Photos From Buddhist Child Home Orphanage

Following are photos from my recent trip to Kathmandu and Buddhist Child Home orphanage. One art project we did was making cards with handprints and having the children write a little about themselves on the cards. I will pass these cards along to those interested in supporting the children.


We also took the kids on a field trip. Here we are enjoying our "picnic" lunch-30 orders of vegetable chowmein!

Danny is a popular guest at the orphanage and seen as a big brother to all the kids, who call him "Danny Sir" in respect. He has worked on and off at the orphanage for the past 3 years.
One of the four older kids we are trying to raise money for boarding school. She wants to be a nurse someday and "help the poor people of Nepal."
Here I am on our "field trip" to a famous shrine outside Kathmandu, with two of the older girls who have grown up at the orphanage. They are both very mature, polite and intelligent young ladies who help care for their 50 younger brothers and sisters at Buddhist Child Home. They both have dreams of being a teacher and a nurse, "to help the people of Nepal."

Leaving India -taxis, bus, plane-bhanda! (strike!)

Kelsang Lodue, my Tibten son, and I, packed up our bags and hired a young Indian lad to shoulder the biggest suitcase up the stone steps (110 of them) to Jogibara Rd. in McLeo. He was delighted to get the 50 rubees I offered and Kelsang equally delighted to not have to do it. We then rolled our luggage through McLeo's one land narrow road that weaves through vegetable stalls, Tibetans selling their wares, shoulder-wide shops, cows, pictures of the Dalai Lama, Free Tibet signs, the occasional monkey sitting-people watching, and the tourists. Taxis and jeeps carrying towers of goods stacked on their roofs also squeeze through this masala of humanity. At the bus stop just outside town, we found our "City Land" bus I had paid top dollar for in order to get reclining seats-our trip to Delhi would take about 12 hours and mostly during the night-to sleep the whole way would be bliss-I had planned to go straight from where the bus stops at the Tibetan Settlement in Delhi known as Manju Teela to the airport and then get on my flight and zip to the modern world. Could it really be that easy?
The conductor-those wiry young men who work on every Indian bus, taking fares, making announcements and loading gear, tried to charge us 20 rubees for our bags, but Kelsang had placed them in the boot of the bus himself, so it didn't seem justified. We Indian-screamed yelled, which is really quite an art that I've watched Kelsang do many times when we are over-charged, so I decided to give it a try. "You think I"m stupid because I'm white? You think you can cheat us like that?" I yelled in my best Kali voice, throwing in some sideways head waggling. He looked pretty pleased with my retort and lowered his fee to 10 rupees!
The driver saddled up and passengers loaded-there is the usual confusion of who sits where and finally everything is sorted out, all with good vibes. a gaggle of monks had come with their monk pal to see him off and shouted and clapped as the bus pulled out and he waved from the window opposite us. The driver negogiated some tight hair-pin turns as we left this hilltop station, (as he lit his first of many cigerettes, also typical for Indian bus drivers-chain-smoking while driving), acrid smoke filled his cabin. A glass partition divides his space, large enough to hold several other men and a bed, but we can see through it from our seats to the windshield and view in front of us. Often the conductor will lite the cigarette and pass it to driver, and take a few hits himself. I could only hope it was legitimate pan they were smoking as the roads are trecherous and steep and sheer drop-offs in this part of India, at least until we descended in the Kangra Valley below.
Forget reading a book or sleep until out of the hills. Taking turns on two wheels despite the size of our "tourist" bus was no problem for the Indie-car-racer driver, smoking and playing his Hindi music full volumne. Just sit and use mindful meditation-I told myself enjoying the always amazing sights-the mountains full of pine forests, and beyond them, huge towering rock peaks of the first range of Himalayas that make this part of India seem so like your are in Tibet. In fact, during this trip I saw many bags and signs printed with "New Lhasa". There was an ancient red fort on a hilltop, shrine after shrine with gaudy Hindu statues and adornments, bullock carts--but over and over I rehearsed what I would do if we crashed-sorry to say, such a ride makes you take full measure of your surroundings and how best to exit the vehicle when and if it tips over. I focused from time to time on the Shiva statues on the dashboard by the driver, and Shiva's blue serene face, the cobra around the neck, Ganges river pouring from his head, a crecent moon beside his dreads. Was Shiva real? Could he be called upon if we plummet down this gorge we are teetering by-wait! There's Shiva now! At the bottom of the gorge was a wonderful statue of Shiva and his wife Parvati, on a large boulder! It is true!
As darkness fell, the driver made his one stop for dinner break and Kelsang and I ate a plate of cheese stuffed chapatis and "Aloo" with spices. I bravely made my way to the back toilets, following the reek of urine, to a small tin room about 3 ft. by 3 ft. with a squat pit. Many men stood outside in the fresh air relieving themselves immodestly, staring at me with great curiosity.There were some of the largest insects crawling around in the toilet I had ever seen, some beautifully green, others about 3-4" long with hard shells. What a great place to study entomology!
