LUNG TA

Chai, Reiko's  pale cream mongrel, ran ahead, only too glad to be off leash, she dashed up the mountain slope, looking behind every now and then.  We had walked up to Daremkot, high above Mcleodganj, with densely forested valleys and slopes - the highest peaks above us appeared and disappeared in the cloud and fog.

Everything felt cool and damp in the forest.  Ferns and moss covered banks and tiny pale violets grew wild wherever you looked.  Following the contour path, going higher and higher, an old shepherd, with his loosely tied top-heavy white turban, sat quietly contemplating the view.  Tibetan monks had built simple stone huts, hidden among the trees - they would withdraw to these huts at times for deepest contemplative prayer.  All was silent - the prayer flags, came as a visual surprise in this silent place - tied between the trees, so many of them - red, white, blue, green and yellow, each with a mantra, some with the 'Lung Ta' , the wind horse, which would carry the prayers and distribute their benediction.  I thought of Gothic Cathedrals, Renaissance Churches, Hindu Temples and Islamic Mosques - the prayer flags, created their own architecture.....

MCLEODGANJ

Like no other place I'd experienced - a unique blend of strange elements with no seeming connection.  Mcleodganj, or upper Dharamsala, was given by India, to the exiled Dalai Lami in 1959, as a place of refuge, from where he runs 'Tibet in Exile'.  

It's high up and Moon Peak in the Northern Himalayas, is visible sometimes, when the clouds permit.

This Hill Station is small, but each of its three main streets is crammed with traders,  Indian and Tibetan. Tall Tibetan monks in red robes, sandals and yellow canvas shoulder bags, reminded me of Ancient Greek Philosophers.  They would either walk down to their monastery, below the town, or up to the market.  Groups of young people, many with backpacks, from a variety of countries, would shop for handicrafts, or drink coffee at sidewalk stalls and in amongst this crowd, 4-wheel drive vehicles would jostle for space, on the narrow roads passing through the town.

Perched high up above the valley,  Mcleodganj is usually swathed in cloud, which lifts and drops, constantly, changing everything - fir lined contours, become misty and half-seen,  like an oriental painting, or else clearly etched for some moments.  Multi view points emerge in the cloud filled depths or up to the misty peaks - a dematerialised world.

Many Tibetan refugees have come over the mountains - grueling journeys, evading Chinese capture and arrive frost-bitten in Katmandu in the Southern Himalayas - when strong enough, they make their way to Mcleodganj, to be near 'His Holiness, the Dalai Lama' - a firm sense of place in the flux of constantly changing perspectives.

TRAIN TRAVEL AND THE MONSOON !

'Coming down', wasn't nearly as fun as 'going up'.  Partly due to the driving - the car horn was not working and the driver seemed bent on impressing me with his handling of downhill racing - we were clocking up 80 mph on hairpin bends, above dizzyingly high ravines and he was overtaking goods trucks and buses on blind curves, as we flew down the mountain passes from Mcleodganj, retreat of the Dalai Lama, in the Northern Himalayas....the journey was further complicated by livestock - cows drifted onto the road, then we passed a pack of mules and later dozens of donkeys.  Mudslides blocked the path in places - we had to wait as mechanical equipment was used to remove boulders - but at least it slowed up my 'formula one driver' and gave me a couple of minutes to breathe normally and unclench my teeth.

But there at last, was Pathankot and more than that, there was the train station and at 4.45 p.m. I would be on the Muri Express traveling 2AC, to Delhi where I would arrive at 4.30 the next morning - I would be met by a driver who would take me to the airport to catch my plane to Vadodara.  We drove up to the entrance with a flourish and spray of gravel, right next to a statue of a grey elephant wearing a small blue cap!  I had made it....despite the shocking 3 hour journey in the car.  As if summoned, a man came running up to us and tapped on the window.....'it's been cancelled'....  'what?' ....I looked at him in disbelief !  'It's been cancelled - your train - go.... cancel your ticket - it's because of the rain last night...there's been flooding'    I couldn't take it in....what was I going to do ?  'You can get a train from Amritsar - that's 3 hours away from here by car, or go back to Dharamsala, where you've just come from...also 3 hours and take the luxury bus to Delhi, or take the local bus from here - it's not air conditioned, the seats are'nt padded - it's for local people and will take 12 hours and I can't guarantee safe arrival !'

