Jul 2006

Sorry bz the waz, if this is superly incoherent, this keyboard is set to Israeli... all the super hardcore people that just come out of the armz are the token backpackers around here, and I[ve got Hebrew stuck all over the kezs! Anzwazs, thats the news for now, Tenzin has invited us to do an 5 hour hike up a mountain today, but I dont think we[re feeling that energetic... instead we[re going to check out the Tibetan Governments building and the Dalai Lama[s residence and nearby Gompa. I bought a beautiful hand painted Tibetan thanka yesterday... I[ve bought up nearly half of Dharamsala so far, but nevermind. This avvo Amelia and I are going for Tabla and Sitar lessons as well, we[re going to start an ironic Western Eastern music band Ë)

Weeeeeell. Because Amelia, Ed and I are super intrepid pro-rambling Lowe Alpine endorsing people (and I don't even own a pair of walking boots, so just don't worry), we decided to walk from McLeod Ganj, to Dharamsala (about 10 km.... people who know how much exercise I do, try not to faint with shock). Anyways, in true comedy style, we got totally lost on this "short cut" that some Indian guys sent us on and ended up blissfully sauntering into an army barracks. Whoops. Then, we wandered down a beautiful valley, strewn with cows contentedly munching on the grass, and two wisened old Indian men, with henna red hair, sat leisurely smoking a hookah. So we toddled down what looked like a track and came across the most amazing thing... several families of monkeys hanging out on the side of the mountain. It was so amazing, Amelia and I scrabbled behind a rock to video them and take some pictures...very David Attenborough BBC 2 Nature-esque. The monkeys were absolutely gorgeous running about, tumbling over each other, furry bodies swinging through the branches and slithering down tree trunks. It really was amazing seeing animals like that in the wild, that normally you're only used to seeing from the comfort of your sofa, Doritos in one hand, remote control in the other. It was very special.

Seeing monkeys and clambering down the hillside and crossing a few narrow rivers all made us feel super confident when we came to a heowge thundering 11 ft wide beast of a river... In my Dorothy Perkins Gola trainers I shouted: "Just don't worry, it's fine guys!"
Ed tentatively stepped forward; "Lets cross here..." before almost tumbling head first over the side of a cliff.
Needless to say, we abandoned that plan to cross a bit further down... before bumping into an Indian guy that gave us the look that we've come to know and love so well: 'What the bloody hell are those crazy Westerners doing?'
After much explaining to us in broken English that it really wasn[t the best plan to try and climb down the side of a gorge when we didn[t actually know where we were going and with mutterings about snakes that "cut the leg"... At which point I totally lost all sense of adventure, we decided against it. I felt a strange sensation on the back of my leg, felt up my trouser and had a leech! A LEECH! attached to the back of my leg... I yelled seventy kinds of blue murder and ripped it off. The man walked away, comforted in the knowledge that we were all clinically insane.

Last night, we watched a film in Dharamsala's mini cinema (basically a widescreen plasma tv and dvd player with curtains and comfy seats... it works well) called Born Into Brothels, about the children of prostitutes in Calcutta's red light district. An amazing American photographer from New York gave the kinds cameras and lessons on how to be a good photographer, some of the pictures they took were amazing. There is not much hope for these poor children, stigmatised by society, with many girls forced into prostitution at 11 by their mothers. This is a side to India that I previously wasn't aware barely existed. It was such a moving film, the realities of what these children face, especially compared to our cushy lives in the West, really hit me. We are so lucky. I know I keep saying that, but my god we are. The other day, I met this Sloanie girl who sent her backpack back to england after 3 days because it was "too heavy" she spent 30,000 rs doing. 30,000! Thats 2/3 people's yearly salary. Its disgusting. We take for granted our position in England, our automatic access to education, sanitation, food, water, child protection. When I get back to England I am going to buy that DVD and show everybody, it is so moving. As equally as it may depress you, it will also make you so happy and appreciative of what you have. I'm reading The Art of Happiness by the Dalai Lama at the moment (cue hippy mocks :P!) and he says that one of the keys to becoming happy within yourself is through comparison. As humans, we naturally compare ourselves to others, what breeds unhappiness and covetousness is comparing ourselves to those who have more than we have, or what we dont have... it leads to dissatisfaction.

