Masala Vagabond: A Losar to Remember: Another Reason Why the Tibetan People Have My Heart

About three years ago, I started attending Columbus Karma Thegsum Choling, a Tibetan Buddhist Meditation Center in Columbus Ohio, out of both personal and research interest. Over the next few years, while studying the causes of American conversion to Tibetan Buddhism, I became more and more immersed in the Dharma, until it became one of my loves, one of my passions.

In October 2009, I bowed my head before Kenpo Karthar Rinpoche as he cut away a small strand of my hair, vowing to become a student of the Dharma. “Dro la," I said. "Lek so." I am Happy. It is good.

On that day, I took a second name: Karma Sonam Palmo, Glorious Merit (of the Karma Kagyu Lineage). I took that name with me as I flew across the seas and rode up the curvy mountains to the small village of McLeodganj, in Dharamsala, India, the seat of His Holiness Dalai Lama and an outpost of hope for the Tibetan refugee community.

I met Sonam (or Tsomo, as her family calls her) at KTC, and gladly carried to India presents for a family which clearly misses her as much as she misses them. Like a sweat-shirted jet-lagged Santa Claus, I was cheerful and a bit honored to be able to drag along behind me (and watch as it was balanced on a man's head at the train station!) such an important package.

Temple at Losar

I arrived in Dharamsala just in time for Losar, the Tibetan New Year, and was invited to Bir for the post-Losar celebrations. Sonam's brother and kind and knowledgeable monk, Kunchok Norbu a shared with me the rituals of Losar and arranged for a car to pick me up on the 6^th.

The Monastery is surrounded by Om Mani's

The 5^th was Losar itself, a day of devotion rather than celebration. I traveled down to His Holiness the Dalai Lama's Namgyal monastery and temple (amongst a crowd of formally dressed Tibetans and Indian salesmen along the sidelines).

On the 6^th, after two-hour trip along winding roads, I found myself in Bir, a beautiful valley with a culturally rich Tibetan settlement, at the house of Chimi and Tashi, my generous hosts. Bearing a bag of fruit, which, after some nudging, was recommended to me as an acceptable Losar gift, I entered their beautiful home.

Sitting in the living room a short time after I arrived, Tashi showed me a collage of pictures and began to tell me the story of the house. An aging Western couple had lost their two sons in an accident. Being Buddhist, they decided to seek out the help of Tibetan lamas to find the beings into which their sons had reincarnated. And find them they did, in the form of a beautiful blond girl from Florida and a spiky-haired Tibetan boy, Tashi's son. The Western couple, so pleased to have found the continuance of their sons, built the family this beautiful, modern house, which they visit every year. Later that night, as I go to sleep in a (very comfortable) bunk-bed, I look up to see the eyes of the blond girl smiling knowingly from a picture on the wall.

Lunch is my first opportunity to grasp the absolute hugeness of this family. As we sit down to a heaping plate of rice, steamed Tibetan buns, beans, a vegetable medley, and mutton (all, I must add, quite delicious) I'm quickly losing track of names. I try to remember them all as I sip my salted milk tea. Sonam has 10 siblings of various ages; then there are the cousins, the nephews/nieces, the aunts, uncles, on and on. At one point, I start writing down names to keep them all straight.

It's a bit hard to grasp, all of this family in one place, houses lined up in a row. But there's something so warm and comforting about it, about the idea of being surrounded by people so closely tied. In greeting, Sonam's mother takes my hand and looks directly into my eyes with genuine kindness.

“You've ridden a bike before?” I'm asked shortly after lunch.

A short while later, freshly changed into a pair of jeans, I'm on the back of a large motorcycle. Imagine, twenty-four years of life and never once on the back of a motorcycle! As we begin to move, I'm seized with fear, and search for somewhere appropriate to grab hold of the driver, settling awkwardly for the shoulders.

The driver, Choesang, is a tattooed and peirced Tibetan with a quick smile and a fierce curly bun at the crown of his head. As we curve through this beautiful valley, lush with vegetation, it doesn't take long before I'm convinced that I need one of these machines back home.

Choesang somehow becomes my unofficial tour guide/host through Bir and through Tibetan culture, which was just fine with me as he's an easy person to get along with and he patiently answers all of my (far too many) questions. He takes me to beautiful monasteries, the first of which houses six hundred monks and one gigantic Buddha statue. Down another curving road to an open field, we sit and watch the hang-gliders float down from the mountain top.

Dinner at the matron's house is no smaller than lunch had been, and again I (quite rudely) cannot finish it. Just before the meal, I'm handed a bowl of rice wine: a thick dish with the consistency of porridge, with floating nuts and sweets, served warm (and with just the faintest taste of alcohol). A traditional Losar treat, I'm told. "Don't get drunk!" Kunchok jokes. As we eat, I'm pleased by the casual Dharma lessons he gives freely in response to my (again, too many) questions.

Early the next morning, the community gathers to replace the old prayer flags, whitened and worn by the year's weather, with colorful new ones. Monks from the nearby monastery have gathered and are chanting prayers; a large oven is smoking profusely with an offering to the local deities. A monk carefully offers items from a small table as his fellows chant. "Is that a bottle of whiskey?" I have to ask. A short time later I watch as the ground hungrily gobbles up this whiskey.

Nearby, daredevil climbing stunts are made by the brave New-Flag-Putter-Uppers. Under Choesang's tutelage, I tie a kotta (ceremonial white scarf) to one of the strings of flags (“say your prayers now! Make your wishes!”). The area colorful once again, prayers said, families and friends gathered, we each take a handful of tsampa (barley flour), yelling “So!” and pretending to throw it, one, twice, thrice, before it all flies into the air, a dusty confetti amongst broad smiles and cheers.

In a community center, these hundreds of Tibetans gather together. After a few words in Tibetan, hats are removed and heads bowed, and the singing starts. There is nothing I have experienced on this Earth like the song of a community of refugee Tibetans singing the Tibetan National Anthem together on this Losar. I did not have to recognize the song to know what it was; there was something innately sorrowful about the sound of their voices, but something incredibly hopeful about the sound of all of them together. It is a quietly beautiful moment I will never forget.

Preparing to leave after lunch (another meal I, very rudely, cannot finish), I am surprised by the appearance of Sonam's mother with a gift. She places a white kotta around my neck; by this alone I am honored. I bow my head to her, my hands together in front of my chest. She holds my hands and puts her forehead to mine. From the kindness of it all, a softness falls down upon me. Next to me, tied with another kotta, are two sitting rugs, beautiful homemade rugs with playful pandas on them. Rugs that she had made herself. Next, Chimi approaches me and does the same, handing me a beautiful shawl. Tibet, Handloom Shawl, the tag tells me, 100% Yak Wool. Oh, how I wish I had brought more than fruit for these beautiful people.

Carrying my gifts and a phone number from Sonam's eldest brother (“if you need anything”), I climb into a taxi and say my goodbyes, with plans to return to Bir.

On the curvy ride home, I'm taken aback by a Hindu funeral procession. The wind has blown open the cloth coverings of the corpse, revealing the tight bones under loose skin of an old man. Never in my life have I seen a dead body before. Instead of feelings of fear or anxiety, the sight left me in wonder of how I could have possibly been so lucky to have had such an experience in my short time on this world.

Thank you all.