Good Titles Aren't Easy To Think Of

It's been maybe half a week or so since the last update, and, as ever, there is a little to tell. So, to continue where I left off, we must go all the way back to Saturday...

After leaving the internet café (with its annoyingly slow loading of the websites I really wanted), I caught a Rs30 lift back to Tashi Jong (though I'm going to start taking the bus because its only about Rs4). I took on Mike at a couple of games of snooker, including one which I won quite comfortably. I had lunch at the restaurant (momos) as I missed it at the monastery. I was sitting there eating, whilst one of the Tibetan kids was watching the weirdest program in history on TV. It was a show mainly done with actors, but with the odd frame of animé to emphasise (and trivialise) the characters' emotions. It was, as if you hadn't guessed already, Japanese, but with Hindi dubbing, which really added to the strangeness. And we haven't even come to the content yet! Imagine Pokémon, but with monsters swapped for, I kid you not, yo-yos. Yes, yo-yos. Basically the kids do some tricks and spin their yo-yos round a bit (no euphemisms) instead of Pokémon battles. Add to this already freaky mix a healthy splattering of slow-mo and ridiculous sound effects (yo-yos have apparently gone supersonic in this program) and you're getting close to it. The final scene involved a whole load of the kids joining some sort of military yo-yo training camp. Seriously. The program, by the way, was called 'Blazing Teens', if you wish to avoid it/check it out.

During the rest of the afternoon, I went off for a little walk up the road and the hill, where I came across a group of Indian kids who invited me to join them in playing a game they play with throwing coins. The idea is, I believe, that you throw your coin in order, and the nearest to a hole (that they scoop-out at the start) goes first. They then throw the coins of all the competitors at once, then have to hit the coin of the others' choice (I think) with a stone, or another object. I had no idea, at the time, what I was doing, but it was fun nonetheless. As for who won, God knows, but I did get my rupee coin back.

I continued walking up the hill, turning off at the waterfall (mentioned in an earlier post, it's really not that impressive, but it's nice all the same). I must have been seen from across the stream, because as I was walking further up I was shouted at by a kid running up the road after me. I turned back to talk to him, and he introduced himself – with slightly patchy English – and then, rather unexpectedly, his brothers came along to introduce themselves as well. The three of them pointed out their house on the other side of the stream, and it seemed as if they had come running just to say hello to me. It was a little odd, but endearing all the same. Coming back down the hill, heading back to Tashi Jong, I passed the kids with the coins again, and watched the game for a little (still trying to fathom, at that point, the rules – what baffled me the most was how they chose which coin to throw the stone at, it seems that it's just an arbitrary choice, though).

I reached TJ in time for dinner, which was an odd affair that night. With it being the end of the puja, all the monks from the school, the monastery and the Institute were there for a special meal. They had to lay out extra tables in the middle of the dining hall especially for the occasion. It was also a definitely-no-dogs dinner, and the mutts who usually queue up for scraps found themselves being chased out instead. Not that they'd have got anything anyway – I suspect – as we had a really nice chowmein and some good soup too (for which the monk sitting next to me, typically, offered me something to eat it out of as I had no bowl; I was OK about taking it this time, as he had a bowl for himself too). After a good feed, we checked out the snooker hall (no monks) and the restaurant (lots of monks watching terribly confusing, and just plain terrible, Hindi TV). We headed back to our room, stopping only to look at some sort of luminescent glow-worm off sorts.

We returned to the snooker hall (by now, full of lamas) and were baffled by another game (not snooker) which, it seemed, involved a multitude of players hitting various balls without any sense of order at all. Just when we thought we might be getting it, they took all the potted reds out the pockets again and played with them again! Most confusing. Whilst pondering on that, we played a chess game (which, I should note, I would have won if we hadn't been invited to take part in this confusing game). The game is called kitti, and is played like this: there are six players, and each one must pot four reds, then draw a numbered bottle cap (2->7 corresponding to yellow-> black) and pot their colour. Simple enough, but there are some extra rules. Any foul means you have to pot an extra red (so potting a colour, missing everything, potting the cue ball, etc.), you may only pot the coloured ball in a corner pocket (a rule I, thinking I'd won, realised I'd fallen foul of just too late). Once you've got your colour, you may go for any ball you choose, meaning, that you can pot other people's colours, making them 'dead', meaning that they have to pot two more reds and get a new colour. If the bottle caps are all taken, I assume that means you're out. You keep your colour a secret, so no one knows which you are going for. Also, as earlier indicated, the reds can be recycled. Clear as mud? Well, it's a good game, at which we got thoroughly trashed. Whilst chatting with the monks, I was invited to go and play football in Palampur with them the next day, which I gladly accepted, expecting it to be a bit like the game at Sanjauli. We shall see...

