The Sound of Snow

                                                PepperMill, State College, Winter 2004.

If only you could hear

the sound of snow...

                                         Hakuin Ekaku

John Daido Loori, Zen of Creativity, p. 153

A Safe Journey, A Safe Return!

Phurba Dorji: A seven year old monk blesses a visitor!!

What is your name?

What do you like to eat? Hear his friend whisper 'banana'.  In the video that I took on my semi prof video camera he had said he liked Chocolates! 

What do you like to drink?

What time do you wake up in the morning? 

After I interviewed him I saw him play with his friends--just like any other child......After all 7 year olds the world over are the same.

I see a safe journey, I see a safe return

May I become at all times, both now and forever
A protector for those without protection
A guide for those who have lost their way
A ship for those with oceans to cross
A bridge for those with rivers to cross
A sanctuary for those in danger
A lamp for those without light
A place of refuge for those who lack shelter
And a servant to all in need. 

Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th Dalai Lama

The Dzong, is the first major building you see as you drive from Paro airport towards the town.  It is colored in the same colors as all buildings in Bhutan.  But the first day is when you notice it.  It leaves a sense of calm in you.
The building is painted white on the outside and all the windows and roof work is done in Bhutanese style.  Most of the buildings in the country are built that way to keep a uniformity.  The Dzongs are the fortress like structures.  Only they are meant to train the monks.

In all the Buddhist countries that I have been to so far, there is a wisdom that underlies many things. I am sure there is corruption and other wrong doings, that result from ego. But it does seem that they work from a stand point of developing the character of an individual.  Often those who are too poor to send their children to school send them to the Dzongs.  The young are then trained in reading and writing, the language of the country, and knowledge of the mind.  Other than getting education, these young men are made to think of character and its significance.  The focus is on impermanence and therefore a persistence in joy. 

In Lao, the young monks usually stayed in these monasteries till they were twenty and then joined the real world. In Thailand many adults, after being disillusioned by the 'real world' come to the monasteries as a refuge to save their souls.

In Bhutan, where like all buddhist countries, sending children to monasteries is considered praiseworthy, families often pride in sending one of their children to the Dzong --to get an education that might save the entire family.  

So, about ten days before I left, I finally made it to the Dzong.  It was a nice 25 minute walk from hotel to town.  And then about 10 minutes of an uphill walk that must equal an hour of walking.  When I arrived there, I was huffing and puffing.  But seeing the red robes of the monk flutter in the wind against the white backdrop of the fortress like building brought me the well needed rest.

The fun part about Bhutan was that most people spoke hindi.  After generic talk with the guard and other monks, I walked in.

One of the thing as a traveller is that you must have the time to actually understand the country.  Not in the country but before you arrive there.  I, am embarrassed to say that I do not do that.  But that is because my goal is different.  I never arrive as a tourist.  I arrive as a person.  I meet other people, make friends and  leave with friends.  But I learn much, because often I get the inside story.

So, when I enter these monasteries and temples, which after the first few all look the same, I look for the human element.

This time, I spoke with young monks, who were not very well versed in english.  I took some pictures --of Paro Cho (River Paro), some shots of the river and the surrounding area of the Dzong, was lucky enough to get an amazing shot of a plane flying above the mountains.  

And then I asked the monk if I could just stay inside the monastery for a short while, in silence.  They agreed.

I set my timer and sat there.  I could feel the gentle glow of the  butter lamps, sense the gaze of Buddhas carved in stone, breathe the colors inside the monastery.  It must have been only a few minutes when I heard this pitter patter.

I turned around to see this tiny thing fixing his robes. 

The littlest monk....7 years--my nephew's age.  But with a big commanding name--Phurba Dorji!!

I could not hold my chuckle, and got restless just looking at him.  I wanted to touch his forehead, pull his robe, ask him questions.

He spoke no English, I realized very quickly.  In in a few minutes monks of all sizes were around me. This tiny one ran out with the ones his size--probably playing a game of catch.

I could no longer sit in peace, I had to capture this.  

I went outside and I hugged him.  In fact, I could not stop hugging and kissing him.

Older monks helped me converse with him.  

What do you want to be?  What do you like to eat?  What do you like to drink is what I asked him.

