Trip to Himachal Pradesh (Long post)

The last week I spent traveling outside of the Punjab in the neighboring state of Himachal Pradesh. I should explain perhaps my impetus for traveling at all, though it may become clear that at the beginning I felt I had to justify it to myself more than was necessary. Though the purpose of my grant was to come to the Punjab to study Sikh sacred music in the context of North Indian classical music, I made no secret of the fact that I was not going to spend three plus months in India without seeing a good deal of the country. Mind you, I knew it would be different than ‘traveling’ for three months in India, in which time I could see a great deal of the country (but would be several times more expensive), but I assumed that I would be very engaged in my research the rest of the time.

Well, after one month or so, I felt like I was getting a little stuck in the mud. Yes, I was learning music at a rapid pace, absorbing quite a bit of the Sikh culture of the Punjab through people I met, learning the language, and forming some pretty amazing memories in the idyllic farming villages and their gurdwaras. However, the days began to blend into one another, and I felt myself stagnating. I had become enough part of the culture that I had some friends and contacts, but I was not so comfortable (as I would be at home or in, say, Western Europe) that I could move about easily and independently. I felt that I had become a little dependent on my subjects here, and they on me.

With all this in mind, I knew from my friend Stefanie in Portland that the Dalai Lama was scheduled to give his spring teachings in Dharamsala, HP at the end of February – only a hundred miles or so as the crow flies (note, though, that in India the crow instead perches on the roof of the local bus, which takes at least seven hours and makes innumerable stops along the way) – so I decided to go. As an aside I should say that even at this juncture I encountered some resistance from my contacts here, who seem to feel empowered to set my schedule as they would like. I ultimately followed Christi’s advice of writing “Dharamsala” in pen in my schedule book, then opening it and pointing to the dates with shrug of resignation; people seem to understand that in the West our schedules function as brutal overlords whose edicts have a binding power.

To skip ahead a bit: given the part above about how I had to justify to myself and the locals about why I was traveling to Himachal, I could never have predicted how profound and important an impact it would have on me. I have returned now to Punjab full or more clarity, energy, self-confidence and, to some extent, greater appreciation for what I am doing here.

I arrived in Dharamsala after the long, bumpy bus trip, having made friend with two Russians on the bus (virtually the first Westerners I’d spoken to in person since arriving). She was from Siberia, and he a student from Belarus who had come from music school in Cologne. I played them some Hindustani classical music on my iPod and we split an orange while finding a hotel once we arrived in Mcleod Ganj. Unfortunately, I lost track of them after the first night – I lay down with a splitting headache from dehydration, and they decided the room was too expensive and moved on to another hotel. I realized I was in a bad way, tried drinking tons of water and found two aspirin in my first aid kit, but it was that level of headache where you feel drunk with pain and can only lie down in misery.

The plus side is that, because of this episode, I awoke around 7am the next morning feeling 100% better and very refreshed. I walked out of the hotel in time for sunrise over the Himalayas, cool evergreen air of the morning, and crowds of saffron-clad Tibetan monks bustling by (boy, sounds like I’m writing one of those travel books, but it was true). On the walk to the temple I spoke with an American woman who gave me the low-down about the Teachings, and it turned out the mobile phone I intended to use to hear English translation (HH the Dalai Lama teaches in Tibetan) was not allowed into the premises.

Then we ran into some other Americans, who said the morning session had been cancelled, so I seized the chance to go for a hike – again the first serious exercise I had seen since arriving here. In my enthusiasm, I may have been overambitious – turned into a ten-mile hike gaining almost three thousand feet over wet snow – but it was worth it. I had a giddy smile on my face the whole time, including the relaxing stop at a tea stall clinging to the side of the mountain at 8000 feet. On the way up, I made the acquaintance of an elderly Austrian gentleman. Other than that, the lower part of the trip was filled with Australian hippies and Israeli druggies, not to mention the French alpiners or the monkeys who were always digging through the trash and waving their bottoms as people (the monkeys were pretty bad, too).

After the ecstasy of that climb, I experienced the scene of the Teachings. Since the schedule was not at all clear to me on the second day, I ended up sitting in the same position for about seven hours. I knew there would be very full crowd who had reserved seats, and wanted to grab one of the open spots while I still could. After an hour of sitting, though, while the temple was still mostly empty except for Tibetans and monks, HH himself came out to do some chanting. People lined the sides of the pathway, and other lamas waving incense surrounded him. A hush of anticipation fell over those assembled as for a rock-star, but he never missed a step in his kind, grandfatherly gait, alternatively waving his blessings, and humorously guessing the nationality of someone kneeling at the railing: “Korea? China? Taiwan, ah yes!”