The horror of these choices presented themselves....each was too awful to contemplate...what was I to do?  'Go and cancel your ticket' the man said.  I stepped out the car slowly...like someone going to the guillotine ...now to begin the process of asking how I was to cancel my ticket.  Waiting disconsolately at the counter, I was unexpectedly joined by another traveller from Dharamsala, a Frenchman - he and his companion had been to listen to the Dalai Lama teaching and were heading back to Delhi....on the cancelled Muri Express, and on to Paris a couple of days later.

We were passed from one official to the next....everyone shaking their heads.  In desperation, I phoned the agent in Delhi...'can you think of any other alternative?'  After some even worse solutions, were presented, one of them being to ask my driver to do the 12 hour trip to Delhi - without a horn, driving like a madman, or worse, I could imagine him going to sleep at the wheel, I rejected that idea with contempt.  Then she said... ' you could go to Chakki Bank, 4 kms away and take the Jammu Radjhani Express to Delhi - it leaves at 22.00 tonight ?'  Bravo! - yes, that was definitely the best idea - waiting 5 hours in a train station at night, was definitely the best option.  She offered to fix tickets for the two French Budhists as well, all on trust, as we would have to pay for them when we reached Delhi !  We crammed into a minute taxi with all our luggage balanced on the roof and roared off to find Chakki Bank.  It proved to be not much more than 2 platforms in the middle of nowhere.

The Jammu Radjhani Express, did arrive - it was only half-an-hour late....and in the 5 hours wait on a bench on Platform 1, I  learned a lot about Buddhism from my companions and watched a near nude Indian Fakir, doing some mighty strange things....!  .... We did arrive in Delhi, at 6 o'clock the next morning and I even made it onto the plane !

SHRI MAHALAKSHMI

Tinned Tuna, Smoked Oysters, Extra Virgin Olive Oil, Green Olives, Black Olives, Milk Powder, Artichokes, Pasta from Italy, Marmalade, Peanut Butter, L'oreal shampoo, Conditioner, Toilet Paper - these were only some of the special treats available in Ismail's small, cramped, shop on R.C. Dutt Road, a mecca for all foreigners living in Vadodara.  But the most prized item, in my view, was on the top shelf, near the checkout counter.......a small dark jar of .....MARMITE !  Now that was the real treasure of this shop.  This little item, will cost you five times what you would pay for it in the West, but what it represents, is beyond the price of rubies.  Unscrewing the cap, instantly one is transported to one's childhood, timelessness,  memories of home, security and all that is known and understood, of giving and receiving.....now here was the ultimate 'comfort food'  !  'Roses are Red, Violets are Blue,  Marmite you're brown....And I love you'! x

15TH AUGUST

Assumption of the Virgin Day, in Catholic Italy - always a day when everything was closed - a truly National Holiday, but also a time of street parties, especially in Tuscany, where, in Panzano they filled the main street with long tables and chairs and everyone came to dinner !  Much of the food was provided by the famous Butcher of Panzano - beloved and well-known throughout Italy.  His, is the only Butchery I've ever encountered, where cuts of meat were celebrated with chamber music  and where the owner was often to be seen giving a TV interview on the pavement outside.

Here in India, it is Independence Day - a celebration of India's freedom from Colonial Rule, which ended in 1947 - also a National Holiday, but the shops will be open.  The flag will be raised - the very pretty tricolour of saffron, white and green, made of homespun cloth, with a central spinning wheel of  24 spokes, representing, not only the hours of the day, but also the movement of time.  The unchanging central hub of the wheel,  represents eternity and truth (exactly the same symbolism as a Rose Window in a Gothic Cathedral).

MAKES YOU THINK !

FLOATING ART IN RAJASTHAN

SIRENS

The different bird calls are part of the daily sound scape of India - they are loud and unequivocal - I have also heard monkeys and occasionally the raucous call of a peacock; mingled with these sounds are the cries of the hawkers, who bring their produce round on carts.  During the wedding season, you hear fireworks and drums and loud music, as a procession passes.  The one sound that you don't hear is a police car siren or ambulance.  In London, the sound of screaming sirens is part of daily life and in Italy it was the roar of motorinos tearing down the road at full throttle and the sound of a police car or ambulance shrieking off to some emergency.   An ambulance just didn't exist here in Vadodara until about three year's ago and even now, it's rare to actually see one...if you are unlucky enough to need one, you're more likely to hope someone comes to your aid and pays a rickshaw to take you to the nearest hospital - so the sound of sirens is missing here....!

