Broadband in the sand

The internet and long-distance phone tent here ("CyberZone")is quite a sight. The tangle of cords, plastic chairs, sandy soil and monk's long robes ensures that you're tripping over something every time you move an inch. The net speed itself is amazingly fast; alternating with long periods of completely lost connection (so I guess it evens out). There's nothing like a simultaneously lost connection reinforce international and intercultural solidarity. Everyone rolls their eyes and throws up their hands in the same language. But it's a good way to spend the otherwise unbearable hours from 11am to 4pm.

Korea's Oh My News! has agreed to help me get a press pass, and India's esteemed Financial Express has agreed to run a story if I can scrape one together. I'm so excited I could just pee!

Today is the first Earth Ritual Dance by the monks of Namgyal Monastery. Stay tuned for more news as it happens.

Earth Day

I awoke to the sounds of Tibetan chant reverberating through the ground beneath me. This must be the "Earth prayers" done by senior monks to please the local spirits of the land, a requirement for all Tibetan pujas, especially one this big. The bass tones sounded like a human didgeridoo, the voice of the earth itself. Since the chants aren't open to the public and are half a mile from my tent anyway, I stayed put. Lying on my thin straw mat with a sheet of cotton wrapped around me, I closed my eyes and absorbed the vibrations, feeling blessed to be enveloped in the sounds. The air had cooled again, there was dew on the dusty ground, and roosters crowed in the distance.

I think the prayers worked.


Kalachakra Checklist:
Current exchange rate: 45Rs = $1.00 US.

*A straw or woven plastic mat for the floor of your tent. - 35 Rs for straw, more for plastic, also varies with size. The 35Rs one is just big enough for me to sleep on

*A hand-held fan (plastic ones are sold here), as you will be seated amongst hundreds of people for many hours from 1pm-4.30 pm - 20Rs

*Umbrella for the hot mid-day. Absolutely essential unless you want heatsroke. -I paid about $3.00 for mine in Sri Lanka, have to check local prices

*Plastic sandals you can wear in the "shower" (bath cubicle)- 70Rs for good ones, cheapo ones much less

*Mosquito coils - 22Rs for 12 coils that burn all night. I personally find that mosquito nets don't work.

*Flashlight - varies with quality. Include batteries in your budget

*Sunblock - the one I like includes Parsol, which blocks both UVA and UVB equally. It's costly - about 200Rs.

*Plastic bucket and dipper for bathing in the "shower" (you have to fill up the bucket and pour water over yourself - you also have to cart your shower stuff to and from the shower stalls) - 55 Rs with plastic mug

*FM Radio and headphones to receive the English translation broadcast of the Dalai Lama's Tibetan language teachings - they're selling them here for 400Rs with headphones but that is a tourist price at the "official" souvenir stand for foreigners, run by Norbulingka Institute. Again, figure batteries into your cost

*Mug for tea (Tibetan teachings are always accompanied by endless cups of tea)- Stainless steel mug with plastic handle, absolutely indestructible, should cost about 30Rs

*Seat cushion (you must mark your place; also you must sit crosslegged for many hours at a time and a cushion can help)- Prices vary; have to check. Norbulingka souvenirs wanted an amazing 400Rs but this is outrageous and not necessary

*Plastic bag to wrap your shoes in (for carrying through the seated crowd; it is rude to hold your shoes at someone's face level) - free with any purchase

*Water bottle - 15Rs for one litre

*Sunglasses would help but are not essential.

--All of these things except possibly the sunblock can be purchased here.

Blogachakra

Amaravati, Andhra Pradesh

I made it! - just arrived this morning on the bus from Guntur. A local Hindu man who was also travelling to Amaravati took it upon himself to guide me from Hyderabad's Central Bus Stand to the correct bus, then the change in Guntur, and even carried my backpack to the bus(those of you who haven't been to India may not appreciate this - only "coolies" carry stuff here).

My striped circus tent (sleeps 10) needs floor matting and has no electricity, and we use the latrine/public bath, which is a concrete cubicle with just a spigot, no actual showerhead.

I'm Tent #407 - but the tent city is enormous, fields of canvas among yucca plants and palm trees. In case that sounds lovely and sylvan, I should mention the latrines and dust. In fact, it's mostly dust. I have to find my way among the endless rows of "meals hotels," village houses and clothes vendors, all of which are erected for the occasion from bamboo poles, canvas sheeting and tarps. It's fun to watch the Buddhist nuns shop for jeans (where will they wear them? I can't help wondering). My tent is located back behind a row of local houses made of thatch roofs with concrete floors and water buffalo grazing in the sideyards. Locals are so amused that I would want to snap a photo of a baby water buffalo; sort of like someone coming to Tennessee and wanting to photograph a pickup truck - it's nothing special here.

