Northern India

During the summer months India’s Himalayan foothills offer some relief from the sweltering heat of the plains below. After I had endured the scorching heat of Rajasthan for a few weeks I made getting to cooler climates a priority.

On my way north from Delhi I stopped to visit a few places in Punjab; namely, the Golden Temple in Amritsar and the Pakistan-India border crossing. The Golden Temple is the seat of the Sikh religion. Watching the masses of pilgrims perform their prayers throughout the temple complex was fascinating. Inside the Golden Temple itself, Sikh priests performed live hymns with an organ and tabla drums whilst sitting on the floor. The mesmerizing music was complimented by the gold and precious stones that decorated the temple’s interior, and by the beams of sunlight that flashed through the large crystal chandelier that hung in the center of the room. The music plays continuously throughout the day, and it is even broadcasted live on Indian TV.

I find the Sikhs to be a noble looking group of people. They tend to be rather tall for Indians, and they adorn themselves with majestic turbans, authoritative beards and curved daggers on their hips. At a random bus station I recently saw a Sikh in brilliant blue robes carrying a large scimitar on his belt. The Punjabis more generally were also a charming group of people. I was frequently stopped throughout the day for handshakes, conversations, or to be included in the family photos of complete strangers. At times it felt like I was a celebrity.

At the Pakistan-India border crossing near Amritsar, the discord between the neighboring countries has taken a more lighthearted tone. Each evening troops from both countries engage in an elaborate ceremony while closing the border gates. Each side of the gate has stadium seating to accommodate the thousands of spectators who gather to cheer for their respective country. I failed to see the excitement in the ceremony itself, but listening to thousands of Indians and Pakistanis roar at each other whilst waving flags was entertaining. To and from the border I was mashed so tightly in a van full of Indians that the driver had to shift gears with the stick shift situated between my legs. There were some close calls, and reverse was especially a cause for concern. Road travel in India is a mix of comedy and terror. Vehicles weave through the unorganized tangle of cattle, cars, rickshaws and humans at high speed. India is no different from the rest of Asia in this respect, but it seems more intense here, perhaps because it is so crowded.

After I reached the Himalayas I decided to stay with the exiled community of Tibetans in McLeod Ganj. My experiences in Tibet gave me a desire to contribute something to the Tibetan community. I began teaching and tutoring with several charities while editing an English publication on Tibetan affairs for another. The exchange of information between teacher and student was definitely a two way street. I helped my adult students stammer through English lessons while they gave me lessons in determination, patience, impermanence and bravery by relaying tales of their own life experiences. The stories many of these people had are book-worthy. Most had endured the hardships associated with a three week crossing of the Himalayas on foot, having left behind all things familiar and most things loved. My travels in Tibet helped me to establishing a connection with my students as I could more easily envision the places they described and the experiences they had. I became particularly close with a monk named Jam-Yang. Jam-Yang and I passed many hours sharing our life stories with each other, and eventually we began spending most of our free time together. When I left, Jam-Yang presented me with a traditional white scarf called a katak, draping it around my neck. This gesture is a sign of respect and endearment in Tibetan culture. The tiny town of McLeod Ganj is home to the Tibetan Government in Exile and the Dalai Lama. As with most places in India, the electricity supply was unreliable and I spent many nights relying on candles for light. The weather was cool and the scenery was fantastic.

On the return trip to Delhi I stopped through Shimla. Shimla served as the subcontinent's summer capital under the British Raj. The town has massive fieldstone mansions, tudor-style homes and a cathedral in the town square. If it wasn’t for the pesky monkeys and colorful saris, it would have been easy to think that I was in a small English town rather than in India. What I enjoyed most about Shimla was the fact that it got cold enough at night to warrant the use of heavy wool blankets.

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