SEASON OF MISTS AND MELLOW FRUITFULNESS

Keats'  'Ode to Autumn' ran through my mind as I was jolting along in the rickshaw...could this be called Autumn ?  I suppose it's Autumn, now that the Monsoon rains are over - the sun is shining, the sky is blue and the cows are all in town with their new born calves - they lie in family groups in the road, some suckling their young.  The dreamy expression in their eyes, made me think of Keats and his 'Ode'...these cows seemed to be relishing the sunshine, soaking it up...and yet this season is so different to that of Europe, because we haven't experienced any cold, the nights are hot and clammy and the days as hot as any.  But everyone is soporific - unoccupied rickshaw drivers sleep in the back of their vehicles with their bare feet projecting out the side - I watched as a cow stretched out its tongue to lick bare toes, thinking they were edible !  The roadside fruit vendor  had laid out a sack on the tarmac and was stretched out fast asleep - I looked at my watch, 2 p.m.  !   The rains are over and the sun is out again...everyone is lost in this pleasure...was I the only one who thought the sun was too hot and who wished the rain would come back?

RANGOLI ON A RAINY DAY

Sandeep looked about 12 years old, but he was in fact, half-way through his MA in the Faculty of Fine Arts at the University. He's a quiet person, with a talent for Rangoli - a Hindi word meaning, 'Row of colours'.  It's a religious floor art, using fine coloured sand and symbolises the transience of life - it can't be preserved; once created, it's enjoyed and then destroyed.   The hand of the artist never touches the ground, so there is no interruption in the flow of creative energy, which passes directly to the design.  Apart from chalking out a central circle, no other aids are involved and the design evolves  freehand.  Traditionally, Rangoli designs are created in front of doorways in buildings and temples, an auspicious sign of welcome !    Sandeep created this design in half-an-hour:

TUESDAY

It was Tuesday and the International Women's Group of Baroda were meeting for their 'Ladies Lunch' at the best restaurant in town, 'Mainland China'.  Fifty percent of the women, are of Indian origin, but have lived elsewhere in the world and the other half are living in India, but have their origins elsewhere.  Their husbands work for multi-national companies and are on contract in India for one to three years.

Since most of them have been away for the summer, this was an occasion for seeing everyone again, after a break of a couple of months.  As each lady arrived, there were shrieks of pleasure from those already at the long table and comments about what each was wearing - all seemed to be dressed in the latest fashions from outside of India, bearing news of far away places such as Mexico, Canada, the U.S. and Europe....!

In between the courses of delicious Chinese food, the conversation drifted to a book many had read:  "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert, who traveled to three different countries, Italy, India and Indonesia, in search of the three things in the title of her book....

'Did she go to Indonesia for the food?' asked one...
'No - she would have gone to Italy for that' said another lady..
'No, no she would have gone to Italy for love' remarked another...'think of all those divine Italian men'....
'No'....  said an Indian lady.... 'she came to India for love...she learned to love herself'....
'OK... so where did she learn to pray?' asked another....a thoughtful silence prevailed, as we tucked into our Chop Suey...
'She must have gone to Indonesia, to learn how to pray' ...  

Ahem, ladies, have any of you really read the book ?  The only thing you've got right so far, is Italy for the food ! ................. She learned to pray in India and found love in Bali !!!

FRIENDSHIP DAY - 1ST AUGUST

Sunday 1st August was Friendship Day. August is a  holy month in the Hindu calendar. Special prayers will be said in Shiva temples on Mondays and a lamp will burn continuously to help the prayers heavenward. On the 24th August they will celebrate Raksha Bandhan - the bond between brothers and sisters, when sisters pray for the long life of their brothers and brothers promise to care for their sisters - a rakhi thread is tied onto the wrist, as a token of love and faith.  Friendship bangles are being sold everywhere and sms messages are flying around and read:

Spirits r ageless
Dreams r endless,
Memories r timeless,
A friend like u, priceless !