Charlee's thought for the day: The next time you find yourself comparing yourself to others, compare yourself to those less fortunate than yourself: the poor, the handicapped, the lonely... and then look at all that you have and be thankful that you don't have to live in a rubbish heap, drinking water from sewage pipes to survive, that you don't have leprosy and your arms aren't falling off your body, I guarantee you will feel instant satisfaction with yourself

Sorry for being super self righteous, I just wanted to point it out. I promise, alot less of me harping on and alot more about how wonderful India is and how much fun we're having, coming up

Yes it is.

Well, Amelia and Ed have popped off net door to see the Big Lebowskii - they have a cinema here, which is amazing! Not surprising though, considering it is one of the Dalai ama's great passions. I'm snuggled up in bed (happily so) because my stomach is still a little tender

We're in Dharamsala/McLeod Ganj in the Himalayas, but more about that later.

On my last night in Amritsar I stayed up and watched the world cup finals with a group of frenchies and the Punjabi guys that run our guest house. It was ace..we shouted
"PUTAIN!"
"VAS-Y!"
at the TV lots.

Benjamin, one of the french guys, made me nearly wet myself telling me the story of a guy from Newcastle that he met in Nepal (have a good luagh at the Brits):

Ben: "Every ozher word was "f*ckeeeng" "

Me: "Ah oui, les anglais, ils connaissent pas des adjectivs."

Benjamin: I zheenk so, so everytime I saw 'im after I just call 'im "F*ckman".

F*ckman. Yep, that's the Brits. We have lots of F*ckmans.

I am starting to see more what Emma means about travelling. You meet some really interesting, maazing and funny people. Everyone has the same kind of mindset, you have to really, travelling in a place like this. And you meet some amazingly cool people that you just totally connect with, but you know realistically that you can't stay in touch with everyone, its sad, but just a fact of life.

I attracted quite alot of attention in Amritsar for my ip piercing. Groups of men would point at me and then at their chins, chatting away in Hindi, before waving and smiling. Yep, its the piercing.

Likewise, in the State Bank of India, one man sat next to me smiling, pointed and asked:
"Is fashion in England?"
Errrrrrr.
I tried to explain: "My mother, see this and not happy." (I mime a raving monster - sorry mum! You're really not that bad...I love you!)
They all tutted - rebelling against her mother.
But smiled - crazy Westerner.

DHARAMSALA....

Gah wel, after smug talk of getting better my stomach is still sore. I am lucky though, we got a taxi from Pathankot to Dharamsala but Amelia's friend that we bumped intowas telling us that she knows a girl who was ill like me and got a bus. It seems you're persona non grata if you're vomiting over the other passengers, so, she said, they "stripped her, wrapped her up in a blanket and strapped her to roof." My god.

Currently, I'm sat on Amelia and Ed's balcony, looking out at the Himalayas. The Himalayas. Even the thought that I am here fills me with excitement and happiness. In the background, a man is labouriously hammering away at a copper pot. The constant "tchink! tchink!" is grating away at my nerves, but hey, it must be worse for him, he's the one having to hammer.

Even though I've barely been out because of sickness (NB.... written a good 3 days ago... dont worry!!) I'm in love with Daramsala and Mcleod Ganj already. To be honest, I realy only came to Dharamsala to see a slice of Tibetan ife. Its just the chance to see the closest thing to Tibet, what is more Tibetan than Tibet now, according to lots of people, since the Chinese government engulfed Lhasa, suffocating it with concrete and turning the Potala Palace into a maze of surveillance cameras and bug microphones.

I could never go to Lhasa now, it would make me so depressed and angry. hasa now, according to Amelia, is full of chinese businessmanand prostitues -usualy desperate Tibetan women wo have no other option. How such a beautiful and spiritual place has been so completely ad utterly desecrated, broken apart and ruined is beyond me.