ON and on we drove in the hazy, dusty, muggy night. The bus jerked and swayed and I tried to doze but could not. Around 2 am, the driver mysteriously took a sharp turn off the highway and began to drive down a small lane into rice paddies. This is interesting, I thought and looked back at the other passengers to see if any were as surprised as I was-no one seemed to take notice. Most dozed and some were car sick. The road became a country lane and then dirt, our large bus lumbered along, struggling to stay on the small road and not fall off into the rice paddies. The dirt road was full of ruts and the bus lurched and jottled over them, where the heck was this driver going?? We passed through several small farms, scattering sleeping dogs left and right. This did not seem right-and I began to fear we were being taken hostage by the crazy chain-smoking driver, or involved in some drug pick up. The monk across the aisle from me dozed in peace. OK, if we were forced to get off this bus in a field, I'm sticking to him, I thought. Suddenly 3 soliders appeared from the fields with large rifles slung across their backs-Marxist? No they had turbans, must be Shikhs. They had uniforms and looked impossing in the dark, their tall backs straight with authority. their blue turbans giving them added height. Yelling at the driver to stop, he jumped down and was interrogated in typical authoritative Indian scream technique. The driver argued back-much hand-gesticulating. I turned to Kelsang to interpret, but he, miraculously, slept soundly. The soliders pointed this way and that, back to the way we had come and back to another road. The driver got in and we were off again, and soon on the highway. Later, i overheard an english speaking passenger say there was something about avoiding toll fees and truckers often take back roads to get around toll booths.
We got into Manju Teela at dawn, in the rain. It was a welcome wetting, as our backs were soaked in sweat from the bus ride and our heads foggy with lack of sleep. Gathering my stored bags, which I had kept at the Shambhala Guest House for a few rubees, Kelsang and I located a spicket and did a "squat wash" underneath, letting the fresh water rinse the dust from our faces and arms. We said our emotional goodbyes after a cup of butter tea at a Tibetan tea shop, and promised to meet again next year. He still had a hot and long two day bus ride back to Kathmandu and many worries about making it back across the border into Nepal. When you only have a Dalai Lama passport and no official papers really recognized by any gov't, crossing any border is a worry. I emptied my pocket of quite a few rubees,saving only enough for a taxi to the airport, and gave them to him with a hug and the best of luck-and many many Tashi Deleks.He pulled out of his pocket the traditional long white kata scarf that every Tibetan keeps hidden for such occassions. Around my neck it went with many, many Tashi Deleks, the Tibetan "best wishes" puja saying.
I had a Visa card, a passport and all my luggage, a Tibetan kata around my neck, and the USA to go home too-suddenly I felt blessed beyond measure. The taxi wove in and out of Delhi's insane traffic and delivered me to the gate at Indira Ghandi airport. But when I tried to get into the airport proper, the Sikh guard looked at my papers to inform me I was a whole day early! WHAT??!! I grabbed the papers back to stare in disbelieve-how could this have happened?? I had somehow gotten in my head that July 5 was Sun. and had not seen a calendar I could read in about a month. It was actually the 4th of July. The reality sank in-I was stuck in Delhi for another day and had to find a decent room in a strange city and something to do until the next day!
Somehow my good luck prevailed and I found a nice, clean guest house close to the airport and added bonus of being next door to the 5 star Radisson, where I could walk and hang out in their 5 star lounge. I hired a taxi to take me to the Delli Hatt-an outdoor shopping market full of interesting local vendors and craftsmen. AFterwards I roamed the beautiful Radisson grounds and read the paper to discover-oh my god-there was to be a nationwide strike, a bhand-or in Nepal, Bhanda, of the entire country! Oh well, this has happened to me and Danny before, once in Spain we landed just as a bhanda began and there is little you can do about it as a traveller but, once again, go with the flow.
This morning I awoke in my little room to hear the news-Calcutta was shut down and Mumbai, but delhi so far still up and running. Leftists, they were saying, were imposing strict measures on anyone breaking the strike, and taxi drivers still doing business were asking twice their normal rates to make up for the danger. I am finishing this blog now and off to airport extra early while I can still get a taxi. Maybe another day in Delhi? It will not be so bad, I really do love chaotic and bazaar India. Home and all it's orderly-ness will be soon enough-I have really learned the art of patience on this trip, from waiting to find taxis in Dhading to jeep breakdowns in Dharka to off-road bus drivers in India to long walks up and down ancient stone steps that don't seem to end. what a wonderful part of the world to learn about life and what it is all about. I hope for all of you reading this you find your bliss, right where you are and a bit of patience and tolerance in all you do! Lots of love, namastes, tashi deleks-tu de che's-Danny-take care my love where-ever you are in the world right now! Jan, HANDS in Nepal field inspector, is OUT! Shanti Om Shanti!

