Lost in Interpretation

We live in a world full of people desperately hanging on to stringent belief systems only to keep their identities intact. Each one anxiously looking for something to latch on to or something to believe in. We’d do with anything that works in favor of the ego; anything that strengthens its illusive sense of self; that upholds the idea of ‘my rightness’ and ‘his/her wrongness’.

At the heart of all religion lies a universal message however badly smeared with convenient misinterpretations and customised ideologies. Through countless dusty layers of misconceptions shines the light, however faintly, of the intrinsic oneness of all life.

Over two thousand years ago, a few wise men happened to identify this light, and tried in their most humble endeavours to share the truth they saw with their fellowmen. But overlooking the larger picture, the fellowmen christened the message as ‘religion’, and tailored them as per the never-ending demands of their egos. An idea meant to promote simplicity and purity of the external form came to be interpreted as “‘My’ religion requires me to practice modesty by wearing a burqa. So all you ‘other’ women who choose to live otherwise, are contributing to a collective soiling of minds. That makes ‘me’ a superior being than ‘you’”. The ego extracted what it wanted out of the mind. It feels better – momentarily.

Missing the entire point, religion came to bring about more violence and hatred amongst mankind in the name of faith and further augmented the divide between ‘us’ and ‘them’. Restrained by the narrow vision that their egos allowed them, people made distressed attempts to hold on to something to identify with, and stooped to the level of creating God in his own image and that infinite, unfathomable force was attributed as having eyes and ears and a physical human form, and began to be worshiped as ‘My’ God. And with that, came the fundamental assumption of ‘my’ god, ‘my’ religion preaching the absolute truth.

At the base of all conflict between humans, tribes, nations – lies the assumption of being in possession of this truth, and the unfortunate inability to accommodate a different opinion in the sphere of truth. More so in the case of nations in conflict, which fanatically choose to see themselves as right, often as a victim, and hence the other as evil, to the extent of feeling justified in resorting to violence to silence this so called evil inflicting pain upon ‘us’. While on the one hand, man made rapid advances through seemingly useful inventions, on the other hand, he felt the necessity to create weapons of mass destruction. Nations, each obsessed with their own versions of truth, found it appropriate to accumulate nuclear power on the pretext of self defense. And in the mission to eradicate ‘evil’, they turned into the very thing that they claimed they were fighting.

Today, we stand as distinct communities well-equipped to kill our own kind. Distinct, yet the same; suffering from a common lack of consciousness of the very insanity that defines our existence on this planet, which was once meant to be treated as home.

Gravity’s push

At the end of the day, it all boils down to gravity.

God, science, nature, relationships, love, hatred, violence, demarcated boundaries across the globe, endless discourses about what keeps life ticking — they’re all arrangements men and women have made to cut time on this planet, because that’s the only option they got. Gravity has got us stuck on this planet…so we device different methods and strategies to live off our days while we’re pinned here.

Think about it. If gravity did not hold us down on Earth, if we had the option to be elsewhere, would we continue living here?

Ladies and gentlemen of the class of 2010…

Sing along even if you’re out of tune.

Drink water even if you’re not thirsty.

Look people in the eye when you talk to them.

Respect yourself, but keep in mind the line that divides self-respect from conceit.

Let go of your ego, but keep in mind the line that divides humility from docility.

Don’t take your thoughts all too seriously, for they are only a self-woven version of your ever changing reality.

Even so, deal with your thoughts carefully. Learn to tell the manipulative ones from the genuine ones.

Make plans, but don’t fret if your plans refuse to get along with you.

Don’t stifle your sadness. Give it room to live its natural life and die its natural death.

Hug the ones you love more often. Kiss them more often.

Don’t hold yourself back when you make love.

Wear a seatbelt even if you don’t need it.

Don’t feel guilty about oversleeping. It’s as silly as fussing over your flab after gorging on half a pound of cake.

Don’t worry about your part Indian–part English–part American accent. You, after all, comprise a generation that’s descended out of a British ruled India and has been fed on a healthy diet of American movies and sit coms since time immemorial.

Use your words wisely. They are a fragile bridge between you and the world.

When someone’s talking to you and your mind wanders off to some place more intriguing, the best practice is to chase it as far as the other end of the rainbow, and drag its sorry ass back to NOW.

Click pictures. Many, many pictures.

There’s nothing wrong with extremes. Oscillating between two extremes usually gets you to settle comfortably in the middle by the end.

Hold technology by the hand as you move forward. You’ll need more and more of it as the years go by.

Find a new crush every week. A song, a pair of shoes, a new shirt, an exercise, a book, a movie, a movie star, a website – anything!

Value your freedom. Your freedom to say yes or no is the most precious asset you’ll ever have.

But most of all, sing along!