In the reception of our guest house (run by a sturdy and hardworking Tibetan women and her husband) behind the wooden desk, are faded stickers emblazoned with "FREE TIBET" and "Peace In Tibet"; unfortunately, that goal seems more like a dream now, as the Chinese build the first overland railway line linking mainland China and Tibet - strengthening their strangulating grip on the country.

Okay loves, sorry for the super ate update... I've been very sporadic with my diary writing I'm afraid, and being ill hadn't really had a chance, but here it is, the tail end of my Amritsar entry and a bit about Dharamsala....

AMRITSAR

Being pretty much the only Westerners there, we attract much attention, but inlike the touts in the Paharganj bazaar in Delhi and te winking men at the train station, all of it is friendly:

"Where you from?"

"England."

"Ahhhh very good country..."
(This reaction always amazes me considering the 2 centuries of horror and irreparable damage the British Imperial Regime imposed on India.)

"...you watch World Cup? England lose. Maybe France do better." This is said teasingly, not maliciously. (nice one Italia by the way.. yay bene and ben!)

Or it is:
"Can we take picture?" AT which point you are swamped by a grinning family - biji's, diji's, babiji's, kids and all)

In the afternoon we wento the Jellianwallah Bagh; perhaps the most important sight with regards to Indian Independence.

The Scene: On a hot afternoon in 1919, over 2000 Indians gathered in a small square called Jellianwalah Bagh for a peaceful protest against the Imperial Government's new law which meant that those suspected of sedition could be imprisoned without trial.

Generals Dyer and O'Dwyer, heads in the Punjab, hearing of this took troops to hight altitude spots and open fired on the crowd. It was a massace, there is no other word for it. Men clutching at the wals trying to climb out and escape were shot; people tried jumping in desperation down the 50/60 ft well; afterwards 150 bodies were pulled out.

The Generals that committed the atrocities were never offically punished for their actions (another example of the gross inhumanity and injustice that punctuated British Imperialism). However, Dyer was shot several years later. I knwo its bad to say an eye for an eye, but it serves him right. Bastard. O'Dwyer on the other hand, lived for quite a while and was buried in Westminster Abbey. Westminster Abbey?! Te place of heroes, saints and poets, I'm sorry but that is just screwed up.

The one, if you can use the phrase "positive thing" to come out of the Jellianwallah Bagh massacre was that it was the catalyst which spurred Gandhi's first real fight for Independence from British rule.

Jellianwallah Bagh itself has now been made into a beautiful garden, as a constant memorial of those who gave their lives for the right to free speech. The garden itself is such a moving place, green twisting trees bursting with orange blossoms, knee high grass that strokes the calves of your legs and shady groves carry the weight of national sadness. I find it extremely touching that in a place of such death and despair there is such beauty, life and hope. Being English, I felt so fraudulent walking around, even though I am wholly unconnected with the event, I feel the guilt of the cruelty of my people. 3 children run up to me and start chattering away, introducing themselves, chuffed to be able to practise their language skills, one of them, Pooja, the leader in a salwar kameez, uber cool kid shades and plastic platforms that'd put the Spice Girls to shame. I feel guilty when I lie and tel them I'm from New York, but I feel that now is not the time or the place to bring up my nationality. One thing that should really be admired, and taken as inpiration is the friendliness, openness and forgiveness with wich the British are treated here. WE ARE VERY LUCKY. I totally would understand as well if people were rude, but they're not. Maybe those Brits who still harbour hostility towards modern day Germans can take a leaf out of the book from India.

Welllllllllll after being really smug about missing the monsoon its finally descended upon us super stealthily. Everyone seems pretty happy about it though, our hostel owners were laughing, running and slipping over chasing each other... glad I think for some water to provide relief from the oppressive heat. I don't think anyone will be smiling though when the side sewers (India takes a very open view about s**t.. i.e no need to cover it up, be proud of your produce, so alot of it is open) start overflowing, so tomorrow we are escaping to the mountains and Dharamsala, the home of the Dala Lama... where its TWENTY FIVE DEGREES! 25 degrees seems like a far away and wonderful legend in Amritsar. Okay, anyways, overdue, my diary entry from Amritsar, wrote on the 6th before I started spewing from every oraface.