As the tents were pitched in the middle of an ordinary field they have the added bonus of cow manure on the "floor." Knowing as I do of the sacred and healing properties of cow dung, I considered this auspicious.

Lots of locals are renting out rooms in their houses, even their whole houses while they sleep on the porch. It's possible to rent a clean room in a village house, with running water and private Indian village style bath (that means cold water bucket bath from a pump and squat toilet) and electric, for $100 for the entire 16 days. (This is good for this special event, but a fortune for India! Such a room would rent for about $20 a month normally). Two people or more can sleep in such a room.

Buddhist compassion takes interesting forms; for the residents this could be a chance to make more money in 2 weeks than they normally make in 6 months. Andhra is a poor state with one of the lowest literacy rates. Suicides among hopelessly indentured farmers, made desperate from the droughts, soared into the 1000s here in the past few years.

After stumbling down from the bus lopsided with my backpack, I had breakfast on the side of the dirt road with a bunch of monks who had come straight from Kham district, Tibet. They spoke "little little English" but were a good-natured, thigh-slapping bunch who readily made a place for me and my junk on the roadside charpoy (a sort of Indian cot). They were fulfilling the dream of a lifetime - to see the Dalai Lama, whose name and photo are forbidden now back in Tibet. Breakfast was 2 idlis (steamed rice cakes) with coconut chutney made in the fiery Andhra style (inedible to me - Andhra chilis are weapons of mass destruction) and tiny plastic thimbles full of chai. All the public announcements and most of the signs are in Tibetan so I guess I will be learning a little Tibetan as well as Telugu in the next 2 weeks. It was satisfying to have my few words of Tamil and Malayalam return magically to my brain and be understood by the local people, who at least appreciated my attempts to speak a Southern language. Since many visitors are here from Tibet, Japan, Thailand, China, Singapore and elsewhere photos of the Buddha were helpfully taped onto the local buses headed this way (normally all the signs are in Telugu). The Enlightenment Express!

This has been declared a Vegetarian Kalachakra which must be a challenge for the meat-loving Tibetans. There are signs everywhere in Tibetan, Telugu, Hindi, English and Chinese
saying "stop meat, save animals!" and "animal rights, human wrongs!"

More later, I need to go get registered and get a map of this enormous site. There is so much dust here in dry Andhra that this computer keyboard has to be encased in a plastic bag, and about fifty percent of the attendees are walking around in surgical masks.

...Later...
Wow, I am knackered after a few hours spent in the midday sun. Amazing how quickly you dehydrate even just strolling around in such weather. I was a good alien and went to the Foreigner's Registration Cell, just a tent with a sandy floor and the usual molded plastic furniture. Turns out I needed 2 passport photos (note to self: never travel without these, you never know when you'll need them. Really) and photocopies of my passport and visa. Felicity (a delightful South African woman who used to teach English in post-independence 1960's Zambia) and I accomplished this with a stroll "downtown." Suresh the photocopy man had icons of Shirdi Sai Baba and Amma & Bhagawan ("very powerful darshan") on his walls. He highly recommended I pay Amma & Bhagavan a visit at their Golden Temple in Chennai. Across the street, the passport photo man took his job extremely seriously. Using an ancient hand-held Polaroid, he produced 4 copies of the Polaroid photos for 50Rs (about $1.10). We then returned to the "cell" just in time for the "in-charge," who had been examining every single application as though it were written in Farsi and studiously refusing to allow anyone to use his ink pen, decided he was taking lunch (at 3pm).

That was my cue to shuffle back through the dust to take my second "shower" of the day (really just splashing water from the knee-level tap over my body). At about 5.30 pm I saw a wave of Tibetans coming from the KalaRanga (Arts Stage). His Holiness had given an inaugural speech, and it was never even announced! Judging from the crowd moving my way, the only people who heard this at all were the Tibetans. I felt cheated and disappointed as waves of devotees came toward me. The Tibetans in their heavy dress were interwoven with Andhra people of all sorts, Muslims in white kufis and kurtas, Hindus with various tilak-marks on their foreheads, Om Shakti pilgrims (who dress all in red), Sabarimala pilgrims (dressed all in black), all drifting toward me as evening sandhya music played over a loudspeaker. Sandhya (dusk) devotional music is full of yearning, longing and wistfulness. To hear it as the brutal sun vanishes, the day's dust settles and purple twilight takes its place is always a magical moment for me.

