digging for health data

Stopping for a tea in town at McLeod Ganj’s oldest hotel, the Kailash, last week, I came upon a set of Tibetan and English-language brochures on tuberculosis – prevention, what to look out for, etc.  This got me wondering about the TB situation here.

The Tibetan government in exile, marking world TB day last week, announced a redoubling of efforts to combat TB.  I haven’t seen specific details come out yet.

World TB Day was marking an increasing need to address the problems of containing tuberculosis, treating drug-resistant strains, and lowering the scary rate of TB fatalities in HIV-positive patients.  Among the Tibetan population here in exile, TB is much higher (7.7/1,000 in 1996, and even higher in specific regions and populations) than in India overall (0.6-7.6/1000).

TB also has high rates on the Tibetan plateau.  Helpful hints from the brochure?  ‘If you have persistent cough for more than 2-3 weeks, consult your doctor.’  ‘If you are being treated for TB, do not stop your medication early, and do not stop and start taking medication.’ Etc.

Let’s hope things can improve!

3 blanket morning

My Tibetan teacher is a sparky middle-aged woman named Pema, originally from the Lhokka area, but came to India as a child in the late 50’s and Dharamsala early 60’s.  A few days a week she bravely makes the trek out to the cottage to teach me , and once a week or so I plan a day in town and have a lesson at her place.

On Wednesday, my planned to-town day, I awoke to rain pouring down in sheets and no electricity (the power has been quite flaky in the whole area recently, especially in the early mornings).  With the rain has come colder weather, and I bundled into 2 cashmere sweaters, rain jacket, boots, hat, etc and called a taxi instead of walking halfway and catching a rickshaw as I normally would.  In town the wind was funneling between the buildings.  It was reminiscent of a hailstorm that Sarah and I witnessed when we were here in 2006, that knocked out a transformer just outside a cafe we were warming ourselves in.

Because the towns of this area sprawl up a mountainside, there is often a variation in weather and temperature depending on what elevation you’re at.  I learned, on that very cold and wet morning, that the Tibetan community has a special way of referring to this: by counting the blankets you need.  If McLeod Ganj has a 2 blanket night, it’ll be a 3 blanket night at TCV (the main school for Tibetan children above McLeod), and on the top of Dharamkot mountain, a 4 blanket night.  Lower Dharamsala, 1 blanket night.  I’d say we had about a 3 blanket morning that morning, and every morning since.

Peripatetic ponderings on tradition

Most afternoons, if there is no need to go to town, are spent taking a walk around the rugged countryside. Yesterday we went a new way for me — down the mountain, towards a village in a saddle between two ridgelines. We stopped on one ridge outcropping and watched the scene for awhile, seemingly idyllic. Late afternoon sun made for rich browns and yellows of the stone and earthen houses, and deep greens of barley fields finally growing, with a little rain from the last few days. Smoke rises — dinner is on, and the sound of a flute filters up to our perch. On the trail, men walk home from the direction of town. They wear smiles, perhaps of a day well done, perhaps of a post-work drink, perhaps just happy to be going home.

(Water is low, but still running in most streams around the village.)

I wonder about this place. I’m sure it’s not so idyllic as it seems, replete with the problems of any community. Yet watching the coming home, end of day routine there, I notice a depth to its roots. Something in my soul identifies with this, like an instinctual response to the call-and-response of heritage. Traditions, gossip, stories, local mythology. These are deep-seated beliefs, and important to someone’s identity — their understanding of self, and an outsider’s appreciation of them. This set of roots could be termed traditional; sometimes, it is backwards, parochial, fearful of intrusion. So I wonder, why might a traditional society come to be seen as parochial?

In America and western Europe, at the beginning of industrialization, the coming modernity was often portrayed as a good thing, a shedding of its parochial layers — an increase of the autonomy of women, the rugged individualism of the Romantics calling to each member of the family to play a role in larger society (ironically, the Romantics, though they advocated a return to nature, were never really ideologically aligned with the traditional farmers, at least as well as I recall my mid-19th Century philosophy).

Modernity can, conversely, turn traditional into parochial, via fear of the other. As long as there has been modernization, there has been deep discomfort about the erosion of cultural ways of life. Yet like the optimistic attitude of the 19th Century, perhaps there are still benefits to modernization in a traditional society. I’ve been thinking about the fact that modernity may provide some common ground for understanding between cultures. Rhetoricians speak of finding the common ground in an argument or audience in order to fuse understanding. When two different people come together, there must be something for them to meet on. Is this why, say, a younger generation might have an easier time finding common ground than their parents? (It gets much more complicated, certainly.) But there may be a simpler way.

