“When you will be done with the writing, bro?” asks Jai. Frowning, he seems to be disappointed, after spending 3 days at this hotel in Dharmshala, without exploring the scenic and serenity of this town in Himachal Pradesh. We came here to visit the beautiful monasteries, go berserk with the yummiest momos, shopping, rejuvenate our soul and spirit, staycation, and conspicuously feed our Instagram accounts with pictures and selfies. Since childhood, I wanted to visit this place, the winter capital of Himachal Pradesh, which is blessed with the holy residence of the 14th Dalai Lama and many Tibetans too.
Dharmshala is in the Kangra Valley, in the shadow of the Dhauladhar range of the Himalayas at an altitude of 1457m, above sea level, covering an area of almost 8.51km2. Dharmaśālā is a Hindi word derived from Sanskrit that is a compound of the words dharma (धर्म) and shālā (शाला) literally “House or place of Dharma”. In common usage, the word refers to a shelter or rest house for spiritual pilgrims.
Been here for 3 days, and my childhood friend Jai and I could not go out of the hotel yet. I am to be blamed, despite travelling from chattering Mumbai to align with the pollution-free city here. Nolens volens, on an urgent basis, I had to finish a writing assignment for my client. On the way to the airport, my client called me to edit his PhD synopsis. I pity him!
On reaching Dharmshala, I was amazed at the aesthetics of the scenes and the stillness of this city. The fresh air, the sound of the wind, the pleasant and quixote climate, and the romantic clouds would put any human to circumvent the ‘rat race’. The hilly town, surrounded by the smiles of Himalayan exaltation, with its own a la mode constantly defines the alacrity of the tranquility. I bet, this.
The moment I entered the affordable hotel ‘Anicca’ room and after being greeted with the courtesy and hospitality of Jampa, the owner, my life made me switch on the laptop. We decided on a week’s stay but after 3 days the hangover of the ‘corporate culture’ did not divorce me yet. Nothing can be cruel than this but it was also a matter of my client’s helplessness.
The ‘performance anxiety’ gripped me, while doing the editing of synopsis, due to which I was not ‘mindful’ of the work I was doing. Being attached to the delivery of his work on time, I blamed my idiocy for skipping ‘Ctrl + S’ and the work had to be lost. The laptop was drained, without battery, without my realization, and, the electricity had to suddenly leave like my ex.
“No, No, No!” anxiously I exclaimed. Jai looked apprehensive too, seeing this, and I unnecessarily cursed my fate, my laptop, and him for the restlessness. Without explanation, he left the room for the blame. I did not calculate the intensity of my anger but instead of punishing others, the anger punished me. In a state of guilt and regret, I was not prepared to offer an apology. I wept and switched off my cellphone to avoid the call from my client.
It was dusk already and the town was without electricity. Moving out of the room to search for Jai, at this time, amid the cold winds, would be a wrong choice. However, I walked to Jampa and enquired if he saw Jai walking away. He replied, “No” without even looking at me. With two candles lit around him, I saw Jampa doing a ‘sand painting’, I knew he was busy. I asked him again and he did not respond. I wondered if he has attitude issues more than my workplace.
I stood there, trying to understand his work, silently. I never saw something like that before. I was not sure if he would explain that to me. His consecration, his eyes, and his focused hands were reflected passionately in the very finesse he was setting.
After some time, while doing the sand painting, he suddenly introduced, “It’s Mandala!”
I felt weird at this gesture. Having nothing else to talk about, a little curiosity sparked in me; I requested him to tell me more about “Mandala”.
Jampa, in his blissful state, utters, “[Mandala]…is a geometric configuration of symbols. In various spiritual traditions, mandalas may be employed to focus the attention of practitioners and adepts, as a spiritual guidance tool, for establishing a sacred space and as an aid to meditation and trance induction.”
His fluency in prompt explanation of the concept stunned my preconceived judgments about Jampa. I subconsciously felt he was more than being a hotel owner of ‘Annica’. I requested him to proceed.
“I finished Mandala already. Worked on this, for 2 weeks. Was giving a final touch, today.” Jampa directed me towards this ‘sand painting’.
I loved the texture, the design, and the sovereignty of this painting with Buddha in the centre, phantasmagorically positioned by the heaven and hell realm; the nature of life and other Buddhas. It looked a little complicated, at first impression, and of course, it would be a universal insult to ask the artist Jampa to explain his art to a mind like mine.
I was staring at every minute detail of the Mandala. Surely, it needs a great deal of patience and tolerance to divinely complete such an alluring work that does not deserve an iota of apocryphal perception. Jampa using his paintbrush, gradually wiped the Mandala, after a few minutes. I shouted, “Stop! What are you doing? Have you gone mad?”
Jampa, without any reaction, continued destroying the diligent art. I found this madness, I continued asking him, “Are you drunk?”
After wiping 3/4th of the Mandala, Jampa said, “The artwork is verily beautiful, but do not get attached to it.”
I muttered, “It is your work, you should feel proud of your beautiful work. It is no harm.”
Jampa was already done with the cleaning. He looked into my eye, hypnotically, and explained, “Brother, Mandala is a gentle reminder that life creates us from the dust and we, as humans, owe and own nothing in the end.”
I was figuring out this brutal opening of the words. “Brother, the name of my hotel is Anicca. It means ‘temporary’. On this planet, we do not have any permanent existence. Everything is subject to change, nothing stays the same, neither you will be remembered always.”
His words, I tell you, felt very timely. I was not sure if life was teaching me ‘amor fati’. I think my subconscious mind was convincing my conscious mind, to become aware of the laptop episode, to accept whatever happened so that I can move on, as nothing outside of me can be in my control.
Jampa brings a glass of water to heave my mood. He is holding it. I tell him with a smile, “The longer you hold this glass of water, it will pain you, Jampa.”
“I know, Brother!” he instantly responds, freeing the subitist tendencies I was carrying. I hold the glass of water to put it down, learning that one should not hold on to the flow of life for too long.
