Bus addventure

Lack of Romanian language and an extremely abundant usage of English here in India, make my thoughts come more easily in this “not my mother language”. So i will publish my posts in English from now on.

My brain always cherished some inner dialogues in English. There were times when I was making up various replies that I can give for different occasions, sometimes remembering some movie phrases, what a cliché … but whatever, I don’t care what language I use, as long as I can express my thoughts clearly.

So, here I am in Dharamsala (9th of February). The place where I thought I will spend minimum 1 month. But as usually, things never happen according to my plan.

I was never good at planning things, or following my plans (whenever I had them) accordingly. I guess in a way it means that I am not attached to a plan and I am not rigidly following it when I have better options. I am giving myself freedom to enjoy “going with the flow feeling” (which I actually classify as a good thing) but on the other hand, it means that I am getting too much chaotic lately (which according to my opinion is less good, unfortunately).

The way to Dharamsala itself, was a bit challenging from the very beginning.

Bus trip adventure

First it was hard to get an auto rikshaw from JNU (Jawarlang Nehru University – place where I stayed for a week and which is in South Delhi) to Manju Ka Tilla (it’s a Tibetan colony, from where buses depart to Dharamsala and it is in North Delhi). No autowallah (a name used by some people for autorikshaw drivers) was willing to take me there, and I was too lazy and more than that carrying way too much luggage to take a public bus and then a metro and then again a bicycle rikshaw to get to the destination. Finally one agrees, but ripped me off, as usually.I crossed Delhi from South to North in about one and a half hour with some traffic and changes of smell on the way.

In the end, I was dropped in a damaged and seemed like on the outskirts of Delhi - Bus Parking place. It was nearby the Timar Pur Police Station (the place where almost 3 years ago, I was desperately answering the Police man that I didn’t notice who took my bag away). Some memories came back; I enjoyed them and started to ask for the bus to Dharamsala.
Apparently I was in the place where the buses of Himachal Pradesh are parked and not the place from where the buses depart to Himachal Pradesh. So, the driver, whose name was “Rajiv” made some phone calls. I am not so good at Hindi, but I guess he spoke to the ticket counter person to find out whether there is any available seat for me. “No more tickets for today”, said Rajiv, “… but … (pause)” (and I was sure Rajiv won’t disappoint me and will come with an alternative plan) … but Madam can sit here”, and Rajiv showed me the small driver cabin. The cabin looked quite clean, but quite small, with almost no place to keep your feet down. That means you have to keep them on the chair, which is long and looks like a sofa inside the cabin.

I asked Rajiv how many people does he intend to “invite” in this cabin, as I was aware of Indian skills and abilities to squeeze as much people as possible in limited spaces. “Only two people Madame, you and one more”, and I almost believed him. Finally, the empty bus, and me sitting in the cabin with the driver and his helper boy departed to the place from there the bus actually is supposed to go to Dharamsala. People started to get in, lots of luggage, bags, loud talks, children crying and rain sounds. The water gradually started to penetrate the cabin via a broken window.

The weather had cooled down in Delhi on the day I left, and suddenly I find the bus cold and hoping that I won’t find it wet soon. Started to shiver and admiring through the window the monks coming on bicycle rikshaw, and signs they do after getting off. Then, one man entered and sat in the cabin, then another one. Damn it, I knew Rajiv will let me down, but not in this way. By the time bus was ready to departure I was enjoying a 100% male company around, consisting of fife men. So, either Rajiv is a big liar, or he is completely bad at math. But I guess there is a big possibility that both variants could work.

To avoid all kind of conversation I was contemplating the little “Changing Color Shiva Statue”. As for me, it looked more like a Christmas decoration, changing its color gradually from blue to red, and then flashing several times. I almost got hypnotized looking at this Shiva, when a young boy, maybe in his early 20’s asked me if I want some water. I didn’t replied, just showed him my bottle of water and smile.

I was already “enjoying” imagining 13 hours ride, with my feet on the small couch, without any space to move them, and feeling the cold air mixed with rain coming from the opened window. I noticed that lots of Indians keep the window opened even if they are terrible cold. I couldn’t figure it out yet, but maybe there is some kind of “permanent need in oxygen” to make their brain work better. And I was so weak that I even didn’t find the courage to ask “the helper boy” to close the window. I guess my complex of being considered “a spoiled western girl” was too strong at that moment.