His friend who was a year older translated some for him.  The older monk, who understood better, kept our conversation alive.  But interestingly enough there was a 7 year old-- a non-monk, who translated english to Dzongkha just as well.  Children in Bhutan learn both Dzongkha and English in schools. 

His father passed away, and the mother has six other children.  He was sent to the Dzong to become a monk, only a month ago.  So, the newest monk.  A month old....  

I told him that i will take him with me in my bag, if he was ready to come with me. 

I asked him who was his favorite sibling? 

'Mom' he said.

He told me that he aspires to be the head lama.  I told him he had to bless me now, since I wont be allowed to hug when he is the big shot!! 

He giggled at least 6 times before the other monk got this shot from my camera....

Readers will be happy to know that on my next planned visit, I took him bottles of mango juice and some chocolates, as he had asked me to.  

Ek Mulakat, Sar e Rah! (A Meeting on the Way!)

Sabah and Noyan, November 2012

Here I ask them their names and where are they from--Sweden? I ask..'No, Afghanistan' they say. Really, they are a lot less from Afghanistan than I am from India.  And I get confused often where I am from.  Sometimes I wonder if the whole world is an immigrant and only a few of us have the courage to acknowledge that!! 

Here I talk to Noyan in hindi.  I ask Noyan to say something in hindi.  He is confused. I ask him his name.  Then ask him how did he learn hindi, 'my mom' he responds.  Sabah did not speak hindi very well and so she is trying to slide off the frame!!

I have to agree when people say that I have the best experiences.  The same things that bring restlessness also bring the freedom of just waiting a little extra time, paying attention to things that we may not usually pay attention to--when someone is waiting at home.

I have been in this habit of small talk for ages now.  I think regardless of how busy I am, I would always engage in this 'causal conversation' that has brought me so much over the years.

So yesterday was Diwali.  Our festival of lights.  Our Christmas and ID and Hannukah!! But I had forgotten about it, since I have been travelling.

The day before yesterday I went into town to get a few things I knew i needed. Namely 'lights'.

As always I have to ask for directions in these areas.

I thought it was a long shot, but I tried anyway when I saw two young people--very young...under 12 walking on the street.

'Excuse me, do you speak english?"

Ao, Yes, the boy nodded.

"Do you know where is the store?"

Yes, we are going there.

And I followed them.

'Hur manga sprak talar du?' How many languages do you speak?" I asked

'Three' (Svenska, Engelska, Afghani!!)

"Afghani?"  I got excited.  All these places seem close to home.  I know that Afghanistan has gotten a bad reputation for the last few decades, but I know Afghanistan and its Kabul from Tagore's Kabuliwallah. One of my all time favorite stories.  The story has been brought to screen in at least two languages, may be more.  I read it in 4th grade, and have read several times since.  In addition I made my advance media writing students in the US read the story.

The main character and his friendship with a five year old girl was so endearing that I always wanted to know people from Afghanistan.

The there was an Afghani shepherd who used to stop early spring around our house and request my grandfather for the new soft leaves from our Peepal tree, to feed his goats.  The green eyed owner of goats was so darn beautiful that we kids would line up to see him.  Sometimes he would forget to ask permission and my grandfather would be yelling at him to come down and leave his tree alone.  My grandfather loved plants.   If we wanted to aggravate him, all we had to do was pluck a leaf from any of the plants or trees in our yard--while he was watching!!

In case the readers are wondering if I grew up in a village--NOPE, in the liveliest of all cities.  New Delhi, India.  But as is common knowledge, many centuries live in India at the same time.  And so shepherds and cow owners were always among us!!

So I was excited to hear that these kids were Afghani.  Obviously they are first generation swedish.

'Which Afghani language do you speak?"

'Dari, Hazare..'  he said, and I smiled.

He asked me where I was from. I usually respond I grew up in India.

'Indien?" asked the young boy.

'Yes'

And just on a sar sari taur (casually) I asked--' Do you know any Indian language?"

"Yes'

I thought he was joking.

'Hindi aati hai? Know hindi?" I asked (Hindi, is considered the national language.  Although what is official in India is always debatable.  But Hindi is by far the most commonly spoken language in India. Also, being the Bollywood language it lands far and wide.  I spoke hindi with many people in Bhutan for that reason.'

"Hain' he said.

Ok, that is just one word I thought.

"kaise aati hai? how do you know?