Today the world is moving. Around here, the different groups of transplanted people, Tibetans, Kashmiris, plains Indians, visitors, do get along on a surface level, but they are also quite predatory of each other. Everyone is transient; so nobody invests in community. Yet people pine for roots, even as they give them up. My travel partner John pontificates about kosmopoli, being a citizen of the world, about his not having the typical sense of roots but instead cultivating roots and understanding that go deeper than tradition. What are the universal things that go deeper than the obvious common ground? Compassion, caring, a sense of responsibility or duty to others. I think that if, as travelers, we cannot place at least this much in the way of roots, it’s easy to do damage to the communities through which we move, as well as to ourselves. It seems instinctual, as I said above, so if uprooted from home, the roots must go somewhere. Otherwise, we’re like stones skipping across the world like across a still pond, making only ripples.

What does this all mean? I’m still working that out. But I’m curious to sort out more more of how these ideas fit into some of the larger things I’m thinking about, cultivating leadership, entrepreneurship, and environmental sustainability at the village level. Will have to take another walk and see what emerges.

High and Too Dry

mountains and forest around dharamsala

The days here dawn sunny and warm, a bit too reliably for this time of year. Though spring comes early in the lower Himalaya, the area around Dharamsala is meant to be one of the wettest areas at elevation in India. This past winter, apparently it only rained once.

Since my arrival, a few days have shown enough thunderclouds and rumbles to make us unplug the DSL modem, but not even enough raindrops to wet all the stones on the patio. Springs, the water fountains of the area, are all running at a trickle. There are several stone washing-places, some built decades ago, that are now mostly unvisited. It’s not surprising when one looks up at the mountains above Dharamsala — areas that should be covered in snow are brown, and areas that are snow-covered are much smaller than in past years. Historically, some of these have been permanent, year-round snow fields, that provided the reliable water source for springs, streams, rivers, ponds, fields, villages, and the diverse wildlife of the area.

Water scarcity in the surrounding villages is becoming a serious problem, and a main item of conversation between locals. The landlord here mentioned it this morning, indicating that though we were on a privileged water supply, he was still going to add another 10,000 liter tank for storage. A friend who lives up the mountain and relies entirely on rainwater and springs may have to store even more water from monsoon time to make up for the rest of the year.

I understand that monsoon season has lengthened substantially, now languishing over up to 5 months of the year. At that time, of course, rain is plentiful. But the rain is fleeting, it’s not stored high up, and once it runs down the mountain as swollen streams and the occasional mudslide, it’s gone. It doesn’t stay as snow in the mountains or seep down to the level of groundwater, enough to be relied on at other times — unless it’s stored in a huge tank.

And I’ll just mention, but won’t get into, the compounded problem of water scarcity in areas dependent on hydroelectric operations for their electricity.

I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know enough about the possible solutions. The social dynamics of a village reliant on surface water (that, coming from the high Himalaya, is generally free at least from debris and chemicals if not pristine) would have to change if it were to switch to well water. And well systems have their own environmental questions and may not even be possible. Water tower construction is a possible solution, though would require infrastructure to maintain, secure and dole out water to the constituent parties. I did see one group of men working on a water storage station, enlarging a building in one of the poorer areas.

Years ago as an intern at the Rhode Island Economic Policy Council I worked on a draft water allocation plan for the state that prioritized water rations in times of scarcity. I don’t know what came of the drought plan (except that it became lower priority when the current drought ended), but I do remember many days around the office wondering, tourism or farming? Marine industry or residential lawn watering? On some level, the answers are clear — drinking water over boat washing — but the issue got much more thorny: cranberry bog farmers or farm stand agriculture, shopkeepers or tourism. Which part of the economic ecosystem is more important, and who gets to decide?

