Spirited Away
When we arrived back in India after our two months abroad, we heard about a Swiss monk-in-training named Yannick, who visited in Bangalore while we were away. We heard a lot about him from the French speakers at the IISc, so when he sent an email inviting everyone to his monastery for the Dalai Lama's birthday, we thought it might be fun. The car going down there was already full, so we went to Majestic and caught a super-deluxe bus that showed corny Bollywood movies from the 70s.
Gilles had decided to try to get registered with the police that morning, so we ended up not leaving until around 2 in the afternoon. He went to the police station at 10, but when he arrived they told him he needed to glue his pictures to the application form. Luckily outside there was a man selling glue. He glued the photos on, but when he presented the application form to the officer he was told the pictures were not acceptable. I am not sure why he decided to tell Gilles this after the glue request, but I can only imagine that it is part of the Indian Civil Servant's Training Course, HBAAAP (How to Be As Annoying As Possible) 101.
Anyway, Gilles' detour meant that we didn't arrive in Mysore until around 6, so we had little hope of arriving at the monastery before dark. We caught a local bus to Kushalnagar, in the hills above Mysore, and it was actually fairly comfortable at the beginning. About an hour and a half into the journey the driver decided to take a chai break at a small roadside shop, so we stopped for around half an hour. It seems likely that he drank an Irish Chai, because when he got back into the driver's seat he had become so much more reckless that we thought he had changed places with the ticket collector. When we saw the ticket collector by the back door we realized that it was probably the same driver as before, or a child or a well-trained (but not very well-trained) monkey of some sort. The ride became quite bumpy and the little girl in front of us threw up on Gilles' shoes. We decided to change seats but the only two available were at the very back of the bus. Every time we drove over a speed bump we flew about two feet into the air. Thankfully we arrived alive, and had a nice dinner with Yannick the Monk, Ivan, Catherine, and two Swiss doctors spending 6 months in Hyderabad.
We stayed at the luxurious Top-in-Town Hotel, where we were woken up early in the morning but the huge metal gate that functioned as security for the building. We had a simple breakfast of dosas and chai and set out for the monastery to pick up Yannick. Then we drove a bit further to a large field where the event was being held. The celebration itself was not fascinating, but it was fun to watch the little boy monks play with inflatable toy airplanes and climb trees. They seemed largely unexcited by the show until a recent Bollywood hit started to blare; then everyone ran at breakneck speed to find a spot from which to watch a group of girls do a modern dance routine.
Bylakuppe was given to the Tibetan refugees by the Indian government after the invasion of Tibet in 1959; the largest settlement is Daramsala in the north, but there are a few scattered communities in the south. The Tibetans have sought to reconstruct their places of worship in India, building large gold Buddhas and temples that to house them in. They are still hoping to return to Tibet one day though.We saw lots of "Free Tibet" graffiti and signs saying "Boycott Chinese Goods." We visited a Buddhist university and a monastery that houses 5,000 monks. We took a walk down a long row of prayer wheels; apparently turning the wheels keeps you from doing naughty things. Yannick's monastery is much smaller, with a couple hundred monks and monks-in-training. Boys as young as six can live in the monastery, where they study Buddhist thought and Tibetan in the mornings and evenings and attend regular school as well. We saw one boy of four, whose parents sent him to the monastery even though he is not really old enough to study. He spent the morning pulling a plastic car around the monastery grounds.
Finally, after a 5:30 am pooja with the little boys and some of the most disgusting tea I have ever had, not excluding Mongolian tea (this was tea with butter and salt, ugh) we went on a walk up 3,000 steps to a Hindu temple dedicated to Nandi. Nandi is a cow god, and the steps held many offerings from her fellow bovines. It did not start to rain until we were all the way down the steps - lucky for us, because the steps were not only plentiful but also uneven and slippery. In fact, we would have made it to the car if we hadn't stopped to try to throw pebbles onto an archway that would bring us three joys, or if we had been better at throwing the pebbles. Personally I kept overshooting, so I guess I am not really ready for the spiritual life.
posted by me @ 12:01 AM
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