A Day In The Life of a Monk

Rising at dawn to shower and decide which of my three outfits to put on for the day, I was excited-not only had the clouds of Mcleod ganj lifted revealing the pure blue of the Himalaya sky here, but I was on my way to have breakfast with one of mine and Danny's favorite monks-Gendun Lodue, of the Dalai Lama Temple. We met Gendun last year when he approached me for English lessons and have kept a steady correspondance since. He is a very intelligent, academic and likeable monk who is working on his "geshe" (equivalent to a doctorate's in Buddhist philosophy)degree, which he hopes to finish in about 3 years. His stack of books on complex Buddhist studies tower above his simple bed of a blanket and his propane stove. Life is simple in the Dalai Lama complex of temples and dorm rooms for the hundreds of monks who are lucky enough to have been selected to study here, but it is not easy.
I asked Gendun, as we breakfasted on the omellete he made of eggs and salt, Tibetan pali bread on the side and a mug of hot milk butter tea, what his daily schedule is like. "Ohhh-he laughed, in his customary good humor-Gendun is always laughing and making small jokes out of English words. "We rise at 5:45 a/m/ and go up to the main temple for prayers. Then we take tea in the dining hall and have a little breakfast, then we do a little puja and meditation." He paused to sip his butter tea and pour more into my mug from a large vacuum thermos that is always present in his room. And then? "Then we do some book learning, from 8:30-9:30. Then at 9:30, attend Buddhist studies class. At 11:00 I have my course of 3 years (this involved a little more explaining) this course is in "Illuminating Thought: The commentary of Madhyamakavtar." He pulled a very thick book from the stack to show me. "This one." I looked at the pages filled with Tibetan script. Oh.
Next, from 11:00-12:00, I work on debate questions." If anyone has not had the pleasure of watching Buddhist monks debate, please go now to You Tube and type in : "Monk debates Mcloud ganj" you will be most surprised at the aggressiveness and vigor which these usually calm monks tackle their positions in debating on all things Buddhist!Sometimes things get quite physical, and last night as I watched from the temple stairs, one monk grabbed another and twirled him around and around in a heated arguement! Sometimes malas are grabbed and always hands smack to make a point. It is quite an unusual break from their chants and meditations.
Next, there is lunch from 12-1:00. Then from 1-2:00 is the first free time of the day. At 2:00 English class. I found this interesting, apparently the Dalai Lama feels strongly that his monks all understand and have a command of the English language.
Then, from 3:15-4:00 is a Tibetan class. From 4:00 is a cultural class. At 5:00 there is dinner. From 6:15 to 7:15, second round of prayers in the main temple. From 7:15 is debating at the main temple, in small groups according to level of study. From (;00-10:00, writing. Bedtime is at 10:15.
Not a lot of time to get into trouble, I joked with Gendun. "Trouble? What this mean," he said innocently, the translation and joke lost on him. YOu know, I said, thinking of what another monk told me the other day when we talked about how best to help Tibetan youths in the refugee Center-"An idle mind is the devil's workshop." Ohh! Gendun laughed, rocking back and forth on the floor. did I tell you we sit on the floor on scarps of Tibetan carpet, no furniture in a monk's "cell." I htought again how funny our two cultures are: In American, the saying is: "Idle hands are the devil's workshop" Here, it is again, a more spiritual path. Control your mind and learn to take the reins, do not let the monkey grab it and run to all kinds of imaginary places of suffering! Gendun is such a great role-model, he also walked from Tibet and I have never been around a more poor, or more happier person. I feel so blessed to be his teacher, if only for a week this time, next time hopefully longer.
WE bowed to each other as I left, my last day with him. He brought out a kata scarf from the folds of his robes and placed it around my neck. The white honorary scarf hung almost to the floor and I fought back tears. I have had to say goodbye so much this trip-to Danny in Kathmandu and treasured friends met along the way and now my favorte monk. "Tashi Delek Gay-la" i said to him bowing (Gay-la= dear monk). Tashi Delek Ama la, he said back sweetly smiling-See you next year!

