Adventures in Chai and Knick-Knacks

1. River of Spiritual Tourism

Sometime after His Holiness the 14^th Dalai Lama set up residence in this small village in the Himalayas, the place ceased to be what it once was and began to take on a new facade. This was caused not only by the influx of Tibetan refugees, fleeing in the hundreds of thousands to India or by the tentative relationships between populations. What has largely shaped this area is the flow of foreigners attracted to HHDL and the Tibetan Government in Exile. They rush in every year like a rapid river, inevitably shaping all through which they flow.

There are some days when, walking through a street crowded with free-spirited Westerners and hippies (of various generations), I want to stop and stomp my foot like a spoiled child: I came here to see Tibetans! Get out, hippies! Mine!

Despite my mental tantrum, however, Mcleodganj's economic system is very much dependent upon these fresh faces, and it may be the support of these (super) hippies that allows the town to take in and help the refugees still arriving everyday. So, for the moment, I'll gladly share my little Himalayan paradise.

2. The Bizarre and the Bazaar

Thanka Shop

Thus the end result is a town which is centered upon two things: spirituality and tourism. Monasteries and temples are around nearly every bend, and you can't walk a dozen steps without bumping elbows with monks and nuns in their long crimson robes. This may be doubly true for salesmen. They line every road, setting up tables when they can't afford shops.

The largest part of Mcleodganj is the gigantic central bazaar, the hub of spiritual materialism (and, I might add, the best place on Earth to buy presents for Buddhists). Here, one can find restaurants of various ethnic cuisines (try Tibetan! Punjabi! Indian! Israeli!), discotechs, and accommodation ranging from guest houses (for those brave free-spirits) to fine hotels (for those retired hippies).

But mostly, one can find things to buy. Religious items like prayer wheels, singing bowls, thankas (paintings), malas, prayer flags, deity statues, etc, etc, etc. If you've dreamed of something for your Buddhist shrine, they have it here. Then there are the textiles, ranging from massively embroidered items, Tibetan Yak wool, Tibetan hand-woven rugs, traditional Tibetan (and Indian) clothing, fuzzy hats of leather and fur, and many, many knitted items. Crystal and gem shops are very common, with carved jewelry, statues, etc, all beautiful and terrible expensive. Every so often there is a stand with men selling post-cards and pictures of HHDL, ten rupees only, madam. Metalworkers intricately bend and twist jewelry, statues, the like for you. Shops and shops are devoted entirely to Tibetan paintings (thankas). Knick-knacks. Bric-a-Brak. For you, I give a special price. Shopkeepers look delighted when you haggle.

Now the shopkeepers are something I've never seen before. The Tibetan shopkeepers which I've seen are generally reserved and serious, wanting very much to help you, and thanking you while waving your money over the rest of their merchandise as you leave. This seems to me like a gesture that's something between blessing the items and scolding them, like children who didn't behave well. Why didn't you sell? Why can't you be more like your brother? Look, he's just been sold. You see !!??

In general, it's the Indian shopkeepers, however, that are more entertaining. You see, it's difficult to walk down the street in Mcleodganj without several people seeking your attention at once. These salesmen will stop you as you walk, ask you where you're from, how you are, if you want a cup of chai.

Yes, chai. If you talk to a salesman for more than, say, five minutes, you will be offered chai regardless of whether or not you make a purchase (and don't worry, it's usually chai from the same stands where I normally stop for my own). After my first week in Dharamsala, I already have over a dozen shopkeepers I have to wave to on my way to dinner, and quite a few more who get offended if I don't stop.

Part of the central market from above

You see, these shopkeepers, as well as the others around here, seem absolutely obsessed with Westerners (especially, it seems, Americans). Walking down just about any street here, I'm regularly asked by Indian tourists if I'll pose for a picture with them. When I laugh and say no, they grab the next Westerner. Similarly, the shopkeepers, bored and waiting for sales, simply eat up talking to you.

I was on my way to the post office to mail some post cards, when one young, long-haired Indian began asking me the usual questions (Namaste, how are you? Which country?) I pause, because why just shuffle past? I'm not in a rush. After about two minutes of chatting, one of them is so determined to keep talking to me that he guides me to the post office, offering to pay for my postage when the postman can't make change.

“Are they all to the US? I love that you're sending those. How retro. Nobody sends postcards anymore! When I was young, my father used to travel a lot, so he'd send me one from everywhere...” (their English, you see, is often quite good here).

It goes on like this for a while, as it usually does. I take a peak in his shop, because it's polite, and tell him I'm too tired for chai today (although I frequently accept) after climbing up the mountain.

“I don't want you to get the wrong impression of me,” he apologizes, “I'm not some salesman trying to sell something. I just love talking to Americans... you'll come back another day?”

It's very common. The other day, I had chai with another shopkeeper who, after about twenty minutes of conversation, was repeatedly inviting me to a family wedding up in Kashmir. “Really, I want to take you up to this wedding. I could show you where I come from. Kashmir is very beautiful.”

Oh, India.