Bubblegum

Romantic relationships are like chewing gum. You start off soft and chewy with a flavor that seems all too sweet. In the end, you’re stuck bursting bubbles off an obnoxious, tasteless lump that you’ll get rid of at the earliest sighting of an appropriate disposal spot. (Need I mention the hazards involving sloppy disposals?)

Chewing gum does, however, have its own advantages. It’s cheap, for one. Is easily available. Gives you a myriad of flavors to choose from, hence catering to a wide host of taste buds. Keeps you company when you’re bored (well, seemingly). Never goes out of demand. And quite surprisingly, the odds of you accepting gum, when offered, are much higher than otherwise.

But why this compelling need to chew gum at all? Is it because we’ve all been gifted with indisputably bored sets of molars and premolars? Or is it an offshoot of the habitual curiosity our taste buds experience? Or is just another case of ‘I do it because I can’?

No matter which one you start with, in the end, each flavor morphs into the same rubbery blandness.

Moral of the story – Switch to candy.

Of women. And men.

Black white or gray

The difference is hard to say.

 

With you and me getting so old

How do we live by what’s told.

 

The finishing line’s veiled with the night

The starting line’s gone far out of sight.

 

Young madcaps, impetuous lasses.

A roomful of giggles, laughs, and the clatter of glasses.

 

Black as a dark room, white as a lie

The grand procession of youth loftily passes them by.

 

Their shiny houses of cards

Are tainted with bleeding hearts.

 

Each day they run, shout, and try

To find a day to breathe, find a day to die.

A Tryst with the Himalayas

I love not man less, but nature more – Lord Byron

With a belly full of beer and a head full of buzz, we get on board the bus for Shimla. Having reached Shimla just in time next morning to hitch a ride with the newspaper van, we start our journey eastwards.

Nine hours, three flat tyres and two highway meals later, we finally reach Reckong Peo, the district headquarter of Kinnaur — meaning the last town with ATM’s in all of Kinnaur and Spiti. Without further thought, we head towards Kalpa, and retire into a cozy little room at Chini Guest House, with a window that overlooks the Kinner Kailash and a moon that keeps close watch.

 

Chini Bungalow

The morning’s entertainment is a dazzling sunrise glimmering on the snow capped Kinner Kailash, a cup of tea blended with fresh honey, and a quiet downhill walk towards Peo through dense marijuana plantations.

Kinner Kailash

Our next stop is Nako, a small village situated near the eastern border of Kinnaur, with Tibet on the other side of the state line. The four hour ride from Kalpa to Nako is spectacular in more ways than one. As the bus fearlessly pierces through these dangerous terrains, we get a glimpse of the mighty Reo Purgil, the highest peak of Himachal Pradesh peeking at the confluence of the rivers Satluj and Spiti.

The sleepy village of Nako offers a stunning view of the Hangrang valley and has an ancient monastery, one of the 108 monasteries built in one night by Rinchen Zangpo. The temple attracts hundreds of inhabitants from several villages on festivals and other days of worship. The other attraction here is the Nako Lake, a small and serene holy lake, hemmed by willow and poplar trees. Morning is the best time to visit the lake when the calm waters mirror sharp reflections of clear blue skies and dreamlike mountains.

Nako Village

Exhausted after a long day of moving around the village, we pass out like babies by 8 pm and our eyes do not open until 8 the next morning. 

We manage to hitch a ride to Kaza from the Nako helipad the following morning. Even though the distance between the two is a mere 120 kilometers, it takes us a good five hours to get there, with a half hour break at Tabo.

Tabo, a quiet little village came into being centuries ago, solely because of the monastery built there. They say that the Tabo monastery was built in one night and is about a thousand years old – one of the oldest in the world. Stepping into the monastery feels like stepping into a parallel ancient world peacefully going about its life with little concern about the outside world. The only sources of natural light are two small skylight openings on the roof covered with green glass; clear enough to filter out some sunlight during the day. The feeble wooden floor, intricately painted walls with depictions from the life of the Buddha, the mild fragrance of incense sticks and that strange all-pervasive feeling of purity leaves me humbled.

Tabo Monastery

A short walk around the village reveals that it’s well equipped for a travellers’ needs; Israeli cuisine, English cuisine, even a Rastafarian café called the Zion Café, internet connectivity, telephone connectivity, a wine shop, a neat little market are all surprising comforts in such a remote place. The inhabitants of this place seem laid back, yet friendly; unconcerned, yet hospitable.

Om Mani Padme Hum

We hit the road that leads to Kaza again, with more enthusiasm than the morning, for it’s going to be only an hour’s journey, and the barren terrain will soon be replaced by some eccentrically textured rocks and cliffs.

On reaching Kaza, we learn about the upcoming Kaal Chakra festival, at which the Dalai Lama will hold a two day sermon. And as we all know, all good things come at a price. The price in this case is an overpopulated Kaza with zero availability of rooms. How I wish I had a tent at a time like this!