I decided to forget my disappointment in missing the speech and enjoy the impromptu parade of traditional costumes, twirling prayer wheels, high cheekbones and almondeyes from across the Asian plateau. The Ladakhis wear completely different dress from the Tibetans - a heavy black skirt - and many women sported the traditional silver finery in their long braids and around their waists. Their ability to wear such weighty clothing, heavy skirts and chunky shoes in any kind of weather truly amazes me.

The sight of all these Tibetans mingling with Indians reminded me of India's amazing ability to absorb various influences, and of the episode in the Dalai Lama's autobiography, describing his entry into India after his escape in 1959. When he got to Delhi, he was shocked and moved to tears to find the streets lined with Hindus and other Indians shouting "Dalai Lama Ki Jai! Dalai Lama Zindabad!" ("long live the Dalai Lama"). At this point, Buddhism had almost obsolete in India for 1000 years. Despite all its own problems, including those of population and land distribution, the newly independent India managed to incorporate these people and find a home for them. It was partly out of mutual alliance against the Chinese, but also out of respect for Buddhism, a faith that originated in India, moved elsewhere and was now returning "home." Indians of all beliefs seem to harbor an almost automatic respect for any holy person, whether it be the Pope, Mother Theresa, or this century's incarnation of the Living Buddha.

I made my way into "town" (downtown Guntur, a row of ragtag shops) to buy mosquito coils and a straw floor mat for my tent (total cost: 60Rs, about $1.50). A power outage transformed the main street into a candlelit row, which is probably how it looked all the time 30 years ago. The shop I chose to buy from was run by three women with not a man in sight - very unusual. Most women are married here by age 23 or so and once they're married, they usually do not work outside the home. "Ladies' shop!" I exclaimed. They nodded proudly. "Sisters? Munna sisters?" (three sisters?) I asked. Yes, they laughed and smiled. "I also am having three sisters! Oru akkaiah, oru thamudi" (one elder, one younger). If you can't talk about cricket, you can always connect with Indians by discussing family.

Back in the circus tent I collapsed onto my new straw mat and continued reading the Kalachakra book ("An engaged practitioner is more interested in helping others than in satisfying selfish desires"). A voice from the "door" scared the hell out of me. It was a Tibetan teenage boy who wanted to know how much I had paid for my tent. Problem was he couldn't understand my answer. Then he started talking about mosquitoes being a problem (deciphered through hand gestures and the word "mozzkito") so I gave him a coil and showed him how to use it. I tried to return to reading my book, but he then pulled out wrinkled photocopy of English homework and asked me to correct it.

"They had a good time. They enjoyed __________." "Themselves," I wrote in the blank. Most of his answers were perfect, though. Rinchen Tsangpo turned out to be in a neighboring tent, #387, with four other Tibetan boys. He didn't take repeated hints that I was ready to fall asleep. I began to wonder if he was coming onto me, or just wanted help with his homework. Possibly both?

High Alert in Hyderabad

The public bus from McLeod Ganj got to Delhi 2 hours early, but my plane arrived in Hyderabad an hour late - possibly delayed because of the terror threat in "Cyberabad." The 12-hour bus ride found me in the "cabin" - the bus's equivalent of a cockpit, a last-minute seat sold out of desperation. I shared the front driving compartment with the beedi-puffing driver, his sidekick, an accountant from Delhi and three members of a Tibetan family who slept piled up on one another like puppies. During the tedious hairpin descent from McLeod, the bus slammed to a near full-stop (and when an Indian driver actually employs the brakes, you know it's serious).

It was a female deer who'd wandered out of the woods into the headlights. Unanimously, my fellow passengers and I emitted "ooooooh!" - not out of fear, but combined admiration for the animal, the driver's skill, and relief that she was unharmed. "Beauty-full! Beauty-full!" enthused the accountant beside me, nodding with reverence. Several people congratulated the driver on avoiding the deer ("Shah baaz!" - "well done"). This is the kind of thing I love about India - I was trained in the States to never, ever risk my life for that of an animal ("what if you swerve and go off the road?") and that it was better to hit a stray dog or cat than swerve. (Remember, we were in an enormous, lumbering bus so that any collision with a slow-moving deer would definitely have come out in the bus's favour.)

We arrived so early in Majnu Ka Tilla, nothing was open and there was not a room to be had. So I piled up my luggage on an empty wooden fruit cart and slept there till 8am when the restaurant opened. You can feel safe doing that in Tibet Colony; you are surrounded by 85% monks and nuns in maroon robes, some of whom are doing the same thing (sitting on the wooden cart, sipping an early tea and trying to wake up).

