Dharamshala Unzipped - Sunday

Moomas

Today we leave MacLeod Ganj / Dharamshala, and it's a wrench. We have both become very attached to the place, for all its quirkiness. More than any other small town I've ever stayed in, MG is a real cultural melting pot with locals from Himachal Pradesh probably outnumbered by Tibetans, refugees from their own land beyond the mountains. They have an uncertain status as guests, but not citizens, in India. MG is known as Little Lhasa, and hosts the Tibetan government in exile as well as being a major Buddhist centre and home of the Dalai Lama. But then there are Kashmiris like our hosts at the hotel, Nepalese like Hari our waiter friend, Sikhs from Punjab, and darker faces from further south in India.

And that's before we start on the tourists and travellers, who come from just about every corner of the globe - apart from Africa, it seems. I don't think we have seen a single black face all week. Before setting out, we were told that McLeod Ganj was big on the hippie trail, every cafe scented with dope smoke from shared joints and hookahs. Not so, not now. Apart from anything else, smoking in public places is now illegal in India, thank goodness. Yes, young Europeans, Americans, Israelis, Japanese and Chinese are much in evidence, but there are plenty of middle-aged and older tourists, too, some even older than us! Many are drawn here by the Buddhist ideal, and the presence of so many maroon-robed monks on the streets is a reminder that this is a place with a spiritual dimension. MG lives almost entirely by tourism, yet it doesn't feel "touristy" in the normal sense. There seems to be a sense of community in which everyone finds a niche. Sara comments that it is one of the most friendly and smiley places she's ever stayed. For a small town, MG probably has a greater concentration of book shops than anywhere east of Hay on Wye.

But there are a few con artists too. As anywhere in India, beggars have a visible (but not intrusive) presence on the streets here. A few are old, shrivelled or deformed. Their appeals are hard to resist, and they do well, I'm told. I saw one count a great wadge of notes at the end of his day. But here's another exchange, invariably from a teenage boy or a young girl with a baby. "Hello, sir! You buy me food." You offer him/her a 10/20 Rupee note. "No, not money - food! Here is shop." (S/he invariably stands near a small food shop. "You buy me milk / rice, " s/he asks, picking up a small sack of rice, enough to feed a family for a week, and costing several hundred Rupees. Any lesser quantity is all-but refused. This exchange is repeated so many times, it looks like a set-up. And it is. We learn that these people come from elsewhere (mainly Rajastan) and are, in effect, running what our informant calls a begging business. Needless to say, the shopkeepers are in on the scam. Duped tourists spend hundreds on the rice (or milk powder) but as soon as their backs are turned, the rice / milk is returned to the shop and the money paid out to the beggar, less 20% commission. Don't get me wrong, I believe in giving to beggars. Genuine ones.

Momos

Lunch of momos with soup, then our final/final/final trips to the shops before we leave for Pathankhot Station by taxi. Ashok is unavailable but has sent his "brother" Rahul instead. ("Brother" in India can mean any close relative or friend.) He thinks I want to sit in the front (how wrong he is!) but motions me behind saying, "No sir. Backside better." En route, he suggests we stop at a Kali temple next to a waterfall. It is a bizarre place in a dark cave with hugely fat stalactites (and ancient fat Kali carvings). As with the brother, the raciness of the driving increases the further we go. I've no wish to be a backside driver, but eventually after a particularly daring overtaking manoeuvre, "have words", which he does not like. He tries to wreak revenge by suggesting we go to a different station further down the line, but I smell a rat and have to insist quite forcefully that he takes us to Pathankhot Station proper. 

Memos

Pathankhot is a single platform job but well provided with basic facilities, and official notices in Hindi and English covering every eventuality. These include hand-lettered exhortations ("RAILWAY Vs. DIRT. The fight is on. Whose side are you on?"), Regulations (" NOTICE. Beares (sic) and ayas are not responsible for looking after unattended luggage"), the dates of payments of wages to employees ("06 TO 17"), and an account of amenities provided. This large notice reveals, amongst many, that the waiting hall is 100 sq.m. with seating for 300, there are 400 "shaddy trees", 12 drinking water facilities, 10 seated toilets, and the "required number" of fans, clocks and "foot over bridge" (i.e. one). The station seems to be home to a number of dogs, but (mercifully) no glue-sniffing urchins, perhaps because it is not a terminus, so no living to be made from things left by passengers. There are also coin in the slot horoscope and weighing machines, cost 1 Rupee. The former is out of order (failed to foresee its own failure) but the latter dispenses cards like 1950s English rail tickets. Mine says: "65 kg. You are rational, trust-worthy, gentle and smiling." Sara's (weight not to be revealed!) says, "You are imaginative, very lively and moody." No comment (on either).