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Published: August 16th 2015
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I had lost count of the days when one morning Reeta asks if I want to go to Dharamsala. I'd said no the day before and again declined. I had spent my days between yoga sessions sat on a low-lying table they have outside the kitchen, but used as a bench, reading, writing or many times enjoying the calm of the scenery and the sound of the river. My curiosity was aroused though when I noticed they had made an extra special effort with their clothes. 'Why are you going to Dharamsala?' There had been a curfew for cars in Mcleod after 6pm because of an incident, Reeta said some Tibetans had been drinking and beat up some cops. This upset their daily routine and so were making a complaint to the local Dimaschal (the region) magistrate. Along with, 'white lady, chocolate log owner, you know?...But here many years' as I later found out she had set up in Mcleod before the road had been built from Dharamsala, about 10 years ago, and since then 'very big progress'. The only other place then in that part of Mcleod (South, bit further down the hill) was the hotel I'd first stayed at,
Hotel Ekant. Ekant means lonely, the owner was clearly feeling comical, he'd come from the forest, 'where lonely, hehe' Reeta said. Perhaps a good thing I didn't try to barter!?
I thought this might prove interesting. And so I similarly put on my Sunday best (trousers,converse,long-sleeved top) and merrily followed the family up the hill for the first time since my arrival. The drive itself was an experience. I was in the back with the 2 kids, Mitu (in full, Mridul) & Shagun (pronounced Shay-goon). First I look for the seatbelt...then I notice the kids. Mitu is sat on the floor staring at me, wearing a quizzical look, Shagun is stood up looking through the gap in the front seats. So no seatbelt. And we set off. A song comes on they like. The windows is down and the music gets turned up. The parents are singing and the kids go wild; clapping, singing, dancing. The sheer joy of shrieks from Mitu and Shagun would have been enough to warm the coldest heart. Without realising I am murmuring and moving my body to the music, the kids see me, I have a self-check, but it's impossible to not be
?
A couple of the very odd seating arrangments swept in by this tsunami of joy, my arms now are making Jagger-esk movements, i'm clicking my fingers and the kids are going crazy. The parents unperturbed. We stop for lunch en route at a hotel on the side of the road. The view is simply majestic. The balcony overlooks a deep precipice with a narrow river at the bottom which winds it's way up the vast colossal mountains through a large forest. A larger hotel on the other side is being constructed. We are at one of the entry points into the Himalayas, and the view does not disappoint.
The government building of Dharamsala, newly built, I would describe like an NHS hospital but shitter. White walled, no decor, poor lighting, and you can smell the toilets from far away enough to encourage the sphincter. Rashpal (teacher/Dad) asks 'what do you think?' I lie. He has an air of pride. I thought it was funny that the higher the floor the more senior the official. We were on the middle floor. We waited a while and were about to leave when we last minute discovered the magistrate was available. The room was laid out like a conference but for 10 people. We sit, the Chocolate log lady speaks first..., 'ok, ok, no problem,' the magistrate replies after listening patiently slowly nodding his head. I'm thinking this is going well, but then more complaining from chocolate log lady with slightly raised tone..., 'ok, ok,' he says again but this time simultaneously reaching for a scrap pad. I'm not sure if chocolate log lady had been over-zealous or understood something i didn't. The magistrate simply writes a 'chit' out to give permission for vehicle entry during curfew. Doesn't seem very official but she and Reeta are satisfied.
The return journey to the Ashram. Firstly we stop at a market. Reeta opens the car window and says something which I don't understand. The market guy, gets another guy to bring the order to the window. We stop by a worksite. I stand beside Rashpal while waiting for Reeta. I remark 'workers here have darker skin?' In Spain I found this to also be the case and common thinking is because they're always outside in the sun, I was expecting a similar answer. But he thinks on it as though no one has asked him before. 'Workers from Bihar. Bihar famous in India for (the usual pause before emphasis) goood workers, haard workers.' There were toddlers, old and young, women and men; clearly an extended family. (A Bihar family later come to the Ashram to build a diversion in the river, I was entranced.)
We take a scenic route through a village which extends along both sides of the road. I see all sorts. Horses grazing on a sports pitch with their legs tied, buffalo wandering on the road, a work horse with a pack on its back, chickens, goats, cows in a row eating from a trough. Each house had its own individual beauty, semi covered by the thick foliage and trees, only opening up occasionally for the odd convenience store and a make-shift corrugated ironed bar with plastic tables and chairs outside. It could have been used as a set for a Tarrantino movie.
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