Here we are from left to right in the driver cabin: helper boy, me, young Tibetan refugee, Buddhist monk, Indian guy 1 and Indian guy 2 and the driver, my dearest Rajiv.The young Tibetan took out a shawl and while trying to cover himself, asked me if I have one too. I didn’t have so, he proposed to share his. Well, at the beginning I refused, but later on, changed my mind and covered my legs.
Sometimes you talk to someone for a while and you can talk and talk, and then, at the end, you find out that you even haven’t asked the person’s name. That happened with the young Tibetan refugee. But let call him “Tashi”, I guess it’s a Tibetan name. So, Tashi is still in High School, somewhere in Dharamsala, and for the winter break he visited some of his friends in Delhi. He came to India in 2003, but the rest of his family is still living in Tibet. He has one elder brother which is a monk, and a married sister. He said that he never went to school in Tibet, because they teach only in Chines, and he doesn’t want to study in Chinese, and wants to study in his own language. His father and brother taught him Tibetan writing and reading. Tashi knows some Chinese too, but English he started to study only when he came to India. He knows some Hindi too, but very little, maybe a bit better than I do.I felt that he is very sad about the Tibet destiny. He almost was crying while talking about his parents back home. He can’t go back, because now he has a refugee certificate and he says that Chinese can put him in jail for that, because he escaped from China illegally through mountains. He loves Dalai Lama, and considers him a god, and said that whoever is caught with Dalai Lama portraits can have troubles in Tibet. Also, he mentioned that you can’t google “Dalai Lama” in Tibet. “We didn’t knew anything there. That we have parliament of Tibet in India, that we have a prime minister, nothing”, said Tashi, his words being filled with sorrow. And suddenly I forgot about the cold, and water coming through the wndow and even the flashing Shiva didn’t disturb me much. I felt deeply sad for Tibet and its people. They all seem so peacefully, so kind and harmless. The monk was heading to Bir, which is a Tibetan colony with several monasteries in Kangra District of Himachal Pradesh. I was also thinking of going there for the Tibetan language classes which are held at the Deer Park Institute, but I thought I would check first how is Dharamsala, and maybe I want to stay there. With my other cabin travellers I dint exchange much words, only looks. Then the night came and we all tried to find a place to feel comfortable. Just when everybody was already chilled out, after losing the hope in finding a good position for the night, “the helper boy” turned on the DVD player inside the cabin, and started to enjoy his favorite Bollywood songs in such a loud volume, that I think you could hear the bus coming being 1 km away.

I usually enjoy Indian music, but this was too much for me to handle. Again my complex of being considered “a spoiled western” was too strong and I tried to keep my inner peace and imagine that I am deaf, or at least deaf on one ear, just like I was less than 10 days ago.

The bus stopped at the Punjabi Dhaba (Punjabi kitchen) and I had Pallak Paneer (Spinach with Paneer) with 3 butter rotti and one masala chai. Something was wrong with that Pallak or Paneer, because I had to eat 2 chocolates after to kill the taste in my mouth.Again back to the cage.

I forgot to mention but Rajiv proved to be a keen smoker. And he didn’t smoke good smelly cigarettes, but the really bad smelly one. The one wrapped in some kind of a leaf and their smell is capable to drive you into a state of maddness stoness close to vomiting.

With such loud music and the Rajiv’s awful smelling cigarettes and bad body position I tried to sleep, but I was not lucky enough, because I just couldn’t do it, no matter how hard I tried. Tashi’s head was falling on my shoulder, it was pretty heavy, but he seemed so tired that I endured the weight of his head. Then the “helper boy” also felt asleep and his legs were litter by little falling on mine. And I felt so squeezed and sad that everyone around can sleep and I just can’t. I started to contemplate Shiva statue again and hoping that Dharamsala is not so far and that the time passes fast, and that I am strong enough to resist.
Dharamsala

A cocktail of rain and snow was what we found in Dharamsala. The bus could not make his way to McLeond Gunj (the place where the Dalai Lama temple is, and where he usually stays when he is in India). The road was a bit frozen and Rajiv though his bus, won’t be able to go all the way up.
Finally, I find myself in rain with my backpack almost getting wet; I take off my rain cover and try to save it from being totally wet.
People are running to get a taxi, my travel companions vanished. I still can see the monk staying in rain. He was still there when I left with an old hippy American. This sweet old hippi man had a guitar, long hair and long beard, which for me seemed "quite a poetical look". He was coming from Bangkok back to McLeond Gunj, so he knew a good guest house and was very friendly to me. After the got off the taxi, I walked in my sandals through snow and my feet got totally wet and freeze, so we stopped in “Peace cafe” for the breakfast so I could change and ware my tracking shoes. He ordered Tibetan bread with butter, jam and peanuts butter and suggested that I drink honey ginger lemon tea. I drank 2 glasses to recover from the cold.

I managed to recover my feet and we continue the walk. Finally we got to the “Friend Guest House”, the place where I will spend 3 nights, most of the time sleeping.
Somehow, when i arrived I was still having energy and in spite of a slight head each, I decided to explore the surroundings. It was still raining, but I didn’t care. The air was so fresh and so revitalizing that I thought its good for heath to have a walk. All around Mc leond Gunj you can see the mountains, the green one, wearing on top a hat of snow. I adore this kind of views and felt so much pleasure from contemplating them. Almost got a visual orgasm, only the fog was bothering a bit. After 2 hours of walking around, mostly staring around like a zombie I decided that it would be a wise decision to go to sleep. After watching 2 movies: Twilight (teeny bullshit) and My sister’s keeper (I cried at this one) I went to my sleeping bag and still shaking for some 30 minutes, finally managed to lose myself in a deep sleep.