The next morning I got up fairly early, but sat around most of the morning. I had a shower, did my first ever clothes wash by hand and skipped lunch (11.00am was too early for me – that is the Sunday time). I caught up with those going off to play football, and got the bus to Palampur with them. The pitch was quite good, with posts at both ends, grass, mud and a bit of cow dung, whilst the game seemed a lot more serious than the kick-about in Sanjauli. Everyone was wearing football shirts and shorts, one or two even had boots! Not to mention the fact that someone mentioned positions somewhere along the line. I was reassured, however, not to judge their skill by their strips. One of the lamas lent me a shirt (England, No. 7, Beckham), I was lucky enough to be wearing zip off trousers, and I joined the non-monks team (all TJ locals, plus me and maybe one monk to make up numbers). The play was alright (better than me, but I wouldn't call that any achievement) but there was a decent enough helping of school-boy errors (kicking and missing the ball, etc.) and not all from me. I showed off my skillessness, but did manage to get an assist, which I will, of course, now describe since it's probably the pinnacle of my footballing career. One of the guys on my team missed a long pass, which I stuck a foot out at; the ball bounced off my foot, into the air and back to my teammate, who volleyed it from far out; I chased the ball, just to see it bounce over the keeper and into the goal. I'd like to imagine that the sight of a skilled player such as myself thundering towards him put the keeper off and made him fluff the save. I'd like to.

Anyway, after a while, fairly tired out, I left with Kidup (an, I think, Institute monk) with pretty decent English. We bussed it back to TJ, happening somehow to get on the bus with a creepily-friendly conductor (towards me). He smiled inanely, insisted I was his friend, and shook my hand through the window as I got off the bus. Back at TJ, I read a little, then fell asleep.

Waking, luckily enough, at 6.40pm. I went off to dinner, which was thenthuk (the pasta-like thukpa mentioned earlier). I was also given some bread by one of my advanced class lamas (despite trying to say no, which just doesn't seem to work around here) and sat and talked with Jimmey. My parents chose this moment, whilst I was eating, to ring and tell me some provisional dates for a trip to India (using seeing me as an excuse). After dinner I came back to the room and read a little more. Mike returned and told me about his day with Ngawang, a really friendly and cheerful monk, who I may have mentioned before, who is neither at the school, nor the Institute. He works with the Ven. Popa Rinpoche (TJ Vice-President) at the Friends of Nub Gong (a monastery in Tibet). His job involves, among other things, making and packing incense (which can be bought on the net, search for the Ven. Popa Rinpoche, Tashi Jong, or Friends of Nub Gong). Mike got to help out packing incense, and got a tour of the place, which is where the mummified body of a senior togden/yogi is kept, and revered. Mike was taken to one room and, thinking it would be just another room, walked in, shoes and all, to find a whole load of people surrounding this dead togden, praying. Big no-no, shoes have to be removed for temples (Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim, etc.). Jimmey and Ngawang have both offered to take me up there sometime, so I'll try to remember to de-shoe first.

That evening, I got another phonecall from the parents, saying that they'd booked the flights for December to come and see me. If you know my family, or indeed me, at all, then you'll realise what an achievement this is! I talked with them about various things, including India, Shimla, Amritsar, etc. and encouraged them to stay at the plush ex-Maharajah palace Taragarh Palace Hotel, just a couple of kilometres down the road from TJ.

I spent some time outside the snooker hall (no monks inside) talking with various lamas (including Jimmey and Suldim, who was one of the ones who'd invited me to play football). I found out that in November there is a week or so long puja where the monks do the lama dance, for which Tashi Jong is fairly famous (that, and mummifying a togden, the only time it's been done I think). I also learnt how they celebrate Lhosa (Tibetan New Year, in February sometime) – it involves far less raucous behaviour and alcohol (i.e. none) than our parties (be they at Pebbles, the Self's, or Monya's) and a lot more praying. I ended the night by playing Jimmey at chess (and winning).

On Monday morning, I got up at about 9, convinced it was an hour later. So, after kicking around a little, I went and had breakfast (roti & jam and sweet tea). My clothes were still wet, since I was asleep on Sunday when it rained, so didn't take them in off the line.

During the morning, a bus load of British tourists arrived. And they were most definitely British! Apart from the accents, they gave themselves away by being white-haired or balding middle-aged men, who were overweight, with red faces dripping sweat, whilst wearing khaki starched shorts and almost-but-not-quite-matching shirts. And very very silly sunhats. The wives wore ankle length floral summer skirts and large-brimmed straw hats, as the wives of the British Abroad often do. I watched them a little, and talked to them a little. I was compared to one of their grandsons (I don't know whether or not to be flattered).

