Leaving Dharamsala
The long awaited day when Sean arrived in Mcleod Ganj was lucky, I didn’t have to go to work, the kids were meeting the Dalai Lama. This is common, usually after 3 weeks at Art Refuge, but mainly whenever the His Holiness has the time to spare.But as Sean and I were having dinner on that first night, at my not favourite, but quite convenient restaurant that overlooks the bus station, I was surprised to see my kids getting on a bus, with backpacks, and looking lost and worried.
Tashi on the bus, normally loves the camera and has a huge smile.I knew, they had seen the Dalai Lama, and now they were being sent off on their last journey, a 3 km bus ride to the Tibetan Children’s Village, a boarding school for the many Tibetan children who were sent to India from Tibet, without family to look after them. Their last stop in a very dangerous and emotional journey, but they didn’t realise that. The place where I worked was always a temporary thing, a time for children to adjust to their new surroundings and have fun, before they settled in to their new school until adulthood.
But, because there were so few refugees coming from Tibet (China being super-vigilant on the borders due to the upcoming Olympics) we had thought that the kids we had would stay with us a little longer. I thought I was lucky, usually the kids only stay 3 weeks, but I was going to get to know Kunga, Tashi, Jonchu, Yeshi, Betsmo, and Namgyl a little longer.
Sitting there, having finished my dinner, Sean having just arrived in McG, looking out the big window at all these faces, that I’d seen happy and carefree at school everyday, now looking so unhappy, I was upset.
We’d shared a beer, Sean and I, and he urged me to go out and say goodbye, but I didn’t want to, with beer on my breath. He pestered me and 10 minutes later, unable to think of anything else, I went out. I got on the bus and Yeshi called back to the others, ‘gela’. I’d never been called gela (teacher) in class, I think my official title was ‘hello’. ‘Hello, tizi (ruler)’ or ‘Hello, bappa (paper)’ or just ‘hello!’. I was touched to be called guru, that was always the title for real teacher, Lhamo. I looked for my favourite, Kunga Wugamo, she wasn’t there, but all the other students were, looking so worried. I gave them a squeeze and a kiss, then the bus started to rumble and I had to jump off, and they were gone. I went back up to the restaurant and felt better for having been able to say goodbye, and grateful to Sean for pushing me, if we’d been having dinner somewhere else…
Even Lhamo, the teacher, didn’t know they were going so soon, I called her the next morning, asking if school was still on, since we had no kids, and she said ‘Yes, we have kids.’ Then I got there and she had only just found out that we had no kids to teach, she hadn’t even been able to say goodbye, not for the first time either.
After that there was only finishing the week tutoring Kunchok and finishing my adult English classes. Teaching the adults was very rewarding as well, but not as emotional. I only spent 50 minutes a day with them, but they came because they wanted too, they wanted to learn English. One girl would constantly come to me after class with newspaper articles about the protests in Lhasa, wanting to understand what the western press were saying about Tibet.
But, because there were so few refugees coming from Tibet (China being super-vigilant on the borders due to the upcoming Olympics) we had thought that the kids we had would stay with us a little longer. I thought I was lucky, usually the kids only stay 3 weeks, but I was going to get to know Kunga, Tashi, Jonchu, Yeshi, Betsmo, and Namgyl a little longer.
Sitting there, having finished my dinner, Sean having just arrived in McG, looking out the big window at all these faces, that I’d seen happy and carefree at school everyday, now looking so unhappy, I was upset.
We’d shared a beer, Sean and I, and he urged me to go out and say goodbye, but I didn’t want to, with beer on my breath. He pestered me and 10 minutes later, unable to think of anything else, I went out. I got on the bus and Yeshi called back to the others, ‘gela’. I’d never been called gela (teacher) in class, I think my official title was ‘hello’. ‘Hello, tizi (ruler)’ or ‘Hello, bappa (paper)’ or just ‘hello!’. I was touched to be called guru, that was always the title for real teacher, Lhamo. I looked for my favourite, Kunga Wugamo, she wasn’t there, but all the other students were, looking so worried. I gave them a squeeze and a kiss, then the bus started to rumble and I had to jump off, and they were gone. I went back up to the restaurant and felt better for having been able to say goodbye, and grateful to Sean for pushing me, if we’d been having dinner somewhere else…
Even Lhamo, the teacher, didn’t know they were going so soon, I called her the next morning, asking if school was still on, since we had no kids, and she said ‘Yes, we have kids.’ Then I got there and she had only just found out that we had no kids to teach, she hadn’t even been able to say goodbye, not for the first time either.
After that there was only finishing the week tutoring Kunchok and finishing my adult English classes. Teaching the adults was very rewarding as well, but not as emotional. I only spent 50 minutes a day with them, but they came because they wanted too, they wanted to learn English. One girl would constantly come to me after class with newspaper articles about the protests in Lhasa, wanting to understand what the western press were saying about Tibet.
Kunchok who I tutored privately.
Kunga, my unashamed favourite at Art Refuge.
Lhamo, the teacher at Art Refuge.
One of my students from English class.
Sean having breakfast at the restaurant across from school.
Prayer stones at the bottom of the temple.
I met exceptional people in Mcleod Ganj, and I got so much more back than I gave.
posted by x kel at 8:05 PM
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