'Pata nahi' he shrugged 'Don't know.'

This can be happening I thought, but I had to explore that, 'My mom taught me' he said.

"May be hindi movies?"

"Yes' he nodded.

I smiled at both the kids and asked them if they would let me hug them.

They did. We exchanged a few more sentences in hindi before I asked them to let me take their pictures. 

The pictures here do not do them justice.  They were such beautiful kids, but I was touched by their simplicity and willingness to help, to talk, to let me hug them.

I know we live in a crazy world, kids should not allow silly people like me too close to them.  But it is because of these trusting children, that 'idealist souls' like me find a way to enjoy my ride on the winding road...in this wanton world.

Before I went into the grocery store, I acknowledged how calm and peaceful my heart felt.  I hugged them again.

And went about my work, as if it was a sar sari (casual) happening!! But don't we all when we experience little miracles --varje dag (everyday?)!!

Be open to these miracles, people be open...it will transform us!!

Shukran (thank you) to Noyan and Sabah--for reminding me that!!

PS: I also wanted to put these pictures here to show that yes they are afghani and they children, just like kids anywhere--only with a an understanding of a few extra languages.  

Winding Road Around this Wanton World!

Paro, Bhutan:  when silence becomes tangible....as spruce trees, a quiet valley and the baby blue sky!! September, 2012

There were prayer flags everywhere, an indication of constant communication with the divine!! Chalela, Paro Bhutan, 2012.

So, I was not sure whether I was going to write about this whole process of taking two months of unpaid leave. 

This blog is my way of documenting whatever does not get written in my personal journal.  In addition, it has been hard to write regularly in my journal, due to time and mind clutter.  I try to write, partly to remember incidents that we tend to forget even though they add to the richness of life, partly to document how one feels walking through life when goals and interests seem to have faded away.  But mainly to share the thoughts and musings that might bring the readers an understanding that despite wars, despite crime, despite corruption, it is a beautiful world.  That our happiness is linked with personal happiness.  That charity starts at home.  And a calm in our inner self is crucial to us engaging in the outside world.

Despite being in media, I stopped watching news about 8-10 months ago.  I am cut off from the world. I have not followed the election drama in the US, I am unaware of what is going on Sweden, although Swedish News for me serves and instructional purpose.  Staying away from NPR has been hard….but…..

There is no interest in saving the world, when I seem to be drowning often times.  And the news, I have realized does not understand the poetry of the world.  It is couched in negativity and flanked by TV shows that make a mockery of human relations.

My friends used to call me a home-body.  In many ways, I still am.  But there is a restlessness, that makes me feel that I need to be somewhere else, all the time.

It started when I first left home, at a strange age.  You step out of your teens and leave.  Partly as an escape from-- tradition that you love.  You feel it will bind you.  And also that there is not enough freedom in the way tradition is presented.  An opportunity arises and you respond. 

You do not realize that leaving at that age, when your memories of your ‘own land’ are barely a decade long will mess you up.  We do not remember much about the first decade of our life.  Then as a corollary to you spending your adult life outside of where your childhood was spent, something else shifts.  All your conscious memories are of lands where you were adjusting yourself—always in transition.  It brews a restlessness in you.  You celebrate your holidays but only as a side thought since no one else around is celebrating.   Your holiday spirit remains contained, and seems odd. People around you ask--Why are you dressed up today?  Why buy all these sweets? 

Its like celebrating Christmas in a communist country.  A lone tree, sad lights, and no glow of lights from neighboring houses.

Emotionally and romantically not many interest you, not many can match or understand that restlessness, not many want to live at that edge, not many can be your home, since your home is spread far and wide.  You are not a loner, or lonely, because you make friends.  You are alone, since in this line of life, on this route, all travellers have their own stories, while many overlap, points of convergence are few.

But since you are young, you leave.  You want to see beyond the horizon.  You have your whole life ahead.  You do not want to foresee, for there is time.  You leave your own shore.  Only the new shore, does not appear.  When waters get turbulent you look back and cannot see the city/place you left from. 

After that you hold your breath for life to return to normal, like people your age.  At some point.  If not now, may be tomorrow.  That tomorrow never arrives.  And you are left wondering if your goal now is only to enjoy the sunrises and not hope. 

