All the Roadrunning

I had my first Hindi class yesterday, here in the mountain village of McLeod Ganj.  Within thirty minutes my ‘teacher’ was rattling off questions in full speed, difficult questions such as “Is your house dirty?” or “Is this your sick dog?”, expecting immediate answers.  I was sweating profusely in his tiny concrete classroom, much more the result of the pressure than the heat inside.  I filled up 21 pages of a notebook in only 1 hour and 15 minutes!  My second class is today at 2pm, I signed up for a week, quite a silly thing to do, I now realize, before even sitting through the first class.  But at this rate, I should be completely fluent by Thursday afternoon.

I was feeling a little under the weather the past couple of days, a result of the root canal healing I assume.  But today I feel healthy again and am ready to resume eating large amounts of Tibetan bread, momos (Tibetan vegetable dumplings) and tasty noodle soups.  It is an intriguing time to be up here.  Apart from there being only an average amount of tourists, the beautiful weather and the snow-capped mountains towering above, the atmosphere is energized like I have never seen before in this village.  This is due to the current worldwide surge for the Tibetan cause.

This is where the Dalai Lama lives, where the Tibetan government-in-exile is located and where thousands of Tibetans have settled.  As a result, it is the focal point of the cause.  Posters with actual photographs of torn apart Tibetan bodies and other heinous crimes taking place by the Chinese in Tibet hang all over the village, petitions are circulated,  lectures are plentiful, conversations with locals are deep and troubling.  Tibetan monks are eager to find foreigners to share their stories with, many being ex-political prisoners and many having escaped through the Himalayas to reach India. 

Yet the villagers here are still smiling, albeit with hints of pain in thier faces.  Tibetans must be the saddest happiest people on the planet.  Their religion and culture cultivates pure happiness, yet the destruction of their homeland has led to inevitable sadness.  

On that note, it is time to go for a hike through the pine forests of the mountainside, dotted with Buddhist temples and stupas, home to monkeys and waterfalls, and offering a most ideal location to seek some clarity.   

At noon yesterday, I spooned up the last bits of my beans and rice and chugged down a mango shake from my favorite roadside food vendor before heading over to Janpath to join the Tibetan mock torch relay. The Olympic torch was scheduled for its run through Delhi and as a result India´s large Tibetan community had planned a parallel protest.

Despite the 100+ degree temperatures, some 3000 Tibetans, Indians and foreigners marched along the roads, the massive crowd centered around a mock Olympic torch. Tibetan flags of all sizes waved above the heads as passionate anti-China and Free Tibet slogans were shouted in unison. Pro-Tibet t-shirts, face paint, posters and banners created a powerful sense of unity and urgency for their genuine cause. The procession was definitely peaceful but it certainly did not lack in intensity, strong enough to undoubtedly leave most participants and observers inspired and sympathetic.

Several hundred stick-wielding Indian police accompanied this march, although most seemed to be curious onlookers rather than officers of the law. When the procession finished at a cordoned off section of road just south of Jantar Mantar, the crowds swelled even more to listen to the endless series of speeches, given by a range of activists from Tibetan monks to Hindus to Sikhs.

The sense of community encompassed even the strangers and foreigners who were made to feel at ease and most welcome by the hospitable and often chatty Tibetans. The Tibetan greeting of ´Tashi Delek’ passed among the crowds along with flyers depicting the current human rights abuses taking place within Tibet. Older Tibetans in traditional dress wept and prayed, while the youth, sporting afros and wearing designer jeans, shouted with passionate anger. Others sat quietly, prayer beads in hand, pleading softly for justice and compassion.

This impressive display of solidarity and the clear message of struggle was covered extensively by dozens of media organizations, highlighted by interviews in Tibetan, Hindi and English of face-painted youth, saffron-robed monks and Indian activists.

By 4pm, as the event began to slow and with many Tibetans making their way to the path of the actual torch relay, I decided to return to my hotel. As I walked through Connaught Place towards the main bazaar of Paharganj, thinking of ways to get out of the heat, out of the polluted air, out of the routine of 6 hour daytime naps, it was no coincidence when my next destination became so clear. I am now off to the north, to the mountain village of McLeod Ganj, home to the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan government in exile.

A combination of the toasty nighttime air (to which even the mighty fan in my room has ceded defeat) and my daytime naps (due to my body´s inability to function for very long in the absolute searing temperatures) has resulted in three sleepless nights so far.   

Some might suggest that I seek out another location, after all, India is a massive country, home to an entire region of cooler mountains.  Unfortunately I am not yet able to leave this city, a restriction placed on me not by any parole officer, but by Dr. Kathuria, the dentist I visited yesterday.   

