A Worldview In Process

There isn't much of anything in the state transport buses that take you from Dharamsala to Delhi via Pathankot.

Which is why they stand as an able paradox to the entire trip you have had until then.

One that may have been your first solo trip, while you were only 20. It may have also been a month long. And it may have fostered a candidly profound understanding of a thwarting culture. A culture on the brink of complete subservience, ably fighting, not as a sign of rebellion, but to merely live and breathe, as its ancestry did.

One evening, a friend and I huddled up together on the balcony of the only restaurant open at 12:30 a.m. With glasses of warmth, we were dissecting the day like it had been. A long trek to Shiva Cafe, that cuts a solitary but comforting figure on top of the Bhagsu hill in Mcleodganj, Dharamsala, had left me with a sore foot (pure excitement on my part) forcing me on to a chair for the remaining part of the night.

I don't remember much of anything from that night, but the only statement that continues to resonate with me even today: 'Dharamsala is a country within a country."

Allow me to explain.

As the premier stop point that pulls in people from Tibet with a foreign, but homely emotion, it has cultivated itself into a self-sustaining, yet outwardly dependent force. Where Indians, often referred to as Pahadis (people of the mountain) and where Tibetans, often recognising themselves as Indians have created somewhat of a barter society, co-existing, letting whatever of Tibetan culture they could carry in their refugee bags to thrive.

A culture that's deftly led from the front by able young folk who once fled homes as 9 year olds, and who now stand tall, free, sans oppression, with charred legs signalling defiance.
A culture that protectively pushes itself towards all that remains to be protected as a fatherly spiritual figure provides words of balm.

Which is why you must take a state transport bus from Dharamsala to Delhi. With no air conditioning, no premeditated seats, and every available space being wistfully jostled into. It provides much space for reevaluation. Of your space in the larger scheme of things. Of being a refugee in a neighbouring country, which however friendly, is never quite your own.

Of your travel back home in entirety, something your new friends never quite manage to do.

And most importantly, it leaves you with a feeling of respect. For those that stand tall, in spite of and despite it all.