, I hadn't showered and was wearing an inside-out shirt (!), and when I met Sakya Trizin, head of the Sakya lineage of Tibetan Buddhism, I had not showered or even looked in a mirror all day.

Maybe unpretentiousness attracts good fortune, and auspicious beings....

Death Wish

I have been missing all the fun. While I was in the 12-day Vipassana retreat, HH the Dalai Lama received death threats from the militant Islamic, Pakistan-based group Lashkar E Toiba ("Army of the Pure").

Needless to say, security around His Holiness has been stepped up.

What does need to be said is exactly what LeT is upset about. The Dalai Lama has gone out of his way, for years now, to deliver the message that "all Islamic people are not extremists, and we shouldn't generalize on the basis of the behaviour of a few."

Read the full story here.

Pro-Tibet activists took out a protest march here on Tuesday against the reported threat to the life of Tibetan spiritual leader the Dalai Lama.

...Reports galore in the media about a possible assassination attempt on the Dalai Lama by Pakistan based militant group Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT).

Holy hangover

That voodoo that you do
Dharamsala, Himachal Pradesh

The Extra Special Super Auspicious Healthy Good-Luck Long Life pujas are finally over. I think I have a Triple H (His Holiness Hangover).

HH the Dalai Lama just left for a gig in Pune on the 23rd, and the town has resumed its rather pensive "waiting" vibe. The weather warms daily in preparation for "high tourist season."

Wild Kingdom
I have spent the last few days doing blessedly little, mainly taking wonderful walks out by the Bhagsunath waterfall, reading two Tibet-related books (Kundun by Mary Craig and Dance of 17 Lives by Mick Brown).

And, listening to the wild birds call. They have swooping, trilling songs that (to my western ears) sound like something out of the Jungle Book. There are all kinds of wonderful birds here, including a tiny black-and-white art-deco sparrow that looks like a windup toy, and some kind of magnificent magpie with long feathers streaming out behind like a kite's tail.

The white butterflies have hatched. My friend Victoria says that every year after Spring Teachings, they come out in their hundreds, filling the air in living snow flurries. You see them in twos, usually. Tiny pure-white butteflies.

The mongoose (mongeese? mongooses?) are having a high old time - it must be mating season. They are slinking round the hillsides, their tails far longer than their bodies. Raju says they live in a den just outside the guest house.

I can always tell it's Sunday, by the hordes of Indian family tourists traipsing / driving in streams of mini-cabs and SUVS like a parade, honking as though it were a life-threatening emergency, through Bhagsu. They never travel in flocks of less than nine (seriously). I think it's a requirement to get the group rate, or something.

This morning, I was awakened from my normally deathly-quiet slumber by a woman shouting. It was a Punjabi woman (and her family) who'd gotten a room directly beneath mine. I prefer the mating calls of the mongoose (mongeese?).

I have noticed quite a few of what looks like "group honeymoons." That is, a girl who is clearly a newlywed bride (judging by her traditional armsful of wedding bangles, and covered head while others have heads bare) on holiday with about eight or nine in-laws.

Since it's a holiday so soon after the wedding, is this their honeymoon? Are they (the couple) expected to enjoy it? Do they get any privacy? Maybe it's supposed to be a way of getting the bride to bond with her new family. Traditionally the groom's family is supposed to completely replace the girl's family, in every way. Everything she would have once done for her parents, she must now do for her in-laws - and they don't get a chance to get to know one another before the wedding.

Server Down
Life has been easier since Thursday, but Internet has been tough. "Server down" was the cry every time I lugged the laptop down the hill to hook up. When I finally did, I was rewarded with a horrible virus called Adober.exe.

It took a Turkish Buddhist systems administrator (he's here volunteering for the Tibetan Computer Resource Center) to help fix it, free of charge. What a boon! Thanks, Ilker!

Ilker got to have his solo photo taken with the Dalai Lama last week during the special Russian audience. Of course, Ilker is not Russian, but got into the audience because the Dalai Lama cannot visit Turkey, either - "The Chinese, they say if you allow him in, we cut the business," said Ilker, making a "snipping" scissors gesture with his fingers.

Ilker showed me the photo of His Holiness clasping both hands with him, like old friends. Ilker's eyes were shut in the photo, though.

"I couldn't open my eyes while he was holding my hands," said Ilker. I could see the tears coming to his eyes as he held the photo. Tears, and a big, irrepressible smile.

Where the earth meets the sky

Singin' in the rain
McLeod Ganj, Dharamsala

Has it really been a week since I wrote on the blog? -- unbelievable.
Yet, there is the evidence, in front of my eyes, on the Tibetan Rigpa calendar
(another calendar to keep track of - in addition to Hindu and Newari dates).
It's the year 2134 in Tibetan time.

The weather is really crazy- today we had:
1-cloudy morning,
2-heavy rainfall, then
3-beautiful sun WHILE it was raining
4- a rainbow
5-a hailstorm while sun came out and
6-around 6pm, yet another hailstorm, this time literally the size of moth-balls. You could have put an ice bucket out on the terrace and filled it quickly. I really thought it might break the windows!
and finally -
7-More lovely sun and another rainbow, only to be followed by
8-a late-night shower.

Tibetan tradition, like Indian and Nepali tradition, does everything by astrology (they have their own system which is a cross between Chinese and Indian astrology). This year is "an obstacle year" for His Holiness the Dalai Lama. In fact, for anyone turning 73 their 73rd year is considered an 'obstacle' year. So, there are extra "long-life" ceremonies being offered for him, for the past week. I call it "extra special very auspicious healthy lucky long life merit puja" (a take-off on the way Indians love to embellish things!).