Save Tibet-Free Tibet-Do something for Tibet!

As I sat with two Tibetan refugees in today's English conversation class, I asked each the one question I ask all my Tibetan students: How did you get from Tibet to Dharamsala, India? 100% of the answers are, "I walked." the answer is softly spoken and usually with great a great deal of humility. Often I realize it is a painful question to ask, but as I explain to them the fact that they have the courage to walk across the Himalayas and reach freedom here in India is a feat not many in the Western World understand. And part of this plight, of Tibetans trying despartly to save their culture, their race, their way of life, is undertaken first by making that great step towards the West and their freedom. Some lose their lives, many I've talked to saw people die in their group. They understand the risk they are taking in crossing mountains so great and icy in places, that one slip and "swoosh! You go down!" as one Tibetan said to me, as he watched in horror as his friend fell to his death. Chinese soliders are on patrol too, surveying the routes, so Tibetans have to do most their travels at night. On mountain sides, in the Himalayas. IT is such extreme weather, that most experience some degree of frost-bite. There are many photos in the Tibet Museum here showing the drastic conditions most refugees experience when they finally make it to their beloved Dalai Lama here in Dharamsala. Photos of blackened appendages, fingers, toes and entire feet, that have to be amputated, and many of this on small children. It is becoming common for young people to be sent on the dangerous journey to freedom with friends or relatives going, as older parents know they can never survive the trip. These parentless children are also welcomed into the refugee family here, given medicine, food and care until they can placed in homes or cared for at the Tibet Children's Village, run by the sister of His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama. One monk I worked with told me his story in a voice filled with emotionally pain at the memories, just a few years ago. He was very happy at his monastery in Tibet, until the Chinese came one day and ordered all the monks there to write degrading things about the Dalai Lama. They ordered the monks to write things like "The Dalai Lama is a liar, he deceives his people, he is filled with hatred, he is a "wolf in monk's clothes." I think it would be easier for monks to rip their own hearts out of their bodies with their own hands then do such a thing, they are beyond devoted to the Dalai Lama and have such faith in his course of compassion,non-violence and peace in the solution for Tibet and China. So they refused. 3 times the Chinese officials came to demand they write and sign such papers, denouncing any loyalty to His Holiness. Each time they refused. Then one day they came back with soliders and threatened the monastery and the monks. They realized then they would have to flee Tibet to have any freedom from this type of persecution.
They helped each other walk out, in the cover of darkness, knowing they had only one hope-to reach Dharamsala and their leader, the Dalai Lama. They finally made it, after fasting for days, eating grass, hungry, tired and emotionally spent at having to leave family behind and go to a new land who's ways and language they did not know. The Dalai Lama meets with every refugee that comes in Dharamsala, and my monk friend said he met with him and his group. "What did he say? What did you say?" I asked him-"I could not talk-I just start crying," he said, smiling sweetly at me, knowing I would understand the flood of emotions that wash over anyone meeting His Holiness, but especially a devoted monk who spent the last two weeks in extreme suffering to reach his leader. "He placed his hands on my shoulder and asked me what the Chinese were doing now in Tibet, and I try to tell him, but all I can do is cry. He told me everything was going to be okay now."