The only way to cope is to shift base. So we take a ride to Pin Valley. Being the only area that receives rainfall, this is the sole green part of the Spiti region. The valley comprises about ten villages, Mudh being the last. A happy village, Mudh’s air is filled with the constant twittering and giggles of women and children all day. Random villagers strike up conversations with us and if you catch someone staring at you, it is for no other reason but mere curiosity.

Mudh Village - Pin Valley

We spend the next couple of days hiking to nearby villages, chilling with travellers and villagers, learning how to make aarak; the most commonly produced and consumed liquor in Spiti. The temperature here is about 5-6 degrees, and the nights demand at least two layers of clothing even in the month of July.

It is disheartening to imagine life in Mudh during winters, when even the nearest village is inaccessible due to excessive snow, and people nap during the day, with the slightest comfort that the sun offers, and spend sleepless nights fighting the cold before the fire.

Back in Kaza, the energy and crowd has only shot up from the last time I was here. We’re dropped a kilometer away from the main town and have to make our way back on foot due to security reasons. The whole town is decked up.

People of all ages from all over Himachal have shown up in their best traditional attire. The town is painted in rainbow colours, and everyone is waiting in line with incense sticks and other offerings for the Lamaji. The line stretches for over a kilometer. The chopper finally lands, and minutes later, a fleet of cars passes us by, barely offering a glimpse of His Holiness.

Spitian women in traditional costumes

We decide to spend the night at a nearby village Langza, forty five minutes from Kaza. This far-flung village stands 4,400 meters above sea level, at the foothill of the dreamlike massif of Chau Chau Khang Nilda. The Chau Chau peak is by far the most dramatic peak I have ever seen. There are twenty one houses in all (yes, I counted), and even though it feels as if life here has not evolved for hundreds of years, everything moves in perfect harmony.

The highlight of the village is the striking statue of the Buddha that presides over the village. This spectacular statue is large enough to be visible from every nook of the village. A few meters from the statue stands the Lang Temple, considered to be the headquarters of all deities of the valley and houses old frescos and thangkas (paintings on a silken canvas).

We walk through a muddy trail towards the main village and find shelter at a guest house. The traditional Spitian house, with its cozy kitchen, and even cozier low roofed bedrooms is a comfortable and peaceful abode. The owner of the house is over 70 years old, and likes to be called Eebie (grandma). On arrival we are let into the kitchen for a cup of butter tea and share bidi’s with Eebie and her friends, who talk incessantly. At such a height, the sunset is one of a kind, flooding the sky with myriad colors.  The farm trails here are rich in flora and it is easy to spot the Blue Sheep in the vicinity.

Eebie and friends

Spitian bedrooms. My room.

Next morning we are back in Kaza, only to find ourselves stuck in the middle of an eager mob waiting for the monastery gates to open. The sermon begins with chants and prayers by the Dalai Lama, and everyone listens intently, absorbing as much as they can. The congregation ends with a rather prolonged question answer round, encompassing questions about life and death, the after-life, transmigration of souls, the eternal wheel of Karma, the impermanence of life, the concept of ‘no-self’ and Dhamma. Stirred, we retire to the town, and prepare to head to Manali.

The 14th Dalai Lama

Next morning, 50 of us hop on to a bus meant for 40. Those who don’t find room, move to the roof and thus begins a long and seemingly endless journey to Manali. After a brief stop at the splendid Kunzum Pass, we tread through the dangerous terrains of Chandra Valley, which is home to many wild animals and does not support human habitation.

One for all, all for one.

KunZum La (Pass)

Quick halt at KunZum La

Chandra Valley

Approaching Manali

The panorama becomes greener as we get closer to Rohtang Pass which has undergone aggressive commercialisation over the years. Infested with hundreds of tourists whose idea of ‘fun’ translates into a pony ride; hundreds of shops, guides, food stalls are forced onto the face of the landscape.

Rohtang Pass

After hours of being stalled in traffic, we reach Manali, only to find an extension of the Rohtang Pass nightmare. A million people! Tourists desperate for a memorable trip, beggars waiting to get lucky, gypsies putting up a show in the market, a hundred travel agents, a thousand restaurants, and a million hotels! At the earliest opportunity, I flee to Vashishth, a small village 3-5 kilometers from Manali. The village boasts of hot water springs, and a few Hindu temples. With Israeli junkies comprising the majority of tourists, the streets are filled with a husky murmur of Hebrew and a strong whiff of hashish. It is heartening to finally find some good food (Freedeom Café, Hari Om Café) after weeks of surviving on dimsums and thukpa in Spiti.

Back in Manali, we walk around the Tibetan market, making incredibly low-priced purchases, feeling victorious about the bargain we’ve got ourselves.

Before we know it, it’s time to board the bus back to Delhi, and we’re packed into an automobile that artificially makes the air just as cool as Kunzum Pass. I snuggle into a reclining chair, and doze off dreaming about the purple mountains…..again!!