Yesterday was quite remarkable - about a thousand (literally) Tibetans came all the way from Nepal and western Tibet regions to offer stuff (elaborate hand-made gilded Buddha and deity statues, sacks of rice, potted flowers, precious sacred Tibetan texts printed on the traditional long-paper and wrapped in silk, hand-woven
carpets, bolts of brocade and so on).

Hundreds of the old folks dressed in their "traditional dress" which looks
like a rainbow-striped circus crossed with Native Americans from outer space (don't know how else to describe it, really).

Sacred Stomping
As HH came into the temple, they started dancing. Tibetan folk dances look a great deal like Native American dances (small steps from side to side, moving in a circle and spiral). Like a lot of folk dances, the individual steps were not so remarkable - it's when seen in a large group that it really makes an impact. The ladies looked like a moving, shifting wall of rainbow colours. The men, in their heavy boots, stamp and whirl with long sleeves outstretched, resembling eagles' wingspans.

They dance in a large circle, facing the centre, where a single drummer (always male) pounds the very simple beat - again, a lot like Native American music. It feels very shamanic and tribal. Of course, now in addition to the drummer there is a
videographer. So, at least one thing has changed in the tradition. I reflected on how they probably used to dance around a fire. Now, they dance around a camera!

They always sing while dancing. The men start their vocals, low and earthy. Then after a verse or so the women come in with their soaring singing and it sounds like the sky meeting the earth. What it must be like to see these dances on the open steppes under the endless blue sky of Tibet!

Most of the dancers were 50 yrs old or older, and one probably never sees such a gathering of traditional Tibetan attire even in Tibet, these days.

Wizards of Weather
To get my photographer's press pass for tomorrow's Extra Special Lucky Puja, I had to go allll the way down to "the library," which is the name for Lower Upper Dharamsala where the Tibetan Govt. offices are. (There's Lower Dharamsala, Upper Dharamsala / McLeod Ganj, and then what I call "lower Upper Dharamsala" below the temple, "Middle Upper Dharamsala" and "upper Upper Dharamsala" - above the main road). I was helped by a sweet-natured fifty-something Tibetan woman named Sonam Wangmo. It turns out she attended NYU on a Fullbright scholarship.

We discussed the crazy weather (always a fecund topic for conversation here) and she casually mentioned, "You know, maybe we should call a Ngagpa. Do you know what a Ngagpa is?" (pronounced "nakpa").

I did indeed. "A Ngagpa is a kind of Tibetan sorcerer or wizard."

"Yes, they can stop the rain - or make it rain, or snow. They can control the weather."

"Perhaps you should have one on staff!" I half-joked. Really, it would be a good idea.

"Yes...but you know," she added on second thought, "we do need the rain. Water is such a problem always here in Dharamsala." It is one of the weirdnesses of the locale that a place receiving so much rainfall (#2 rainfall in India, after Cherrapunji) also suffers from water shortages.

The whole conversation was very matter-of-fact -- as though Sonam had been discussing the pros and cons of hiring a particularly difficult plumber.

It is really lightning out and I have to walk back to the village before it starts raining AGAIN!

Western disturbance

Under the rainbow
McLeod Ganj, Dharamsala

"A Western disturbance," the papers say, is causing severe precipitation all over the subcontinent - even in the desert of Rajasthan, and normally arid south India. My Chinese friend is on her way to Jammu and Kashmir on a government bus, but she must be snowed-in, because the paper says the J&K Highway is closed for snowfall.

Here, we just got beating down hard rain, several hailstorms, and severe, cable-snapping winds.

There are two advantages to such crappy weather - one, everyone looks like hell so there is no need to fix my hair, or even shower or wash my hair - it's too cold to even take my clothes off (even for a hot shower). Most people are sleeping with their clothes, gloves and hats on anyway. Makeup is a long-foregone pretension and dirty hair is hidden under my fake-fur hat (the kind we used to call, in the hip-hop days, a "Kremlin hat"). I am wearing my heaviest pair of (cotton) pants, a t-shirt, my cotton chupa, and a flannel nightshirt over it all, with the fleece jacket zipped up all day long. Many people appear to be wearing every item of clothing they own.

The second advantage is that, since the rain is so cold and hard and relentless, fewer people show up for teachings, and that means if you are an early bird (I am not), you can get a good seat very near to the Dalai Lama. Or, at least near enough to sit under his benevolent "blessing" hand as he walks by on the ways in and out.

There's also the fact that such frigid weather makes me crave starchy foods. I hope my body is burning it off with the constant walking up and down steep hills and staircases. Dharamsala is not a place for the physically challenged - or even for those with a serious knee problem.

Finally, last night
Finally. The rain finally stopped last night - just in time for the Long Life Ceremony this morning, for HH the Dalai Lama. An amazing double rainbow came out over the Kangra Valley, just around 6pm, before sunset.

This morning's (thankfully dry) Long Life Ceremony was graced by none other than HH the Karmapa (head of the Kagyu lineage), HH Sakya Trizin (head of the Sakya lineage), and the head of the Nyingma lineage (whose name always escapes me). It turned out (news to me) that some people, even foreigners, had come and saved seats upstairs the night before (usually upstairs is only for monks). Some people arrived as early as 5.30 AM to ensure their seating. Live and learn.