I got to Hyderabad just in time to find the city on high alert following Muslim fundamentalist bomb threats to the National Science Convention. The plot was successfully foiled just yesterday afternoon. The airport was full of white official Ambassadors with Indian flags and flashing lights ("Dept. of Protocol") awaiting arrival of both the Prime Minister and President who will be attending the Science Convention. Officials suspect the threatening group may have ties to those who shot up Bangalore's Indian Inst. of Science last week and threatened another New Year's attack there.

Andhra security forces really have their hands full between the anti-progress, anti-technology bomb threats and the Naxalite Communist threats on the life of the Dalai Lama. And I have my hands full trying to get to the Amaravati site before His Holiness arrives. Conventional Tib wisdom seems to be that this is the last Kalachakra event ever, at least from the current incarnation. Don't want to wait another lifetime for this experience.

I am still facinated by the story of what happens to the newcomers and their personal meeting here with his Holiness. Unfortunately, as soon as I
got well, it was time to leave McLeod Ganj for Amaravati. My plan is to return there
in March for the Dalai Lama's annual teachings. This is the biggest
ho-down all year there except maybe his birthday, July 6. Then the weather
will be better, and there will be loads of people (Tibetan, newcomers, foreign volunteers).

The Economist was here 2 weeks ago and did a report. Evidently all the newcomers phone home if possible after the reception, and the first thing they say (before even enquiring about family) is "His Holiness looks only 40!" and they break into tears because they got to see Him.

Beauty-full! Beauty-full!

Slam-Dancing with the Sikhs

House of the Rising Monks

The net was down all day long all over McLeod on New Year's Eve, and phone lines were so jammed it was a miracle that I got my reservation to Hyderabad. My saviour came in the form of an AirDeccan employee who promised he would "do the needful." Once an Indian says that, they really mean it, and you know your troubles are over.

Later attempts to phone people for New Year's greetings were all stymied. I couldn't get a hot bath until 2pm. Nor could I get through to the Andhra number for the Norbulingka Institute (the people running Kalachakra) to upgrade my accomodations. So, those are my excuses for not sending out timely New Year's greetings.

Getting practically nothing done took most of the day. How is it that, no matter what other amenities are down (phone, net, hot water), the damned TV showing Hindi movies always works? The TV did provide a diversion while hitting redial to the airline all afternoon and gave me a friendly way to pass the time with the little fellow who runs the net-phone-travel shop ("Who's that - Madhuri Dixit? Which film is this?"). (Here, public phones are usually on a desk in a small shop, which often is home to an internet service, among other things. Since there are frequently delays and interruptions in service, when the phone doesn't go through, you can always try the net, and when the net isn't working, you can watch TV. When nothing's working you go out and get chai for everyone, bring it back and talk about what you're going to do when the power comes back on.)

This ensured that just a couple phone calls turned into an entire day's stress. So after tea at McLlo's, we all went to see Monty Python's the Life of Brian. By the time it had finished McLeod Square was chock-full of drunken Punjabis slam-dancing to bhangra music. It was quite colourful to watch all the bright turbans bouncing (pink, orange, red, baby blue) bouncing round in a mini mosh-pit. McLlo's had actually pulled the gate shut to keep the rowdies from flooding the place, but as we're regulars they recognized us. We shared the upstairs with a fair number of bewildered-looking Indian families on holiday, the girls and ladies very cute with their knit toboggan caps matching their salwar suits.

Tom, Toto, the Swedish Guy, the Finnish Guy, two beautiful Australian girls whose names I didn't get, Tim and Tam (yes, there was a Tom, Tim, Toto, and Tam) and I watched the amateur fireworks at the bus stand from the relative safety of our upstairs aerie. We drowned out the crappy boy-band music the restaurant was playing by screaming along to Dylan songs Tim played on his guitar. No one could remember how many verses "House of the Rising Sun" really has.

At midnight all the Punjabi Sikh boys (some of whom had infiltrated the upstairs) went wild jumping up and down chanting "East or West, Punjab is the Best." (Where are all the Sikh women, I wondered?) Rather than big romantic kisses at midnight, the fashion here seems to be to shake the hand of every single person in the room. The Australian girls made our table the most popular handshaking target by far.

Happy New Year! and to all those friends and well-wishers who sent their kind thoughts and wishes for 2005...it didn't do a damn bit of good, please send cash for 2006.