Dry, dark and dirty

Round midnight
Kathmandu

In a country now famous for having no electricity, how is it that "a short circuit" around midnight caused a serious fire at the Sri Bagalamukhi temple in Patan Sunday night (March 16), destroying much of the carved-wooden pagoda style temple?

""The temple uses too many lights, which can sometime lead to short-circuits,"" an officer at Nepal Electricity Authority's Pulchowk office said."

Minor detail: There's no f**king electricity.

Bagalamukhi, one of the 10 Tantric Wisdom goddesses, is depicted as standing atop a demon, beating him down while snatching his tongue out of his mouth to silence him.

This image is sometimes interpreted as an exhibition of stambhana, the power to stun or paralyze one’s enemy into silence. This is one of the boons for which Bagalamukhi’s devotees worship her.

(her mantra translates as):
...Oh Goddess, paralyze the speech and feet of all evil people. Pull their tongue, destroy their intellect.

Perhaps, the Devi's own comment on suppression of the free press here in Nepal.

Shortly thereafter, the unbearable six-month dry spell finally broke, first with a smattering of rain on Wednesday night. The next day brought nothing but tantalizing rumbles of thunder and dry cracks of lightning. Thursday night, the electricity (which had gone off at 12 midnight) suddenly came BACK on at 12 again, only for a moment...then switched back off.

It wasn't till Friday afternoon we found out that Father John K. Locke, Jesuit scholar and father of Newar Buddhist studies, had died at precisely that time; midnight on Thursday night.

On Friday night I got another unpleasant surprise, in the form of my first Nepali groping. This one was a drive-by - two young men on a motorbike decided to take advantage of their speed and anonymity by grabbing my right breast as they sped past. Such incidents are well known and much-discussed among Indian travellers. Nepal, land of the Buddha and Tantra, is becoming another place where women have to go into Purdah - even in the middle of the tourist zone.

We still hadn't gotten a proper rain till Saturday afternoon, when it finally soaked the thirsty ground thoroughly.

The traditional rain god of the Valley is Rato Matchhendranath ("red lord of the fishes"); his worship is mandatory to bring the much-needed rains. Now that Nepal is "secular," I guess we have to worship Rato Prachandranath. He's the new Red God. Rather than being pulled round in a chariot, he's driven round in a limousine.


Related reading: Chinnamasta: The Aweful (sic) Buddhist and Hindu Tantric Goddess. (book reviews): An article from: The Journal of the American Oriental Society

Laundry - the frozen treat

Washed up
Chanspa, Leh, Ladakh

It had to happen sometime. I had to do laundry in freezing weather, in a gurgling stream (melt-water coming down from the mountains), my hands red and freezing and numb, the water so cold the detergent barely dissolves.

I was surrounded by Ladakhis (men and women) doing the same thing. Other people came to fill up their jerry cans and big plastic jugs with the piped stream water. I am not sure where the piped water comes from - hopefully from some place where people are not doing laundry.

A sign painted in both English and Ladakhi says very clearly "Please do not wash clothing or vehicles here." Yet this is the community laundromat.

To do Ladakhi laundry, you will need:
-at least one plastic bucket (doubles as a way to carry the clothes to and from)
-gloves
-heavy duty plastic "post mortem" gloves to put over your cloth gloves, the kind my cousin the vet used to deliver foals; also perhaps the kind used to work with radioactive substances
-detergent
-a big piece of plastic or something to lay the clean clothes on while you are using the bucket to wash the rest of them. Or, you could throw them over the chain link fence...but they clung with the freeze immediately to the metal.

Before I had finished washing all the items, icicles were dripping from the clean pants on the fence.

Snow day

Obscured by clouds
Leh, Ladakh

The sun didn't rise yesterday. At least, that's what it looked and felt like. Complete, opaque, Liquid Paper impenetrable white sky.

Yesterday was also the Day After New Year's Day here. January 2nd is depressing pretty much anywhere, and Ladakh is no different. Most of the stores were still shut, the streets largely empty. Only a few people dropped by the house for Losar; the majority of them had visited on Dec. 10, the actual traditonal Ladakhi new year. (I get to celebrate three or four different new years over here. Newar New Year in Nepal is in October; then Ladakhi Losar, then "English New Year"; then Tibetan Losar in February; then Tamil and Hindu New Year in April.)

It was so bitterly cold I almost didn't leave the house at all. It was much more comforting just sitting in the kitchen in front of the gas heater with Dolkar. She had to make butter tea all day long for the past 2 days, for the Losar guests. I helped out by washing dishes and trying to keep the dining hall neat and clean.