The ceremony featured "special appearances by" not only the Nechung Oracle but two more traditional oracles of other regions of Tibet, representing Amdo, Kham and U Tsang. Evidently there are no less than four oracles residing in McLeod and many more traditionally in Tibet and Bhutan. Each "channels" or manifests a different god when they go into trance. Though I didn't get upstairs, my Taiwanese friend got video of the oracles. When they collapse after the trance, they are immediately carried out like corpses feet-first.

(At left: Nechung Oracle manifesting the god Dorje Drakden in a trance at the Nechung Monastery, March 7 2007)

After the ceremony, HH had private (that is, about 100 people at a time) audiences for the Russians, Ukrainians, Mongolians and new Tibetans. The explanation I got was that he gives these audiences for countries where he cannot travel freely (like Russia) because of the country's relations with China. However, I know he did go to Mongolia just last year. Not fair!

Also, I heard later that a German girl snuck in with the Russians. You have to get a piece of paper from security - but they don't know who's Russian and who isn't. Then the whole crowd of 100 or so Russians goes together and has to show passports. But, because there are so many people, they don't really examine all passports - just look to see if the face matches the picture inside.

Okay, now I know the deal.

Mongolians, Russians and Ukrainians all understand Russian - so they get audience together. Everything is translated from Tibetan into Russian.

I caught two Ukrainian kids as they emerged glowing from the HH residence. What did he say?

"It was very short - less than half an hour," Sergei said. "But he said that in general, it was better for people to stay with their own religion, the religion they were born into. To change religions arbitrarily creates confusion and misunderstanding for a lot of people. But, if you do want to be Buddhist and practice Buddhism, it is very important to study - and study well. To really understand the concepts and what they mean - not just go through the motions. And His Holiness was very serious when he said this - not joking, like in the teachings!"

On the road, for real
At rainbow time (6 pm), I was in the Shangri-la restaurant, run by the monks of a monastery. In America, a restaurant where you are waited on by monks would be some kind of novelty theme chain (with a cutesy name like "The Monkery").

I was with Lama Sherab Gyaltsen, the monk who prostrated all the way from Lhasa to BodhGaya, India. Sherab speaks no English at all, but was accompanied by a translating friend, Passang. (Passang is another monk. Most Tibetan names are bi-gendered, that is, Passang, Tenzin, Tashi and so on can be either male or female.)

Back in January, I went to find Sherab on the Patna-Gaya Highway in Bihar. I had read an Indian news report about the "Tibetan monk crawling from Lhasa for world peace" and wanted to interview him and photograph him for myself. I spent two amazing days with him, his two Tibetan companions and the Bihari villagers, who lined the roads to alternately stare and support him - bringing him foodstuffs and water at day's end. They seemed to regard him as a modern-day yogi-saint or "tapaswi" (one who does severe devotional austerities) out of some Vedic-era mythology. Certainly they did not hesitate to "pranam" him (devotional salute) and instantly recognized what he was doing as in the Indian tradition of devotion.

Sherab was explaining how he got permission, from the Chinese government, to exit Chinese Tibet and enter Nepal while prostrating. He had to get some kind of special religious-pilgrimage visa - lots of paperwork. People from his home town of Dege, Kham district had to vouch for him ("he really is a monk and devotee, he is not just escaping, he is for real" and so on). The fact that he is from Kham - now considered part of Qinghai province or China proper - helps a lot. People dwelling in Lhasa or other parts of the TAR ("Tibetan Autonomous Region") are considered more of a political risk and have a harder time getting travel documents.

I had my trusty laptop Tawanda with me, and made a disk for Sherab of all the photos and videos I'd taken of him while he was literally "on the road." He insisted on buying me dinner, and paying for all the CDs (a welcome change from most Indians and Nepalis, who expect YOU, the rich firang, to pay for everything) and requested a second CD of the videos "for my mother."
Sherab had gotten press notices from the BBC, Times of India, Asian Age, Jagran Dainik and a few other Hindi language papers. However, I was special - according to him - because they were all Indian. (The BBC sent a local Hindi-speaking correspondent.) I was "the only English person" who had come to see him.

On our way home
It's always with a combination of sadness and relief that I watch the crowds pack up and go home after a teaching. Sadness, because it's so great to be in huge (if sometimes maddening) crowds of people who have converged for such an elevated cause. I mean, contrast 7,000 people coming together to receive Buddhist teachings from a Nobel laureate with the energy of 7,000 people - for example - gathered at music festival to get drunk and get laid. Or at a political convention, or a football game.

Relief, because finally I will be able to walk down the street and end up where I had originally intended to go, without several people sidetracking me - and will be able to get a table in one of the dimly-lit, always crowded restaurants of McLeod Ganj, where people huddle against the chill drinking Hot Lemon Ginger and catch up on who's going where, which Rinpoche is in town and who's getting teachings from whom.

And, of course, the next reading of the Oracle or Oracles.

Typing with gloves on

Fools in the rain
McCleod Ganj, Dharamsala

It is beating down cold heavy rain, has been since March 10 which was Tibetan Uprising Day. It's so cold I am typing with gloves on. Not so many typos as I expected, aactual;l;y
WHOOPS - actually.

My gloves are borrowed, teal-coloured acrylic-yarn gloves, from my friend Victoria. Victoria is a five-foot seven spark plug of a former schoolteacher. She used to teach on the Hupa Indian reservation in California, and in the tough neighborhoods of Oakland (SF). When she retired, she "decided to devote the rest of my life to helping Tibet and Tibetans win freedom and autonomy."

