Beyond words

My oddly synonymous choice of words for a title may be befuddling, but as many a wanderlust driven traveler can tell you, some of our most peaceful moments strike us with exceptional clarity when we are already comfortably settled in a haze of serenity.

While it was the search for serenity that led me to embark on a road trip to the quaint hill station of Coorg, it was serendipity that brought me to the Namdroling Nyingmapa Monastery en route. Even with my less-than-substantial knowledge of the Buddhist culture, the stunning simplicity and other-worldliness awed me. Inside the Golden Temple, I randomly recalled the phrase "full of prayer"; something I'd read in an Enid Blyton book as a schoolgirl, as I gazed at the three gigantic statues of the Buddha, Padmasambhava and Amitayus. Standing below the golden statues, over 40-feet high, I fully appreciated my own insignificance!

Staring at the mind-boggling melange of colors on the walls adorned with paintings, I snapped out of my reverie at the distant sound of gongs. Letting the quiet hum direct my feet, I found myself peeping into a room full of monks, young and old alike, chanting in a strange tongue. Truly a sight to behold - nearly a hundred monks in monastic robes, reading from palm leaf manuscripts, and switching octaves in unison. I don't know how long I stared, but it was long enough for other tourists to leave.

The monastery grounds were perfect for a casual stroll, and everywhere I looked, I saw glimpses of Tibetan culture. Monks and students went about their work, oblivious to the gaping outsiders, exuding an aura of spirituality. Various signs explaining Buddhist traditions dotted the landscape and ducks swam about gaily in little ponds.

I ended up in the tiny shopping complex just as my stomach began to gently remind me of its presence. I had the most delicious momos I've ever had in the crowded restaurant, the kind I will always yearn for on a cloudy day, wherever I am. I browsed through the knick-knacks in various souvenir shops and struck up conversations with the Tibetan shopkeepers. After purchasing some charms for friends and family, I resumed my road trip.

It was months later that I met an auto-rickshaw driver named Robert in Bangalore. A genial, English speaking auto driver is a rarity in India, and imagine my surprise when I discovered that he frequently ferries foreigners and other tourists to the monastery in his bumblebee yellow auto-rickshaw! Next time, Robert. Next time.