After a pretty turbulent night, I have managed to haul myself to breakfast. The aptly named "Tourist Guest House" where we are staying is lovely - the reception is a white bulding with balconies, pretty grand by Indian standards, with trees twisting their way up the side of the building, engulfing the brickwork and then exploding out in orange vivacious blossoms.

My room itself is extremely cute, a building outside on its own in the front yard, almost like my own little hermit's cottage. Needless to say though, it fuels my paranoias... at night my imagination runs wild with the endless possible ways in which scorpions/snakes/thieves could force entry. So i shut the glass windows and had an extremely sleepless night, never taking my eye off a harmless clump of dust, blowing in the breeze, which to my - 6 short sighted eyes looked scarily like a tarantula.

I am halfway through reading an amazing book called City of Djinns - Ed and Amelia are walking libraries on India. The book is set in Delhi where the writer talks alot about the effects that partition and the consequent migration had on the city. It seems strangely fitting here. Amritsar, and in fact the whole of the Punjab state, is tinged with a background of religious division and tragedy. A predominantly Sikh state, new Punjab stretches from the bottom of Himachal Pradesh, Jammu and Kashmir, bordering Pakistan on its left and to the bottom, Haryana - these being the 2 most controversial nieghbours.

Before partition, (the splitting of Pakistan into a Muslim state and India into a predominantly Hindu state- Hindustan) Lahore in Pakistan was the Punjabi capital.

Indeed, partition seems to be the most recurrent political theme in India. As I have been reading, it is since partition that Delhi has received a mass influx of Hindu migrants (6000 a day) and this has changed the political and physical landscape irreparrably, in some eyes.

Amritsar is home to 2 of the most important events in Indian history. The Golden Temple, a place of Sikh pilgrimage, but in 1984 home to a catalyst of events that shook India and created a religious clivage between Hindus and Sikhs. Some Punjabi Sikhs are separatists and wish to create their own indepependant Sikh nation, Khalistan. In 1984, Sikh speratists took control of the GT. Indira Gandhi, them prime minister, sent in tanks and the temple was completely desecrated. A year later she was assassinated by her Sikh bodyguards, an act which caused massive Hindu riots and anti Sikh violence, resulting in displacement; and the death of nearly 3000 sikhs. Seeing the GT today, it is hard to imagine such a tragedy taking place there.

The GT IS amazing. Absolutely amazing. Its cliche'd but it really is hard to find words to describe the feeling when your feet tread down the hot marble steps and you catch the first glint of gold and the first ripple on the water.

It is overwhelming.

The reality of seeing such a famous and such a beautiful sight, something that is splashed over calendars and postcards and dubbed one of the sveen wonders of the world is hard to digest. usually when there is such suspense before, there is an anticlimax. But I felt none. People were bent over, foreheads on marble, lips in reverent prayer. I was so overwhelmed by the view, even I felt inspired to bend my head and pray to this beautiful building to the power of the belief that created it.

The atmosphere of the GT itself is quite relaxed in some ways. Little boys in topknots and older men in lungi, sporting turbans and majestic beards bathe on the steps, their khalsa swords glinting in the harsh midday sun. Women sit underneath the shady groves of marble pillars that ring the outside of the water tank, or they fervently hurry down the steps, holding up the ornately patterned botoms of their salwaar so that they can fill a bottle with the precious holy water that ripples around this beautiful place. All aound the continuous chant of the Guru Granth Sahib rises and falls with gentle cadence in the balmy summer air, teaching and reassuring.

In the centre of it all, emanating a soft gold light is the holiest of Sikh creations - the things that families save half their lives for; to fly around the world and kiss the front step, the cause of political wars amd instrumental in the death of Indira Gandhi and nearly 3000 Sikhs. However that is no the fault of the inner temple, it is simply tragic circumstance, humanity and the strangth of an unquenchable faith. It is easy to understand why. Holiness envelopes you like an old friend...

(more to write... but too tired, still a bit bleurgh and I'm sutre I've bored everyone to death with my rambling already!)