The Daily Lama
Today HH the Dalai Lama gave the Avalokiteshvara initiation. The weather could hardly have been worse; but an amazing number of people (probably 1000) turned up anyway in woolly hats, boots, raincoats, umbrellas, sweaters and shawls. The giant yellow canopy over the temple courtyard gets heavy with rain, and every so often, a great gust of wind ripples it and literal gallons of cold rainwater come crashing down, through the canopy seams, onto the people's heads. Never the same place twice, so you really don't know where to stand. People got to using their umbrellas even while under the canopy.

I noticed that as he came in today, HH had a very small entourage (normally he is proceeded by monks carrying incense and so on), and carried his own maroon umbrella. A lucky few Tibetans seated by the railing, holding the white "khata" scarves, got a brief handshake, as he paused to greet them.

As he approaches the brocade-covered, carved wooden throne, everyone stands up to prostrate three times before him. But he also prostrates three times - to the throne itself and to the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. He lifts his robes like a skirt and carefully climbs up the four steps to to the seat. I noticed that every day, as he sits down and arranges his robes and cushion around him, an attendant monk hands him a single Handi-Wipe. He wipes his hands, then tucks it inside his robe.

When he does initiations, HHDL sits upstairs in the temple with his Namgyal monks. So, we downstairs only see him on a video screen at these times. I kept hoping he would put on the pointy yellow hat, which looks extra cool. He has even joked about it in the past ("Now I am going to put on the yellow hat. I say this because photographers like to take my photo in this hat. I notice this. Tee he he hehe").

HH's teachings can be roughly divided into a few segments, which he rotates. First, there are the opening prayers. Sometimes, he makes comments on what's happening - like, "Some of the Chinese delegation are leaving tomorrow afternoon. Therefore, I will give the initiation tomorrow morning instead of waiting till Wednesday." Or a rare bit of scolding - "I see that many of you do not have the printed text. Perhaps you have such great powers of memory that you do not need to see the words themselves. " (nervous laughter from crowd) "So, maybe you can look on with some friend sitting nearby who does have the text."

Then, he reads directly from the original text itself. Next, he gives commentary and elaboration.

Often, he adds to this personal stories, which are my favourite part. I love the one about the parrot he hit with a stick when he was a boy (this is also in his autobiography). It was a friend's parrot that showed great affection to the friend, but paid no attention to the boy Lama. Young HH was kind of lonely for friendship and got angry that the bird didn't love him too. So he attacked the poor bird. Of course, this terrified the creature and certainly didn't make it love him. From this he learned the limits of using force. (You can just see it - "I'm the Dalai Lama, dammit, you have to love me!!!" Whack!)

In an initiation, first we take the Bodhisattva or Upasaka (layperson's) vow not to lie, steal, kill, commit sexual misconduct or take intoxicants. If you feel you can't keep all five of the vows, HH always says "just take the ones you feel you can keep, to the best of your ability."

Then he goes into the elaborate visualizations of Avalokiteshvara, the deity of universal compassion. The tradition is that HH is actually a living incarnation of this deity. The visualizations help you to picture yourself as the deity, "with one face, and four arms" emitting universal love and compassion to all "sentient beings."

Then there are his jokes. One day he warned the Tibetans about getting too fat, "because it will be a burden on your health. In the west, there is a saying - 'eat like a king at breakfast, a prince at lunchtime, and take supper like a pauper.' But in Tibet we say - 'In the morning you should eat a great deal, because you have the whole day ahead of you. Then, the afternoon is also a good time to eat. And at night, you should eat a good dinner, so you will sleep well!' " All the Tibetans laughed in recognition of their habits.

HHDL also manages to get in all kinds of social commentary. During the past 7 days we have heard about vegetarianism, animal rights, women's equality, the equality of all religions, nutrition, non-violence, medical testing on guinea pigs, the importance of charity, Mother Theresa, AIDS awareness, religious freedom within Tibet, and of course the environment.

I try to scribble down as much as possible, but today, my hands were freezing - as they are now, even with gloves on.

Also, I have a ton of photos to share, but have to leave the laptop way up in Bhagsu at the room (security dictates 'no electronics inside the teachings site') and it's just too far to go back up and get it.

On Saturday, HH had a special audience with the mainland Chinese - about 50 of them. He spent an hour with them, according to my Chinese friend, answering their questions about Buddhism. No political topics were discussed.

I wondered, considering the prohibitions on his photo within China, whether they got the world's most desired photo-op - a picture with the Dalai Lama. She said, "Yes, they were so kind - they took a group photo, then gave it to each of us on a computer disk." A good way to get past Chinese customs (they might see a photo, but just don't have time to search every disk)!

Rakhi mountain high

The air up here
McLeod Ganj (Dharmsala), India

Wow - have I really been here since Thursday? I have been trying to blog since Friday, but there's a power cut here nearly every evening for several hours - conveniently just at the Blogging Hour.

This time all the Himachal Pradesh Tourism buses from Delhi were full, so I had to take the government bus from Kashimiri Gate. Kashmiri Gate is a really nasty station, with that particular layer of grimness and grim only Indian public places seem to have. But, the government bus is better for one reason - it arrives in McLeod later in the day (after 8am).

What's so great about that? The views! I had always arrived at McLeod in the dark. Nothing prepared me for the breathtaking view up the Kangra Valley - with the snowpeaked Himalayas soaring wayyy overhead and the cold grey river rushing through the canyon wayyyyy below. I was hanging my head out the window, like an excited dog out for a car ride. The fellow passengers weren't so excited and wanted me to shut the window. To heck with them, how often do you get such a magnificent view just after sunrise?!