Personally, I get angry when I read all this globalization literature.  I am stuck in that whirlpool and do not appreciate these scholars even pretending that they understand what it feels like.    Visas, money, security, future, nothing is clear.  An exchange of a meaningful conversation is where one rests.   No place is home and yet every place calls you.

The one thing that I have and can count on is that, now for the last decade and a half I have had really good friends.  There was a long dry spell of not having that either.  But I do now.  A consistency.  (I will write else about my return to Sweden, and how it was different from when I returned to the US—this ultra cold country felt warm due to my friends—something that hardly happened in the US.  No one ever emailed or asked or checked on my while I was away.  I did not exist!!).

And the readers will know what friendship means to me.  It is the joining of the heart.  Not two emails a year.  But someone who interacts with you on several levels.  Emails, calls, visits, skype, postcards, and occasional packages.  But most of all, the conversations and interactions are not about discussing, ‘oh I went there, I did this…’  but a genuine asking and telling of ‘how am /are  -- I/you feeling.’   And then to listen.  With our friends, we know their hearts.  We know their state of mind.  Other friendships then come in varying degrees.

I have some of the best people in my life. Name a continent, name a nationality, I probably know people from there.  That I consider a compliment to myself!!  That is my wealth.

And yet, the question remains what to do with your condition, when it isn’t where you wanted to end up?

When you look around and think well, ‘Yeh daag daag ujala, Yeh woh sahar to nahin….’ (a line from a very famous line from a very famous Indian, now Pakistani poet---‘This stained daylight, this was not the morning/ destination I had hoped for’-- This tattered raiment of darkness. 
This sputtering of dawn.
This is not the dawn that we had hoped for.
This is not the dawn we had set out for).

People go through midlife crisis at 40.  Mine came at 18, and has stayed with me ever since.  In between there have been moments of clarity. 

Teaching at Penn State was my highlight.  Indiana and Clarion were good too, but Penn State was another dimension.  I have never had that peak again. 

Writing, which is important in my field, comes easy to me.  Just not academic writing.  I write, and I never send them out.  Or just before the deadline I back out.  There were times when I wanted to throw up (literally) in the middle of academic writing.  That is the deep resistance I have to this way of communicating with the world. 

If that can be called communicating with the world?

My dissertation was on environmental activism.  I killed nearly 20 trees writing it.  What with edits and rewrites.  And every environmental summit the delegates eat, drink, and leave without any solid decision-making. 

Did I or others like I make any dent? 

Years of work on Media Effects and I am amazed at what gets produced at MTV, and worse how it reaches countries like Fiji and Botswana?

So this trip, I have thrown caution to the wind and am spending so much.  I knew I needed it.  I hardly spend time and money on myself.  A realization that has come to me in the last year.  My resources are always about, that person’s birthday, this one’s anniversary, let me call that relative, this friend…..

Years of being away from home, I still call my relatives.  Not just my parents and sibblings.

But again, that is my way of keeping continuity.  The reward is that now I know my nieces and nephews who grew up in the decade that I never visited home.  and many of them I had not seen since I first left home.

I went back and 3 year olds had turned 18, and were a head and shoulder taller than I.  When some of them came to touch my feet, not only did I scream but realized I had to deal with the shock that now I commanded some respect of age as well.  I was still young and yet there were these youngsters, my blood, who had no knowledge of me. 

I have been returning home, or to the place where I grew up, once a year in the last 8-9 years.  I have restored that connection and in some way am ready for a break.

In many ways I know ‘something has crossed over and I cannot go back’ ( A famous line from Thelma and Louise).

But for this trip, I knew that I had no plans.   At first I thought I wanted to spend two months in India, since I will get to spend Dusshera and Diwali, the two main festivals in India.  Also October is one of the most pleasant months in Delhi. I could get more footage for the documentary that I have in mind. 

But what I really wanted to do was volunteer.  There was a peace project in San Diego, writing about peace activists that was paid.  A student of mine had told me about it.  But I declined, since that would mean work.

I needed some free time to make some decisions.  My last five to six years have been hectic.  Dealing with life, life issues, looking back trying to piece a life that I am not sure I created or wanted.  Also, I have moved continents three times in this time period.

But there have been moments of light, when I look at it and I see clear.  The falls and the failures are the things to be proud of.  Some times it seems like there is a plan, an organization. I am just frustrated that I do not understand.