It was all I could do to not cry hearing the sincerity of his words. When you are here, in "Dalai Lama land" the true meaning of what the Tibetan people are going through really hits hard, at the heart level. They are rebuilding Lhasa one temple and one store at a time, their culture is rising up in a new land, but they long for their homeland. Tibet was a place of their nomad tradition, their generations of family, their ancient Buddhist religion. It will always be home.
I sat at Tibet Hope Project, tutoring a young Tibetan "youth" of about 20 yrs., wearing very modern "western" clothes, right down to bluejeans and a cap slanted "hip-hop" style on his slick black hair. He looked all the world like a young "gangsta" from USA, and rocked back in his chair, body posture very hip and cool. But when I asked him my mandatory question, he leaned forward and suddenly looked all the world Tibetan to me. "I just came here 18 months ago," he softly said, and I saw such sadness in his dark eyes.
The Chinese are now reforming curriculum so everything is in Chinese, writing, reading and speaking. There is no Tibetan allowed. One village protested by keeping their children home-but the Chinese showed up with soliders and ordered the children to go to school and learn the Chinese ways. "I am here now," he said, "my parents are in Tibet. I walked with friends. It was very difficult, very cold, very dangerous and slippery. We have to hide from Chinese, we never have enough food to eat." And now? "I stay at the home for Tibet Refugees. I want to study English and work with computers." His dream is of college in computer technology in Delhi. right now, the Dalai Lama offices pay for education through Dharamsala, up to high school level. College-only if he can get some sponsor to fund it.
Other Tibetans also have the dream of a vocation and a career in their new homeland-India. Of course most would love to come to the dreamland-America. Right now, D\my son Danny and I are brainstorming ways we can help the Tibetan "youth" here-they are usually without a family, without a direction of how to proceed into their bright futures. There is a worry with older Tibetans that they will lose their Tibetan culture along the way.
One thing for sure-English can be a great starting point for all of them and they crave it, ask for it, are so grateful for any English tutoring you can give. Anyone interested in coming here to tutor and not sure how, please contact me! I can give you all the details and your help here is limitless in the inspiration and guidance you can give to the Tibetans as they arrive, daily, from Tibet. The fact that foreigners are here to help them and give them any tutoring at all is received with so much gratitude and thankfulness that you will be humbled beyond belief at their kindness in accepting yours. It is as the Dalai Lama says, "never give up hope!- Helping Tibet is not just about helping Tibetans, it's about helping our planet and humanity develop in a positive way as we learn how interdependent we all are."
If China succeeds in eliminating the Tibetan people and their culture, what does that say about the rest of us? It is a though I ponder a lot here in the land of the Dalai Lama. I prefer to think as His Holiness does, mankind is intrinsically good, and China will reform their ways and let Tibet be Tibet and Tibetans free to be who they are and always will be. And we can help-you can help! You can-just ask me!