By arriving on the 1st, I did manage to miss the major flash-flooding rain and hail storm on the 27th. Whew. Now, the weather and views of the Dhauladhar range are stunning. When bits of cloud dust the mountain peaks, it means it's snowing. But it never snows in McLeod. We get all the beauty of seeing the not-so-distant snow peaks without the inconvenience of having to walk in it.

I didn't realize how much the pollution of Indian cities (and Kathmandu) had been affecting me, till I got out of it. The clear mountain air is a bolt from the blue.

Year of the Fire Pig
I just came from a candlelight march around the Khyilkhor (circumambulation path surrounding the Dalai Lama's house). There must have been 1000 people there, of all ages - everyone from withered grandmothers with long grey braids to red-robed monks, rock'n' roll Tibetan teens in jeans, and foreign visitors. It was the first time for me to hear the Tibetan national anthem and I started crying - these people are up against such odds.

The protest/march/vigil was in response to the events in the Tibetan capitol in the last couple weeks. The new Tibetan year is off to a bloody start in Lhasa; after an altercation instigated by police at the most sacred temple, 14 Tibetans have "been disappeared."

Photo opportunity
Tomorrow promises to be a really big day; it's my one day for camera clearance at His Holiness the Dalai Lama's teachings. The place is so crowded, all media personnel (except official Tibetan Govt. employees) are issued a camera pass for only one day each, to eliminate the mosh-pit frenzy such as I experienced at Mahabodhi Society last month (remember the Buddha relic installation?).

"HH" is in fine form, though. I try to take notes, but the amount of material he covers in a day is astounding. He essentially uses the traditional Buddhist text (in this case, Shantideva's Guide to the Bodhisattva's Way of Life) as a framework for his own commentary. Yesterday, he referred to a traditional verse that claimed it was better to be born in a male human body. "In those days, it was considered better to be male, because they were considered the most dominant," he said. "But nowadays, we don't see so much of this type of prejudice." In other words, when you come across this type of stuff in the scriptures, you can officially ignore it.

As if all this wasn't enough, I have been invited to witness a "reading" of the Nechung Oracle tomorrow morning at 6am. Geshe Dorje, the second in-charge at Nechung Monastery, says I can take photos of the oracle, only after he comes out of the trance. In through the out-trance, or out through the in-trance. It will be a real challenge to keep my battery charged tomorrow.

The Wind in the Bodhi Tree

Everywhere a sign
Bodh Gaya, Bihar

All the signs seem to be pointing to my imminent departure from the Land of Enlightenment (Bodh Gaya), at least for the moment. Two nights ago, I came to retrieve my bicycle and someone had inexplicably wrenched the chain off track, and twisted the handlebars. (It was parked in the closed lot of the Temple Management Committee offices.) It didn't get that way by itself.

It was 6.20 at night, just after sunset.
Minutes after getting the bike fixed with the help of the Committee watchmen (I gave them a tip), I was biking between brightly-lit Kalachakra Corner and Mohammed's restaurant. Just riding my bike, ho de do... stopped to get my bearings on a darker stretch of the road. "What the hell?" I yelled as out of nowhere, a kid ran up, grabbed my breasts from behind, then jumped onto a motorcycle (driven by another waiting guy) and sped off. I pedaled furiously after them, but they disappeared into main road traffic.

The police had to be convinced to file a report ("you were not harmed, Madame, and your valueables were not stolen"). In my best Indian English, I insisted calmly but firmly- "Inspector, 'Eve-teasing' is a crime under Indian law. It is my duty to report such a crime. If you do not wish to help me, I must go to my Embassy." They reluctantly got out pen and paper.

The first five times I stated my intention to file a report, the SubInspector exclaimed "What?!" as though he didn't understand. Later it transpired that he actually spoke very good English. It was difficult to tell whether they were afraid to have such an incident go on record on their watch, just didn't want to lift a finger to do any work, or perhaps both.

I went directly to the Bodhi Tree and sat in total bliss. A group of Thai pilgrims has transformed the temple into a shining fairyland, strung with huge bunches of magenta orchids, golden banners, peacock feathers, chysanthemums, and real rock crystals strung inside the Vajrasana (where the Buddha actually sat). Some Hungarian Buddhists were having discussion with their teacher in their language, the sounds carrying images of gothic Transylvanian mountains to my ears. A Sri Lankan group in pristine white chanted soothing Pali verses. The wind blew leaves from the sacred tree, and I managed to scurry after two and pick them up from the marble floor.

I felt safe, loved, and not at all angry or even frustrated. It's true, I wasn't hurt physically, and maybe it served as a good warning - that the deserted areas even in and around the peopled ones are not safe.

Rude Awakening
The very next morning brought a knock on my door at 7.30AM. The monk-in-charge (Bhante Rashtrapala, a Bangladeshi) of the meditation centre had sent an orderly to fetch me. Though there is not a single other soul in the entire guest house, Bhante insisted I had to vacate ASAP. "There is a big group coming," he insisted. Okay, what day are they coming? "Different days, different times." And you can't tell me when the days and times are? Then he finally said - "You have been here 40 days, you cannot stay so long here - this is a tourist place" (it is? I thought it was a meditation centre and monastery). At that point two very reverent young Indian (or Bangladeshi) people came in and bowed solemnly to Bhante, heads touching the floor. "I have to talk to them now," he said, and dismissed me with an impatient wave of the hand. There was no arguing with him - I must be out by the 12th.

