The Lamas Have Called

Unsure of my writing, I wonder if today will be diluted in my attempt to write it down. But on a day when tears of what I think is what they call melancholic joy, is something I have experienced multiple times, I must perhaps take any medium within my reach to be able to explore it further – risking the chance that I may be doing it to be able to hold-on to a version of the day. Holding-on-to isn’t encouraged in some life philosophies, but today I allow myself this indulgence once again. I trust that one day I will also experience what they call the liberation of letting go. But today I want to hold-on and relive.

I passed by the stupa many times in the last three days – each time uncertain about the protocol around it and so never knowing how to engage with it. This morning I asked and I was told about the clockwise parikrama and that the number of prayer wheels we turn is a personal choice. Learning of this flexibility of engagement, made me at ease.

I slowly stepped on its threshold, and I sensed a pause. Moving forward didn't seem fitting, so I allowed myself to be held in that moment. Looking upwards, I briefly noted the asymmetrical 13th-century stupa – the funny "radish story" associated with it crossed my mind, but this time I didn't chuckle – I found beauty in its asymmetry and the hands that had built it and the hands that kept it standing all the years since; I saw the juxapose of the stupa against the ruggedness of the mountain behind, that seems to protect it. I stayed for as long as I felt like it -- albeit brief.

I’ve chosen to tell today’s story in a chronology. It had fragments of multiple experiences -- of noticing how ordinarily the waterfall flowed beside the monastery kitchen; the brief moment within the monastery observing the fruits and homemade tsok (prayer offering) overtake the MLP wrapped chips, the plastic wrapped lollipop, and tetrapak juices as a choice of offering; a moment when a monk walked toward Arunavh looking at the natural offerings to say, “Kitna sundar dikh raha hai. Aap log ke madat se”.

There were elements of noticing our volunteer strength increase, our waste park evolving in its process flow, and the realization that both the Head Lama and the Circle Officer prioritized our presence on this part of the ground over some other stakeholder – a level of priority toward a zero-waste team rarely offered in a massive traditional festival.

Cut to the afternoon, Bhargavee asked if I would like to accompany her to a neighbouring village. We drove past blooming rhododendrons and cheery blossoms sprinkled across the rugged terrain. Our plan was to see the Aji-lhamu, a dance form choreographed a thousand years ago. Not being well-informed about its location or time, we found ourselves on this part of the Earth with no other commitment to fulfil but to allow the land to call on us: one flower, one large stone being carried by a woman to build her home, one vernacular house, one green wheat field at a time. Eventually, reaching the last of the fields with the sight of a barking deer basking in the last hour of the afternoon sun.

Seating myself on a large rock, I took in the elements around me: the lush green fields, the barking deer, the last home before the cliff, and the only other human chilling on a massive rock beneath a white stone house. Beyond it stood the tall green mountain, and behind that, the snow-capped Himalayas -- which enveloped me from ALL sides too. For the second time today, tears welled in my eyes, feeling it was only a continuation of the first time I teared on the threshold of the stupa.

In our return, as we chose to walk down the road we noticed three little sisters walk towards the river carrying a bucket of plastics and MLPs."Kaha le jah rahe ho?""Nadi." one of them said sheepishly.

"Aacha? Nadi meh plastic phekne se kya hoga?"

"Nadi ganda hoga" I heard them say amidst increasing giggles.

"Nahi ganda hone se kya hoga?"

"Bamari phailega" they started to move towards the river with nervous laughter and childish spirit.

"Aacha aacha ruko. Aapko pata hai is baar Gorsom Kora meh hum kachra ko niche Dirang ke taraf recycling ke liye le jah rahe hai?" I take out a carry bag and start to pull out the dry material from the dusty bin and they excitedly dig their hands into the bin with me. They then ran to go get another carton of such waste from their home. Eight egg shells remained,

"Chalo aapke ghar ke paudho meh dalte hai". I want their laughter and enthusiasm to last forever!

We said bye and as we walked down engulfed in the time and place nature of our interaction, we heard their shrill voices dashing toward us from 300 meters behind us, and saw two white empty sacks flying from their hands. When we stopped, they jumped into the side nallah and along the whole way began to pick every piece of trash they could, stopping only when they filled both sacks. Jumping, laughing, and intensely focusing as they did so.

A pick-up truck hitchhike, a magic show by a confident twelve year old from the Rajasthani gypsi community, a collective walk with the team socially observing the diversity of stalls along the road, we realised that we didn't just sign up for a religious festival to be zero-waste but a 100-stall rural mela to go zero-waste!

And then our last reinforcement arrived -- perhaps the most critical of all of us, the Midway Journey Team. Without them, we would be repeating every swatchta effort before us -- cleaning, segregating even but unsure of where to take the material next.

We are now 23 members (7 short but still strong) and have the blessings of the Head Lama. The cooperation of the festival committee and promising sets of community members who volunteer in turns. We are ready for Day 2 and all the surprises, challenges, mistakes and learnings that will come with it.

When Merwyn first shared the details of this opportunity with me six days ago in Guwahati, and I learned about the collection of individuals and organisations that can come together in a short notice of three weeks, I jokingly remarked that the only explanation for all of this coming together was that the "The Lamas Have Called."

At that moment, I believed the Lamas had summoned us to co-host this 19th Gorsom Kora Festival and to facilitate its journey back to its natural form: zero-waste. However, now I wonder if they called us here so we could all be simply embraced by the elements of this universe and to continue to see hope in the most majestic ways possible…

My thanks to all those that serenaded the night as I wrote this.