Here´s the story:Upon arrival at Dr Kathuria´s clinic, whom I had found on the internet, the receptionist was at first adamant that I must be Akash, a man who had a 9:30am appointment.  When I informed her that I was in fact Derek, with a 10:00am appointment, she looked at me as if I were playing a practical joke, repeating several times in disbelief, ¨So you are definitely not Akash?¨  

Apart from the usual peeling paint, empty electrical sockets and crumbing plaster that is to be expected inside of any building in India, the cleanliness, state-of-the-art equipment and procession of other foreigners coming in and out, did give the impression that these people knew what they were doing.  Flipping through the binder full of positive ´report cards’ on the coffee table, I most certainly felt in good hands, as long as they didn´t perform the tooth extraction that poor Akash required. 

Was it odd that a young girl came around the waiting room offering cups of the sweetest chai in the city to those about to be examined for cavities?  Certainly.  But even the dentist must maintain that standard India gesture of hospitality in order to succeed.   

My appointment was mainly for a simple replacement crown.  But this is India and nothing goes according to plan of course.  Therefore, after a quick round of x-rays and a confusing lesson on tooth decay and nerve infection, I unsurprisingly found my face shot up with two vials worth of novocaine and in the midst of a root canal.  The doctor´s logic seemed sound, and besides, it only cost another $50 bucks!   

The doctor drilled away, removing the nerve bit by bit while a swarm of teenage male ´dental hygienists´dressed in navy blue wool lab coats assisted, each responsible for a different aspect.  One boy held the light, one sucked the saliva from my mouth (with a suction instrument!), one pushed the ‘execute’ button on the x-ray machine.  One boy had been given the duty of handing me a napkin at the start of the procedure and then replacing it every few minutes.  I never actually used the napkin and in fact, had no idea what it was for.  But nevertheless, this boy stood by my side, keeping the napkin in my hand fresh throughout my appointment.  

So, the early stages of my stay in India have now been dictated by my required dental work. Two more appointments later in the week to finish the root canal and then a final visit early next week to finish the crown.  But due to my extended stay in Delhi, I will be changing hotels this morning after discovering a massive room with an air cooler at a hotel down the alley.  It is an absolute steal at 300 rupees ($7.50 USD) and will hopefully allow me to enjoy some much needed sleep.   

Well, the cows have begun to moo outside my window and the banana vendors have started screaming.  Although I will never understand why they need to scream so loud at 5:00 in the morning, instead of waiting until a more reasonable hour, I can´t really complain since there is no sleep for them to wake me from this time.     

After a 10-hour midday nap, I have finally ventured into the Delhi streets this evening. Only seconds upon stepping out of the hotel, I found myself in the midst of a massive procession taking place through the narrow market streets. There were out of tune brass bands, costumed men on horses and dozens of brightly illuminated floats driven my tractors in front with small boys pushing the generators behind. It was a celebration of Hanuman, the Hindu monkey god. As a result, there were dozens of ‘Hanumans’ dancing on the floats in wild monkey-like movements, pausing every now and then to hand advertising flyers for a local dentist to the crowds gathering around. The three policemen at the front of the parade, whose duty was to ensure the roads were clear ahead, were quite busy purchasing underwear and electronic items from roadside vendors instead.

In the thirty minutes I spent observing this celebration, I am happy to report that my feet were only spat on twice (although one was of the thick red betel nut concoction type), rolled over by only one bicycle wheel and only stepped in one small collection of fresh cow feces. That is definitely a successful night out on the town!

But my true re-introduction to India this time occurred on the flight from Paris to Delhi, where I met Vikas Kumar.

Before I had even fully sat down in my seat on the airplane, Mr Kumar introduced himself. A small, bubbly man in his mid-twenties, with the requisite thin moustache, dark jeans and navy blazer associated with the growing middle class of young entrepreneurs, he immediately asked me for my good name. Within seconds of our introduction, I was treated to a moment of that typically backwards, yet infinitely lovable, Indian way of conducting human interactions. Vikas handed me his business card, along with some sincere words: “This is my mobile number, you call me anytime if you need anything at all during your stay. Call me next Sunday, we spend the day together, you can meet my wife and friends.” I had not even had time to buckle my seat belt, read the list of in-flight movies or even learn a single thing about this man. More amazingly, since he was the one offering his friendship, he had not even learned a single thing about me.

I loved it! It was the final confirmation I needed that yes indeed I was on my way back to India! What an honorable and beautiful natural instinct – to assume that all people are worthy of friendship upon introduction. “Let me first offer my friendship, my home, my service. Later I will get to know you.”

And now I say goodnight from this fine city. Regardless of the black exhaust that fills each breath, the migraine-inducing honking of horns, the garbage burning in the middle of the street, the constant smell of urine mixing with the scent of freshly baked sweets…there is no place like it, and I believe that the appeal of that fact alone draws people like me to this country year after year.