Well, that's final. Guess he has to make way for more appropriately subservient guests. I returned to the police station to retrieve my copy of the FIR report. But the power was off and they couldn't make a photocopy.

Ni hao do you do?
The sitemeter is showing an increasing number of viewers from Mainland China - surprising, since I discuss His Holiness the Dalai Lama so much. Either the censorship is slipping, or these viewers know a way around the Great Firewall. Or, perhaps they are government spies, keeping an eye on radical upstarts like myself.

During the recent Monlam, I met an entire group of Karmapa devotees from Mainland China. This is quite remarkable, considering that following the Karmapa's escape from Chinese-held Tibet into India, China's official position is that the Karmapa is being misled and brainwashed by nefarious parties, and that in fact one should follow their "Karmapa" - an imposter with a similar name (they even gave him eyeglasses), currently stationed in West Bengal. Of course, these devotees could also be spies, or there could be spies among them. But I don't think so - I interviewed the group leader, who is a passionate vegetarian, and his friend who was sufficiently motivated to open a vegetarian restaurant in Beijing. Tibetan Buddhism is gaining popularity in China, along with Chinese government attempts to supplant authentic lamas and teachers with those of their own invention. They do the same with the Catholic church (they have their own, "official" Catholic church). I commend the Chinese Buddhists who are daring to think and act for themselves.

Just a little background on the continuing situation in Chinese-held Tibet; this, from an independent source published on Phayul.com.:

Beijing is continuing to crack down on expressions of Tibetan cultural identity and loyalty to the Dalai Lama. One source described how their attempts to promote Tibetan language in schools was shut down because officials saw it as a veiled attempt to promote Tibetan nationalism. In June 2006, the Chinese-controlled government in Tibet started yet another “anti-Dalai Lama” campaign, requiring handwritten and verbal denunciations of His Holiness by Tibetans with government jobs. These same employees are forbidden to circumambulate the Linkhor or they will lose their salary; people who disobey have been confronted with surveillance photographs of them on the Linkhor. I heard one unconfirmed report that officials plan to turn the Barkhor area of Lhasa into a “living museum” by evicting over 2,000 families, thereby emptying the last remaining part of Lhasa that is still largely Tibetan. I address instances of economic discrimination against Tibetans in Section C below. All these examples point to a deliberate policy to simultaneously hold down the Tibetans while promoting the demographic primacy of ethnic Chinese.

And, more background, and an update on the responses from the Tibetan diaspora in this excellent Rolling Stone feature. I hope this author wrote under an assumed name - otherwise, he most definitely will never get another Chinese visa.

The Man's Still Banned
His Holiness the Dalai Lama is still banned in, among other places, Kenya and Cambodia. It's just pathetic what people will do for Chinese money. As my friend Ardith says, "I think his goodness frightens some people. "

Stalking the Wild Lama

Week In Review
Bodh Gaya, Bihar

This week, your intrepid reporter witnessed relics of the Buddha and his two primary disciples, Sariputra and Mogallana, displayed in diamond-encrusted cases, all the way from Sri Lanka. The relics arrived on a grand antique wagon drawn by four Belgian draft horses. The relics themselves, seen in closeup, looked like tiny chips of bone or tooth cushioned on cotton balls, inside the gleaming cases, which were inside a glass display box, which were inside the Mahabodhi Society Mahavihara.

The next day we saw HH the Dalai Lama enshrine those relics in the Mahabodhi Society Vihara in a solemn ceremony, made raucous with rude Indian male photographers . I thought they were going to knock over the jeweled boxes and send the relics flying into the crowd of monks. It does take a true Bodhisattva to live one's life in the near-constant presence of those snap-happy, pushing, shoving jerks without losing patience. The DL seemed quite amused at all the fuss, sometimes looking like he was suppressing laughter.

The following day the Dalai Lama opened a three-day conference, Buddhism in the 21st Century. After hearing the Bihar governor talk in Hindi for 15 minutes and end by shouting "Buddham Saranam Gacchami! Dharmam saranam Gacchami! Sangam saranam Gacchami!!"-- the DL told us, in perfect English that he insists on describing as "my broken English," that to be good Buddhists we can't "just shout mantras." We must be good people, be nice to one another and refrain from "cheating, stealing and lying."

He he he - I thought that was especially aimed at the Bihar government members who shared the platform. Then he blew everyone's mind by signing a few autographs (!) and shaking hands before being herded out the door under his usual yellow umbrella.

My right hand is still totally sore and goes numb a lot, from mouse injury...sorry I can't upload more. I did video some of the DL's speeches but just holding down the shutter-button made my hand go numb.



Faraway places

Iceland, Oman and Malta are three of the more exotic newcomers on the Sitemeter Viewers list this week.

Someone from Iceland actually read for half an hour. I would love to hear the impressions of a Scandinavian on their first trip to India!

Touched By An Avatar

Lama Drama
Sarnath, Uttar Pradesh

I got to shake the Dalai Lama's hand today. It was a total surprise - just a lucky accident. I was one of just a couple of reporters sitting in the front of the teachings at Central Insititute of Higher Tibetan Studies. The security in their grey suits with walkie-talkies came out of nowhere and said "His Holiness will come this way, so please move aside, then you can move back." I and one other woman, a Croatian freelance reporter, stayed over to one side.

