The Central Government of India pumps hoards of money into Sikkim’s roadway infrastructure because its border with China compels them to keep a formidable military presence.  Most of the main roads are paved and well maintained so that armed vehicles can move freely throughout the state.  This, however, does not exactly make it safe to drive in Sikkim.

The lower Himalaya topography is “hilly” (their hills are like our mountains), thus the roads must conform to curvaceous canyon slopes.  The superior quality of the roads makes it easier to drive fast, unlike the dilapidated mountain “roads” throughout the rest of Northern India.  More than once, we found ourselves racing through the Himalayas around tight curves in overloaded jeeps driven by wanna-be stunt drivers.

Traveling by road there can make the most iron stomach carsick while at the same time inspire one to contemplate their mortality.  But, if one is surrendered to the belief that their moment of death is already predetermined, they can enthusiastically look out the window and take visual pleasure in the magnificent vertical drop-offs just inches from the jeep’s tires into the sheer faced ravines.  There are no distracting guardrails to block the line of site!

To make sure that drivers are aware of their responsibility to preserve the lives of their passengers, there are lyrical road safety signs on the side of the road.  They apparently go unnoticed or are completely ignored by the drivers, but provide ironic entertainment value to passengers with a dark sense of humor like myself.

Road is hilly, don’t be silly

No race, no rally, enjoy the beauty of the valley

This is a highway, not a runway

Be soft on my curves

If married, divorce speed

Faster will see disaster

Slow drive, long life

Fast won’t last

No need for over speed

Speed thrills but kills

Hurry makes worry

Arrive home in peace not in pieces

As we ascended the steep stone path to the hilltop Tashiding monastery, each step took us deeper into a palpable prayer. Thousands of colorful prayer flags stamped with Tibetan mantras released their blessings into the clear sky above our heads. The breeze playfully spun windmill-like prayer wheels, spiraling out loving kindness towards the blue mountain horizon. A field of stupas rose out of the earth like white and golden Buddhas popping up in Heaven’s flower garden. The silent blessings permeated our being and carried us barefoot around the monastery grounds.

A wall of mani stones, slabs of granite painted in bright colors with the great Tibetan Buddhist mantra om mani padme hum etched into them, encircled the entire stupa compound in an energetic ring invoking compassion. As we came around a corner, we spotted a figure inside a corrugated tin and stone shack built into the prayer wall. A man peered out from behind stacked slabs of gray stone. As we approached him with obvious interest on our faces he signaled us to come in and sit.

He sat surrounded by engraved tablets, chiseling the next prayer. His long fingers held a chisel in one hand braced against the carving easel, while his other hand gently tapped with a small hammer. His graying dark hair was tied in a knot like a small stupa on top of his head. His face had sculpted asian features and long, thin strands of hair hung from his chin and moustache. He worked diligently as he peered through thick brown glasses tied with a string around his head. Occasionally he stopped and looked at us for a few minutes, the three of us speaking no words.

I somehow asked him if he had carved the thousands of prayers surrounding the shrine. It is like a game of silent charades. You can have an entire conversation this way and not even realize you haven’t spoken a word. He signaled his hand in a circle then pointed to himself to indicate that, yes, he indeed was the artist of this massive body of prayerful work. It seemed irrelevant to try to ask him how long he has been living here as a sculptor. If he told us 300 years, when this monastery was first built, we would have believed him. It is that way in India — no unbelievable truth is beyond doubt. We sat in wonder and witnessed this timeless being living in the heavenly realm dedicating his life to extracting prayers out of stone.

He laid his tools down, and with a flick of his head, flung his glasses to his forehead. Aromatic smoke rose from under his blackened teakettle. He took the kettle and poured another cup, took a bite of a biscuit and a sip of tea. He then sat in silence and closes his eyes. I think he was napping. After a few minutes, his head nodded foreword and his glasses fell back onto his nose. He opened his eyes, took a long sigh and continued his work.

We later learned his name, Yanchong Lodil.

Click the arrow below to hear these women singing, or click the link to download the mp3.

Choti Maharaj’s Ashram in Vrindavan, India: Sita Ram Radhe Sham

Religion and Spirituality are the essence of Indian culture. At any time, wherever you are, there are reminders of India’s religious diversity and our relationship with the Divine.

Religious dress distinguishes Hindu women in saris, Muslims in burqas and Tibetan Buddhists with red and yellow robes. People greet one another with hands over their heart while saying the sacred salutation “Namasté” or “As-salam Alaykum.” Children are named after Hindu Gods and Goddesses or companions of the prophet Mohammed. Even restaurants and other businesses bear the name of God, like Buddha Airlines, Hanuman Tea or Ram Milk Sweets.

God’s names echo across the city, as chants from temples or the call to prayer from mosques broadcast through blaring loudspeakers. Throughout the day there are processions celebrating a marriage with drumming, dancing and flashing lights, or honoring a death by carrying the colorfully wrapped body through the streets, chanting Ram Nam Satya Hai (the name of God is Truth). Flowers, ghee lamps and incense are offered at roadside shrines. Street musicians sing devotional songs to God. Wondering monks ask for alms. Images of Hindu deities hang on the walls of chai shops while carved stone icons silently observe.

Although chai is not a doctrine of any faith, (except perhaps our own), it seemed to be the element that transcended all gender, age, caste or religion. Like God, chai was everywhere. So, as we traveled through Nepal and Northern India, we drank up not only chai, but also the rich spiritual way of life.

Click the arrow below to hear one man’s morning prayer on the Ganga in Benares, or click the link to download the mp3.

Ganga Solo

Sikkim, India: Rumtek Monastery Chanting