I didn't realize that Dharamsala's other name could be Little America. The number of Californians here probably equals the total number of other tourists, which combined equals the number of Tibetans. The place is overran with gringos (called gora here) sporting their renunciate-orange Oakleys, pretty dreadlocks, and carefully chosen trendy hippy gear. As a result I was unable to secure a hotel room and had to settle for a roof-top under-the-stars experience, the duration of my stay in Dharamsala, during which I pondered the following:
This roof is better than any hotel I've stayed in. A million suns against a milky-black infinity, a large Tibetan prayer flag rippling directly overhead in a crisp early spring breeze, and the thought of being assaulted by monkeys as I sleep gives way to a question I need to spend more time on, that of the difference between courage and stupidity.
The question has been in the back of my mind for some time, that of courage and stupidity. It surfaces here as I solo under the stars and everytime I board an Indian train, as these things derail, explode, or burn daily. You see, invariably some disaster has preceeded a trip, or at least they're always fresh in my mind. For example, right before this journey (three days maybe) a couple of militants torched the so-called Peace Train on its way to Delhi from at least as far as the Pakistan border. And now I'm headed to the Jammu border, and won't be far from where a number of tourists dissappear every year, usually from some valley the name I don't recall.
Bombs, monkeys...why? A thousand stares, a few pics, and a couple of smiles? Is that all? If so, than I am definitely stupid.
Then there are those moments when, with a bitter-sweet hint, I say to myself, "you're not in Kansas anymore". Like when I met this Italian dude named Simon on the train, also going to Dharamsala. I had actually seen him first in Paharganj (Delhi). He stood out with his tall, skinny build, shaved head still stained with gulal from playing Holi, and very long brahman ponytail thing. He was the kind of sight most if not all of us would laugh at. Absolutely goofy looking and carrying a sitar to top it all off.
Even at that moment, in Paharganj, I wanted to talk to him. Why do you do this? I would ask. So, when we ran into each other on the train I broke the ice by letting him know how absurdly jealous I was of him with his ability to travel with nothing but a tiny, tiny backpack, sleeping bag, and sitar. That was until I saw him locking up another giant backpack under the seat (I learned later that half this stuff was just what he could carry when the circus he traveled with broke down in Turkey...his load was half circus props!). He chuckled and said that he really needs to give away some of his things.
He had come to India via a land route from Italy. Think about that for a second. A person all of us would have picked on in highschool, traveling alone through Greece, Turkey, Iran, and Pakistan, to finally reach India. I'm reminded of the strength and courage of Napoleon Dynamite as evidenced in the final scene (the dance sequence). How many of us would attempt such a thing?
On the bus the next day, we discussed the difference of him not being American and making that journey. He said although his trip was excellent and he was treated very well, that he met a woman, in Iran if I remember correctly, who had an American visa in her passport (I don't remember where she was from) and who received some degree of trouble for it.
He told me that Iran appears to be on the verge of another revolution, a social revolution. He said the women don't like covering up. That ullama get harassed in public. And more. He said an American invasion is desired by the Iranian politicians and the decreasingly powerful who would in turn regain their slipping position.
But all this is an aside. The point is that Simon's courage makes me feel like a real chump.
Another "not in Kansas" moment occurred the morning I was to leave Dharamsala. The day before I had visited Geshe Sonam near the Nechung temple (their Oracle) where he stays. With the aid of a translator I asked him a couple of questions I had regarding the Dalai Lama's intentions of future reincarnation and the political difficulties as such if this were to occur within the Tibetan Autonomous Region, currently internationally recognized as China's "problem". He answered (DL will incarnate in a non-Communist territory), I snapped a couple of pics for a professor back home, and headed back up the hill.
As I walked I decided to get a print out of the pic and return one to him later.
The next morning, before most people had stirred (it's far easier to wake up in the morning when I sleep outside for some reason), I stood outside my rooftop home and debated whether to immediately head down to Geshe Sonam and catch him before he left to meet the big DL, or just drop it off with a secretary later. After seemingly several minutes I began my way back down the hill, pic in hand. The moment I reached his home the door opened. Apparently surprised, and dressed in the typical robes of Tibetan monks, he invited me in. He showed me the donation that I had delivered which was actually no good to him as he could not cash the check. I fronted the loot and handed him his pic. To him, and the rest of the monks present, this was probably more than just mere coincidence, and the feeling didn't escape me either. I venture to say that it must be somewhat difficult for even the most vehement non-spiritual person to not feel something in this environment.
I'm compelled to admit some degree of sadness over not being able to make sense of any of this though. But, should I beat myself over it? Wouldn't I just be that much closer (and yet still an eternity away) to knowing everything? And then what would life be but empty? Am I right? Is uncertainty that essential quality of a life lived? In other words, does one existing in absolute certainty "feel" alive? I guess I don't believe so, and that's why I would take the mild risk of being burned alive, a victim of some political struggle I can half sympathize with, to meet people like Simon and Geshe Sonam, interesting characters indeed.
I won't sweat the rest of this right now, in time all will be revealed. ...we all recognize those "way-points" of life sooner or later. As for the question of stupidity and courage, well, I'll content myself with the pursuit of a pure courage. Whatever that is.
[Pics from top to bottom: monks and nuns que up for one of the Dalai Lama's lectures, the prayer flag above and the mountains beyond (taken while in my sleeping bag on the roof, and Geshe Sonam Rinchen]