However, the trade-off for all this bitter cold was SNOW - my first ever Indian snowfall. By the time I arrived home around 6.30pm, snow was falling like confetti on New Year, strangely appropriate.

In the morning, we were greeted with a Winter Wonderland. No more than a centimeter or 2 of snow...but it blanketed everything. Best of all, we were treated to a generous day of sunshine. The perfect combination - snow on the ground, sun in the sky.

Born again
Since the sun decided to show today, it was the perfect day to embark on the last leg of this particular Ladakh mission: taking the bus out to Spituk Gompa just outside town (nestled between a military air base and a bunch of other military posts). I am on the trail of a newly incarnated Rinpoche, or high Tibetan lama who has chosen to reincarnate in a particular place and time in order to help "all sentient beings."

In this case, it's particularly to help all Ladakhi sentient beings. The Lama in question is Kushok Bakula Rinpoche, who "left his body" only two years ago. Bakula, in addition to being a member of the royal family, an incarnate lama and a Geshe Lharampa educated in pre-invasion Tibet, was also prominent diplomat (he became the Indian Ambassador to Mongolia), educator, social reformer, and philanthropist. Bakula is practically worshipped as a god among many Ladakhis. His photo (with prominent brow, eyes and ears a great deal like Yoda or ET) peers down from many a Ladakhi shop counter and vehicle dashboard.

Like a lot of high lamas in Buddhist dominated areas, he got involved in politics as well. In addition to being worshipped and admired he definitely had his detractors. That bit doesn't overly concern me, though. I am interested in the process of Operation Tulku Search - finding the newly incarnated lama.

Spituk Gompa was one of the "home" monasteries of Bakula Rinpoche. As I got off the mini-bus, I noticed the government street sign was spelt "Spithup Gompa."

There appeared to be absolutely no one home. After fifteen minutes of walking around empty corridors yelling "Jullay? Azhang-le? Acho-le??" a monk carrying a tea tray spotted me. I had been directed to Lama Kanchen Sonam.

When I found Kanchen Sonam, he insisted his English was no good and I should actually speak with someone in the nearby village of Sabu.

But I persisted, and after dropping a few key words of Buddhist jargon that showed I knew more than the average tourist, he invited me in for tea and biscuits. We ended up having a long conversation (somehow, despite language differences) about Bakula's significance and life works. Kanchen was only 12 when he first came to Spituk some 15 years ago. Obviously Kanchen had known and looked up to Bakula all his life. "All people of Ladakh now are praying," he said, " for Bakula to come quickly."

I wanted to know: what exactly will they do to find the new Rinpoche? I know they had done some pujas. Will they use an oracle? Meditate, examine their dreams? When will they begin the search from house to house? How will they know where to start?

Kanchen said the Dalai Lama was consulted during his summer visit here. It was somehow determined that the new Rinpoche had already taken birth, somewhere here in Ladakh. There was a bit of controversy because the people of Mongolia, who also remember him so fondly, had insisted he would be reborn there.

Because he talked to me for so long, Kanchen was late to say his 4pm prayers. So, I had to help him empty and refill the offering bowls for afternoon worship. As if to discourage me from snooping around the gompa while he prayed, the electric lights went out promptly as he started chanting.

I caught a late bus back home to Leh. Kanchen and I are meeting tomorrow to consult with someone at the Central Institute for Buddhist Higher Studies about reincarnation. Someone who "has full English."

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.

Dealing With Delhi

A Capitol Idea
New Delhi

I finally pulled myself away from Bodh Gaya. I checked out of the International Meditation Centre and my clean, quiet, cheap room where everything worked (24 hour hot water - 125Rs donation per day). Sadly, I turned in my trusty blue Avon bicycle, delivered a few books for resell to Kundan Bazar, and took a night taxi to the Gaya train station (the train for Delhi was at 11.30pm, and autorickshaws aren't safe on that route at night). It was really nice staying in a community in which so much of the activity is oriented around meditation, monasticism and spirituality. Not to mention, a sort of living zoo. Each morning as I pedaled down the dirt road toward the main road, I was confronted by snuffling black hogs, scratching chickens, moseying cows, waddling ducks, strutting long-legged water birds in the mosquito swamp next door, and tail-wagging street dogs.

Sigh, back into the noise, sophistication and rush of big city life.