I loved the chanting, as when I’d heard it before, which involves that incredibly-low tone, if you’ve ever heard it. Also, when several monks are together on this low part, one point is to create staggeringly present overtones like someone whistling in your ear. The teachings themselves I had resolved to hear without translation – as someone else agreed, you can read his teachings in English anytime, how often do you get to hear him speak in his native tongue in person? Luckily, I think this led me to pick up more on the total ambience. The Teachings, at least the ones I attended, were less like a lecture, and more like a pep talk. He essentially was taking up passages from old Buddhist texts and explaining them with an emphasis on practice. HH alternated sections of animated speaking with the fast patter of mantras, and another call-and-response chanting style with those who were following the original text.

It was a very remarkable affair, and arresting in how the environment of the Teachings, as well as the presence of HH himself, communicated to me so immediately a tradition that is similarly ancient, colorful, and erudite, and yet so simply about peace and understanding.

The unpredictable and enriching part of my experience was only beginning. Although I had told my friends in Amritsar I would return after a few days in the mountains, I pressed on from Dharamsala to Kullu, another bumpy and curvy eight-hour ride through the mountains (I actually caught a taxi down the mountain at 3:30AM and the bus at 4:15AM, but was rewarded for this insanity with watching the sunrise over the Himalayas…so not bad). I had heard the Kullu-Manali valley praised in tourist books for its natural beauty, but another part of the reason I was going is I had a contact there through a friend in Montana (a distant cousin who she’d never met). I had corresponded with Linzee when I first arrived in India, when she told me Kullu was very cold and snowy, and then over a couple days before I arrived. In hindsight it seems something was conspiring to bring me to this place, because of how well everything fell into place; my reaching there just when she had some time free and the fruit blossoms were coming out in the valley.

My contact had told me over email that she’d been living in an ashram here since the mid 80’s, and so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from our interactions – I was picturing something very structured, where I could come up to the outer wall and maybe wave hello. It turns out it was nothing like that, and she could not possibly have been more generous with her time, energy and space. We met the first day and discussed our lives, past and present, and as I described my Sikh project she responded by telling me about Swami Shyam, the inspiration and leader of the ashram. The valley was incredibly beautiful from the vantage point of a high Hindu temple, and something about the place and company made me very open to whatever this experience was going to bring.

That night, Linzee arranged a dinner party in her apartment (which, if you’re picturing something austere about an ashram, was the most comfortable and homey place I’d been since entering this country) with several of her friends. I soon realized this meant a delightful company of expat Canadians and Americans from the West and New England. They were all educated, artistic, and most importantly committed to their spiritual quest and able to talk about it in the most down-to-earth ways. My host, despite her great humbleness, showed her prowess that night by giving a ‘lead-in’ to post-dinner meditation that put me right at ease and kindled my excitement for a meditative life.

To make a long story somewhat shorter, that spark was fanned to a substantial flame over the next few days, as I met more of the community and listened to their guru, Swamiji (“ji” for respect) speak in person - I even got to have a one-on-one interaction with him in front of the whole group. After this interaction, people responded to me with compliments saying how composed and insightful I came across with this guru. It seemed strange, though, because I was hardly aware of anything looking back at the memory except feeling interested, and an intense and reassuring clarity in his response.

I had asked him a question about one of his teachings called “Non-doership”, which my hosts had explained to me the night before. This one had caught my attention because I was coming to this experience with a sense that my time and work in the Punjab seemed at times like I was spinning my wheels and frustrated at doing a lot with very little result. The idea that there was a non-doer as a higher truth is what drove me to ask for his explanation. He responded by cutting right to the core of my motivation, despite that I’d only met him a few minutes before – (I paraphrase) ‘we are always doing; we cannot stop from actions, such as eating, moving, sleeping, playing music; but if we expect the result of this action to satisfy a desire, we are never satisfied – ie we always need to eat more, move more, play music more, etc. So first, dedicate your action to God, or to your mom and dad (laughter), that way you will not be doing it to get the result yourself. Non-doership is knowing you are perfect (in that your soul, and not the form of the body and the world), and then doing action.’

It’s hard to explain in a short space, but this answer and others, plus being open to meditation in that space, has brought about a big change in me. Over those days, and since being back, I feel much less anxiety than I did before. I am more confident in my choices and am gaining more clarity about myself from practicing the music and sitting quietly. I left those new friends in Kullu hardly able to express how enjoyable my experience was, as it was also filled with walks in the valley, tennis, hot springs, lots of great eating and great conversations, or to thank them for helping to bring me the tools to make this experience really powerful, when I didn’t even know I was missing them.

As I returned to the Punjab, to bigger, dirtier and more crowded cities – leaving behind the green mountain abodes of hill people and tiny hindu temples for the traffic, the turbans and friends of my first month, I felt a kind of comfort in this familiarity. That first period was certainly not wasted, but it was difficult and had to be gone through. Seeing other Westerners on my travel helped me to appreciate that not many people choose to do what I’ve done – plop themselves alone in a vastly different culture and language, expecting everything to fall into place and pursue a project. Of course it was bound to be difficult then, but whereas the first month was about gaining that outward familiarity with the place, I predict this next month will be about gaining inner familiarity with myself, now that I have been thrown into relief by my environment, and by the presence of HH the Dalai Lama and Swamiji. Stay tuned for pictures soon.