First, I heard the horns. The lamas with yellow Toucan Sam hats preceded him, blowing the massive Tibetan trumpets. Then came the Indian commandos in khaki with rifles slung over their shoulders. It was a sharp reminder, amid all the ancient pageantry, of the danger he lives in every day. So many different parties would like to see this amazing person dead.

On the rare special occasions when my dog Daisy gets to come in the house, she "hides" in plain sight (crouches down on the carpet), hoping you won't notice her and make her leave. That's exactly what I did (actually knelt down on the red rug to minimize myself). He was only 10 feet away!

When he walked by I rose to my knees, peering up, and stretched out my hand. He grasped mine, softly. Wow! He looked straight into my eyes with his usual smile, a mix of curiosity, concern and sweetness (like, what are you doing down there, young lady??). Then his red robes brushed past my face and he was up the stairs to the throne. The Croatian woman next to me was weeping quietly, holding a white kata scarf he had touched.

I would love to natter on about it but there are lots of people waiting for the internet here. There are only 3 ancient computer terminals. And it's 8.30 and the gates of the Burmese monastery where I am staying close at 9pm.

A Bike Full of Buddhas

Financial Secrets Revealed!
International Adventuress Tells All
....
Chennai & Chai Guys
Sipping my morning chai at the Titanic Tea Palace, I saw a flatbed bike (cycle equivalent of a flatbed truck; used for transporting goods here) zip by, laden with plaster statues of fat, happy Chinese Buddhas, painted day-glo colours and wrapped in plastic. The Buddhas' arms stretched overhead as though they, too, were trying to shake off sleep. Lots of trinket salesmen had adjusted their usual wares for the Kalachakra, selling various Buddha figures in addition to their Hindu repertoire. Now, the Dalai Lama's photo peers out at me, not from current headlines, but from a sheet of newspaper under a pile of oily vada, where it's being used to line the snack trays. I'm a big believer in tea-stall divination. Dalai Lama's photo used as snack wrapper = time to move along.

The usual cluster of stony-eyed, mustachioed guys stood around nursing their glasses of tea, transfixed by the Telugu movie on the corner screen. (In these movies, a beautiful, fair-skinned woman wearing lots of gold jewelery cowers before a fat, greasy, hunkering dufus of a man. God knows why). I always seem to be the only woman at these "tea palaces." By now, I am used to the stares. Also, I have never seen an Indian woman read a newspaper, though the men read them studiously. Why? (or rather, why not?)

A New Adventure & The Secrets of MoneyGram
Tonight, I am off to Chennai by the night train. Yesterday I got my reservation (absolutely mandatory in India, unless you want to kick and scream your way into third class and stand for 10 hours) at Vijayawada's spiffy, efficient computerized office. I have a top berth so I hope to get a good night's rest, in addition to a bit more privacy than the lower seats. Just me, piled up on my luggage, on a 6 foot blue vinyl ledge next to a noisy set of fans and a slightly open window so I can breath in the smoke from the train. Facilities down the hall!

Train travel, still the main mode of transportation in India, is always an adventure. Indian trains all seem about 40 years old (though they're certainly much younger - like the people, they age quickly due to overwork and a hard life). The cars are divided up into at least five classes. First class travel can be extremely expensive so I prefer Sleeper Class (SL) which is the equivalent of third class but with two sets of three-high bunk beds per cell; door not included. In theory with Sleeper Class, you are guaranteed a place to sit during the day without too many people sharing your area. Then at night, the seats turn into a flat area that you can sleep on. The setup is quite ingenious really; they have really maximized a minimal space and seem to have thought of everything (including little metal rungs to help you climb like a monkey to the top berth, hanging straps, night lights, foldup tea tables and so on). All these folding and unfolding compartments - it's the Swiss Army Train!

Part of the adventure is that you never know where on the long, long platform your designated car will stop. The AC cars can't be in the front every time, or perhaps the middle - no, that would be too easy. You must get there in time to scry where your car will land. This is vital in order to get on right car before the train takes off, and to avoid running up and down the platform with all your luggage. Usually the guy running the tea stall knows, but not always. The real man with the plan is the Station Master. He loves to be coy about this vital information, pretending to attend to all manner of things before answering your question (remember, you are standing there laden with baggage in a hot station. Or at least I am - never having learned to travel light).

Chennai was known as Madras on maps older than 10 years old - until the Tamil Nationalist parties decided they had to change the name from lovely, expansive Maa-draaaas to stingy, narrow-sounding Chin-nye. This was meant to show how independent they were from the British - never mind that Madraspattinam was the original, Tamil name of the place. Or maybe they just didn't want the world to think they all walk around wearing Madras Plaid. (There really is Madras plaid - some traditional saris still feature it.)

Chennai/Madras is the fourth largest city in India, and the largest in the South (bigger than the more famous Bangalore). It is located on the southeast coast in the state of Tamil Nadu. It has the longest continuous beach in India, Marina Beach. You would think this would mean the city is caressed with cool, ocean breezes. It doesn't. Somehow, Chennai manages to provide an ocean with no breeze and no refreshing sea scent - just the sticky salt air and humidity. To make it less even enjoyable, you can imagine Dec. 26 of 2004, when this beach was hit by the tsunami and dozens died.

Chennai is relatively cool this time of year - why, the highs are only about 34 Degrees Centigrade (in the low 90s) - and because you're in India, you don't get to wear shorts and a tank top. This is South Indian Winter. At night, it gets a wonderfully cool 70 degrees, and it will stay this way till February. Whoops, that's only five days. Somehow, the weather knows exactly when Feb. 1st rolls around and then, like clockwork, it begins getting hotter by the day, till May when it is absolutely unbearable. Finally in June, the monsoon rains begin, but by then everyone who is able to has departed for cooler climes.