I left them to go and plan my lesson for the day (including the advanced class's first piece of written work!). My homemade worksheet about travel verbs had to wait, however, as Norbu's Cyber Café was shut. I read a little more, and went to lunch: tingmo and potato stuff. I've decided I don't really love tingmo, especially compared to, say, rice and dhal. There was a fairly amusing incident at lunch, when one of the chefs was trying to move a distinctly unimpressed dog. Every time he lifted the dog's paws, dragged it around, prodded it, etc. the dog merely raised its head, blinked twice, and went back to sleep. The Brits left sometime after lunch; I saw them perusing the local shops and getting, of all things, some sort of first aid demo from the nurse. One of the monks told me it would be nice, from a financial point of view, if they stayed, and stayed in the monastery guest house. But no. My clothes were still drying at this point, if you're interested.

I brought them in (continuing the interesting saga of my clothes) maybe ten minutes before the rain came. Which was lucky. My lesson went quite well, considering it was the first for a week and a half. I will soon start teaching the littlest lamas (the total beginners). After my lesson, I had tea with some of my advanced guys, who gave me an unopened pack of biscuits, for no particular reason. I couldn't refuse (I tried). I had a visit during that afternoon from three of Mike's little lamas. First one turned up, and I thought it was just him after a chat, then his mates arrived, so I offered them a biscuit, told them Mike was away in Paprola and they left after not too long. Dinner that night was rice and dhal, which was very nice, after which I planned out my lessons for the next day (or so I thought...). I got two phonecalls that evening. The first was from Thomas, with whom I talked about India and all that jazz. The second was Rohit calling from his school near Delhi. He was asking about travel arrangements and all that jazz. Some of my clothes were now dry.

Late in the evening (maybe 10ish) we had a visit from Ngawang (see above) along with another worker from the incense factory. He wanted to type an email with Michael's help. His friend was rather on the odd side. I'm certain he said that his wife was his sister and that his brother had some sort of problem. It was a little disconcerting. He then gave a sort of open invite to eat with him sometime, and to visit the incense factory (and, I suspect, help out a bit).

We also found out, to our great lack of shock, that our friend at the office (who always tells us the mealtimes) is a drunk. It has been confirmed by two separate, and reliable, sources. The story goes that the girl who he had his eyes on married another man, and so he turned to drink, and his once excellent English filled the bottles he emptied.

Monday night through to Wednesday are summed up in one word, pretty much: 'ow'. I spent most of this time transfiguring my innards into my outards. In liquid form. I discovered that Boot's blackcurrant rehydration solution tastes very salty, though I am still in debt to Boot's PLC for their life-saving tissues (they saved me both in Shimla and at TJ). On Tuesday, I ate dinner only, which was thenthuk (the pasta-like thukpa). On Wednesday I ate all three meals, and evacuated something vaguely solid at one point (you'll be glad to know). The nurse gave me some medicine which has definitely helped, though I was drawn to a certain warning on the back which, reassuringly, said that 'Metronidazole has been shown to be carcinogenic in mice and rats'. Still, lesser of two evils and all that.

Wednesday also saw a visit from Ngawang from the Institute (tall guy with very little English), who said that they had an afternoon only holiday that day, though I couldn't work out why (something to do with a house, water, a toilet and a bath – I dread to think). He also told me about their festivals – one is a debating competition in Varanasi (which Jimmey had mentioned before) where they debate with other sects; the other is a prayer for world peace at a place (I think) called Boddhgaya (which John had mentioned whilst we were in Shimla). Dinner has moved to 6.30 now, so I nearly missed it on Wednesday. I arrived to find all the monks had been shaved that day, which was rather odd (like walking through a sea of slightly stubbly eggs). We now own some speakers, and I finished 'Don Quixote' (now onto 'Midnight's Children' despite what Grubin may say about it).

Since I'm now very experienced, I should mention two things about wiping: 1) no two sheets of paper on an Indian loo roll are ever the same size, seriously; 2) lemon zest wet wipes, which one might expect to be soothing and slightly zesty, sting like hell. I have had that Johnny cash song in my head the past few days (you know which one).

There's little else to say about those days (less said the better), but that Mike got a parcel from home containing jam, chocolate, dvds, vegemite and old German textbooks (to help us remember how we learnt, or didn't, a foreign language). The textbooks are stupidly '90s (bad haircuts, terrible clothes and a failed attempt to connect with the youth).

Today then, Thursday. Feeling better and better, I decided to take my class today. After a jitter over whether or not there were classes today (there were) I went for breakfast at the restaurant – omlette and sweet tea – before photocopying my worksheet (to be used tomorrow) and chatting with the nurses for a while. Lunch was rice and stuff, and afterwards I got roped into giving an impromptu lesson to one of the kitchen monks. For about ten minutes I tried to clear up the different ways of using 'would' for him, which was fairly difficult, then he went off for some praying. I played some table tennis with some of the other monks, then went back to the room to get ready for my lesson. It went fairly well, though I discovered that the monks aren't so good with descriptions (though they liked playing a quick-fire game of 'the minister's cat'). And that's pretty much it for now. So, until next time, bye bye!