This is to tell all those who struggle with these issues, that most of us are in this whirlpool--together.  Those who think they are not, are not contemplating the real questions.  Most have no time since they have the luxury of being sold to the images provided in ads and movies.  Ah, love and family.  So easy to talk about and replicate in images. 

But the changes in the world happen and emerge from those who are restless.  Who seek change.  But more importantly, who are actually caught up in the revolution.  With or without a conscious intention.

So, for me, this has been a winding road.

And I have had many companions on the way.  Most of them are companions for a short while.  The real conversations I have had are, either short quick ones in classes, where I make sure my students take some questions with them, with my dear friends who function at the same level, and the travellers.  Those who have acknowledged that their home and heart is an idea, often a fleeting one!! So we see ourselves in people who reflect our own condition. 

If we are awake/Buddhas in the making then we have the courage to acknowledge it all.

On this winding road, this time, taken deliberately I had no idea what I was doing.  I wanted to go woofing, volunteer, teach, rest, not think, cut off from the world, read, write, paint, walk, run, meditate, sing, go to India take classes in Vedic philosophy, spend time in Latin America working with children’s television, go to the US and work with this research group that I admire, go bike riding everyday,

In essence, I wanted to be everywhere. 

But I chose Asia. 

I thought I would backpack through South East-Asia like I did three years ago.  But by the time I arrived in Thailand, I was tired.  Heat wears me out.  And I realized that the thought of carrying my bag every few days looking for a place to stay, trying to see how to enter and exit a country was not what I wanted.

I met L from Germany in Bangkok, at the backpackers. I took to her immediately.  She had a cute chubby face, that exuded joy.  We got to know each other only for two days, but it felt like a deep connection.  One of those travellers who gave meaning to travels.

The day she left, I found a note in my wardrobe.  A beautiful note from her that talked about how she felt when we talked and it had a 1000 kyatt, Burmese currency.  Burma was a place I wanted to go.  And so in some ways that was a sign.

Then, I met a gentleman from India in Thailand on my way to Ko Chang, who when I talked about my interest in Bhutan said, ‘ Oh you can go easy, all the visa stuff there is for westerners mainly.’

Really, I thought?

Ko Chang was loud.  The best thing about that was meeting these two cute young Chinese girls. 

On my return to Bangkok I met M from Netherlands, and reconnected with M from Germany.  Another one where we sat down and felt like we were meant to meet.  Hindu and Buddhist beliefs are based on this ideology that when we meet and the interaction is intense, it is from a past life connection.  I must have had millions (not a compliment) since turn around of people in my life has been enormous. 

I must have had numerous lives, because I have many of those heart to heart connections where I am left wondering where do I know these people from?

I think on our winding road, we meet people from our past lives.

The night before I left I talked with two young men.  Both 21, one from UK and the other, part Thai kid, from guess where?  Yes Sweden!!

We talked well into the night since my flight was at 4 am.

I left Thailand with peace and excitement in my heart. 

At the airport I met this bunch of Taiwanese people, I will put their picture up as well.  A happy group of people.  Including an 82 year old matriarch. 

I met this wonderful young woman and her daughter in the plane.  She spoke fluent hindi.  I had been told that Bhutanese people speak very good hindi.  Partly because they share a border with India, and partly due to Bollywood.

The moment I arrived in Bhutan I started laughing.  Like a mad person.  It was pleasant, clean, gorgeous and pretty much soundless.  Except the construction sounds and stray dogs.  I knew I did right by me!!

Although my blog entries are all sporadic and come out of time, I will try to write the next few blogs, just about Bhutan, as I truly intend to write about this beautiful country and its policies that are geared toward fiercely protecting its culture.  I will try and put them under the category of Bhutan and/or winding roads. 

But in this one, in this long one where I have bared my heart, hoping that those who struggle with ‘existence and meaning’ will find some solace that they are not alone, I wanted to write about how sometimes things happen magically---and that we should be open to it.

Pay attention to the signs and signals that bring us messages.

On the winding roads around this wanton world…..there are many things and people that bring us messages.  I hope and pray we learn to be open to them.  And at the risk of preaching mumbo-jumbo, I think we should teach children at school to be on the look out for messages that help us deal with this wanton world..