If you keep the fans on high, the mosquitos won't bite - but you will wake up with a sore throat. If you keep the windows open, the mosquitos will fly in, but if you close them all, you will suffocate. If you burn the mosquito coils, they won't bite, but you will breathe in poison all night long. The malaria mosquitos only bite after dark, but the dengue mosquitos bite all day long. It's pretty much a win-win scenario for the mosquitos. After the Amaravati malaria outbreak, even the Dalai Lama said it was okay to kill them (well not in those words, but he admitted that they "are unbearable").

India is a conglomeration of formerly independent kingdoms, so you can think of India as a group of countries like North America. You can imagine Kashmir as Canada (snowy mountains), northern India is the USA, with Calcutta as New York (unliveable, but with brilliant cultural and intellectual life), Delhi as Washington, DC (big dirty crime-ridden capitol, also a self-contained city-state), Mumbai (Bombay)as Los Angeles (tropical, liberal city where everyone is obsessed with their looks and making it in show business) and finally, Tamil Nadu as Mexico with Chennai as Mexico City. It's slow and relatively peaceful... except for the traffic jams. Or perhaps Chennai resembles Atlanta, Georgia - formerly a quaint capital of the traditional south, now expanding too quickly; struggling to maintain its customs and gentility while becoming the sprawling regional hub. Jasmine flowers, handloom saris and cows, wandering in and out of the construction sites for new modern tower blocks. Like Atlanta, many locals are still churchgoing folks (or in this case, temple-going).

I've never been to Goa, but I think Goa is San Francisco.

Street Kids of Madras
One of my goals in Chennai is to visit with the street kids who live on Triplicane High Road - not far from the world famous Marina Beach which was hit by the Tsunami last year.

It has been a while since I have seen these street kids so I will bring you reports on what has happened to them in the last three years. The kids range from innocent and timid to completely corrupted, hopeless rascals. My two favourites are Nagamma and Prabhu. Nagamma is a classic heartbreaker, a sweet, shy, quiet girl who refuses all offers to leave her abusive, alcoholic family. Prabhu, I understand, has done the best of the bunch, earning enough money on his bookbinding job to pay for his own vacation recently. He went on the religious pilgrimage to the famous Swami Ayyappa temple, Sabarimala, Kerala. Vela used to be a cunning, if charming, young tomboy. Now she's probably a hardened criminal. Mumtaz, the beauty of the bunch, has now married her neighborhood sweetheart Haniffa and had a baby boy. You can see all their photos here.

Visiting the kids usually means a few days of navigating their competing stories and the stories of neighborhood onlookers ("no, she has not been going to school"; "yes madam, I am daily going to school"). I don't really know exactly how old any of the kids are, because they don't know themselves.

Money Talks
Some of you have asked how I survive in India. Fortunately in India, the food, lodging and transportation costs are extremely low by western standards. I can live for about $200 to $300 a month as long as I do not buy anything expensive such as a camera or the laptop computer - which I deperately need.

Fortunately, my patient family and friends have provided some help, and other people have sent me money for selected projects. One American, who has been sponsoring street kids for over 5 years in Chennai, will be contributing a little money for me
to document what has happened to his kids now that they are growing up.

If you want to help me in any of my projects or adventures, you can
quickly and easily send me money via MoneyGram. (MoneyGram is like
Western Union but without the huge expense.) Sending money to me in India costs only $10 - for any amount - and I can pick it up in just 24 hours.

To send money to me, go to any MoneyGram agent (such as Albertson's
Supermarkets or Long's Drugs in the USA - see a full list of worldwide agents here) and give them the following information:

Location: India
First Name: Carolyn Kay (Yes. That is my real
name!)
Last Name: Martin
Amount to be Sent: $200, etc.

When you are finished, they will give you an eight digit Reference numberwhich you must email to me along with the following information:

Location: India
First Name: Carolyn Kay
Last Name: Martin
Reference Number xxxxxxxx
(Also write the numbers out to prevent errors.)
Dollar Amount Sent: $xxx.xx US
Date Send: MM/DD/YYYY
Sender's Location: City, State, Country

By the way, my email is sirensongs@yahoo.com

Every bit helps! Especially here, where rent can be as low as $50 a month (outside of big cities, where it's more) and basic meals cost an average of $2 each. It is money via MoneyGrams which keeps me going.

For instance, tonight's train ticket was 540Rs (about $12.00). Breakfast was 65rs (less than $2). Every time I burn a CD of digital photos, it's about 50Rs ($1.25) and I do this several times a week. New CD carrying cases were 100Rs for two. I spent 500Rs at the supermarket getting Ayurvedic toothpaste, a toothbrush, hair conditioner, Spirulina vitamins, batteries, cashew nuts, and new cotton underwear (three pairs for 129Rs). One of my biggest expenses is the Internet - at minimum, $1.00 a day or $30 a month, more if I want to get creative and upload photos.

It is these donations or loans which make these adventures possible. Mystery solved!

So now you know the secret of glamourous, independent international travel and adventure - generous donations from friends, family, admirers and supporters. I live from month to month - sometimes week to week - on these dispatches. It's not for everyone, but it keeps me typing.

This message has been brought to you by the Committee to Keep Sirensongs Overseas, where she is both educational and entertaining - because back in America, she's just plain annoying, and a possible national security risk.