I'm en route to McLeod Ganj and the Dalai Lama's annual teachings. The tiny hill station of McLeod will be positively swamped because of this. I still haven't managed to book a room via phone. Hopefully things will improve when I "land" from the overnight stomach-churning bus. Everyone I have gotten to know over the past 2 months in Bodh Gaya and Sarnath will also be there. By now I feel like they are some kind of family, which I suppose is true. Anna, the wonderful Croatian journalist who sat next to me the first time I shook the Dalai Lama's hand. Lilian and Simon, two dedicated volunteers who are travelling and teaching about global warming in Indian schools. Schahel (spelling?), the Israeli Buddhist with whom I shared the taxi from the Varanasi airport, the very first day. And Ina, the Russian Buddhist who was my next-door-neighbor in Kathmandu in 2005!

It's still quite decent in mornings and evenings here, weather-wise, but the mid-day is already getting too hot for me. The semi-annual (twice yearly) planetary conjunction of Mercury Retrograde is underway, with all its attendant confusion, miscommunications, goof-ups and misconnections. Laugh if you will, but I just about went under during the last two. It will all be over on 7 March, but that's two more weeks of confusion away.

I don't see why people grouse so much about Delhi, but then, I have never had to live, commute and work here. As a stopover it is really quite civilized.

No need to mess with the many touts and hawkers at the railway station. I just head directly for the Pre-Paid Autorickshaw stand, where a trusty uncle behind the desk asks my destination and determines the "karrekta" fare. I pay him, and he writes my destination and name on a slip. At the end of the drive, I hand the slip to the driver. No muss, no fuss, and no argument over price. If I stay in Tibet Colony (Majnu ka tilla), the ride is about 60Rs from New Delhi and less from Old Delhi station. There, I can get a swell, clean room for about 300Rs (seven dollars) a night or less, depending on availability. However, it is far from any offices or errand-running places. So, I take a cycle rickshaw to the spanking new Delhi Metro - Vidhan Sabha station. That costs 10rs (about twenty cents).

The Metro is a great example of what modern India can do when it puts its considerable brains to work. It's spotless, safe, cool and well lit, and the trains run on time so as to put Switzerland to shame. A ride from Vidhan Sabha to Rajiv Chowk (a central stop) is 11Rs. Damn, the New York subway never looked so good! Amazing. You are not allowed to eat or drink on this metro - that helps, a lot. I pity the NYC cop who would try to part a Manhattanite from his morning bagel.

Rajiv Chowk is essentially the centre of Connaught Place (they still haven't successfully given this a patriotic renaming). I find "CP," essentially three concentric circles connected by covered arcade walkways, to be very easily traversed and the covered arcades make a welcome respite from sun or rain. And compared to other places, it's so clean!

I can't afford to buy a darn thing, but if I could, I would head directly to the State Emporia complex on Connaught Place. Here, all the best of Indian fabrics, clothing, handicrafts and such are laid out in orderly, browsable fashion. No digging through piles of fabric or dusty stacks of prints in a crowded, badly-lit shop. Glorious silk sarees of Andhra Pradesh and Orissa, each with their distinctive weave patterns, shimmer in the shop windows.

And, my favourite orange ice-cicles are on sale on every corner. Five rupees each.

Travelers complain about central Delhi, I think, because they arrive here first and have yet to see the rest of India. So they think Delhi is nasty. They have no idea how bad it's going to get elsewhere!

Rain Song

Mucking about
Patna, Bihar

It's raining here, as well as in most of the Northern region - Delhi, Varanasi and so on. Doesn't sound so strange, unless you realize that in this part of the world, at this time of year, it's virtually unheard of. It means puddles of muck to tiptoe around (there are no sidewalks to speak of), mouldy laundry and lots of grown men with mufflers tied round their heads under their chins, which makes them look sort of like a cross-dressing Babushka, or as if they've got them mumps.

Normally, Indian weather comes in extreme waves. The rainy season here is generally June-September. After November, there's not a drop (and I mean, not one) till the following monsoon. Also, crummy photography - they light just isn't there and the mist is bad for the digital camera.

So why have skies been grey and cloudy for the past week? It's a mystery. Meanwhile, Himachal in the mountains has received no snow, worrying the tourist industry, and in the UK they are freaked out by unprecedented snowfall. It's so (relatively) cold in Cambodia that people who've never owned a sweater are out shopping for them.

Here's a thought from Tricycle.com about the spirit of the rain.

The Supreme Water Spirit

The supreme water spirit Ocean covers the earth with clouds; the rain in each place is different, but the spirit has no thought of distinction.

Likewise, Buddha, sovereign of truth, extends clouds of great compassion in all directions, raining differently for each practitioner, yet without discriminating among them.