Here in Dharamsala, where people live both at the edge of survival and in the lap of luxury, this debate is very challenging indeed. Tourism is an important economic driver of the area, yet it’s fueling poorly thought-out growth, including a proliferation of cheaply-constructed and mostly unoccupied hotels. And tourism uses water — tourists themselves, hotels washing the roads and landscaping their grounds, drivers washing cars, etc. A ballooning population is also a large problem. These areas might support sparse habitation, but the towns sprouting up are expanding at an alarming rate. In the traditional villages, where the image of running water invokes streams, not pipes and faucets, and water must be carried to the house or fields, water usage is low and measured. Yet irrigation, infrastructure, health care, and many other signs of development and modern standard of living, increase water use. How can traditional areas benefit from development, without depleting their essential resources? Beyond that, how can local inhabitants mitigate the water shortage that is clearly coming?

The Craze 95

Indian electronics are full of surprises.  Often they don’t work.  But on occasion, one gets lucky and finds something well-made, easily repairable, and long-lasting.  That’s what happened with the Craze 95 here, a food processor/blender contraption.  True to its name, it’s 14 years old, and it had sat idle collecting dust for a number of those years.  But it has proven itself to work like a charm, and we’ve been whipping up all manner of ground things in the kitchen.

Thanks to my aunt furnishing me with 6 lbs of almonds to bring (the ones you can get here are imported from California anyway, and aren’t as fresh or clean as the ones from the States directly), we’ve been able to take a break from eating paneer as the only protein source, and add nut butter to curry.

A few days ago I brought down the ol’ Craze 95 to make hummus, which worked out much better than my hummus attempt last time I was here… which involved cooking chick peas to smithereens and then bashing them with the back of a spoon for longer than I’d like to admit.

Some pieces of equipment leave something to be desired, though, and I had a lesson in this yesterday.  I’d been laughing at the dearth of sharp knives here, and suggesting that the purchase of a sharpening stone would be a wise investment.  But it turns out that for 100 rupees one can purchase some kind of scary axe-head sharpener (that’s not even stone), and for 15 one can get a perfectly usable knife.

Spring is coming early here and it’s warmer and drier than even a week ago.  I’m starting to settle in and get into a good study, work and time outside routine.

Empire’s New Clothes

The greater Dharamsala area sprawls up a hillside from the Indian plateau to an elevation of around 9,000 feet. In British times this area was a polka-dot of small villages, and a hill station/Cantonment for the Indian/British army. Today, the towns of Dharamsala and McLeod Ganj are teeming with cars, buses, motorbikes, and people from all over the region and the world. Walking the 6km into McLeod from where I stay, I can go several ways, passing through some of the outlying villages. I marvel that anybody ever thought this was a good place to build a town. The terrain is impossibly steep and sandy, not conducive to infrastructure. And in reality, there wasn’t much foresight of the populations ballooning as they have. I remember two years ago when I arrived in Dharamsala at night. Most of the time, looking out the bus window yielded the murky black of hazy night. But on the approach to the Dharamsala hillside, one sees a ski town-like smattering of lights, all the way up. It is much more densely developed than surrounding areas.

I’ve also been wondering, again, why it is that women remain in traditional clothing while men, almost universally, have adopted western clothing. In the locals’ villages, in a nearby Nepali settlement, and in the Tibetan areas, I see this trend. Colorful sari, salwar kameez, chuba, drape the women. Yet the men wear often ill-fitting slacks and loud button-down shirts, much less comfortable and often less practical than the traditional garb. Of course, going closer to town and especially looking at the young generations, men and women are in more western clothing.

Monlam Chenmo

Today is a holy day for the Indian and Tibetan inhabitants of Dharamsala. For the Hindu, it’s Holi, a day of much celebration and colored-dust throwing. I saw one guy walking down the street purple from head to toe, except his eyeballs.

For the TIbetans, it’s Monlam Chenmo, a prayer festival in praise of Buddha Shakyamuni. His Holiness the Dalai Lama gave a teaching this morning down at the main temple in McLeod Ganj. It was an amazing and powerful event. I’d seen His Holiness once before, 2 years ago in the same place, at a festival to honor his Nobel Peace prize. At that time, it was snowing, I was sick, and it wasn’t a teaching.

This morning, the courtyard was full of people — westerners, Tibetan lay people, monks and nuns. It was a clear and beautiful morning. After a few minutes of prayer, pomp and ceremony, His Holiness got down to the business of giving a wonderful teaching on the core of Buddhist philosophy of emptiness, replete with his characteristic pithy examples and anecdotes. He taught from the text, “Fundamental Wisdom of the Middle Way”. In discussing the view of the impermanence of things, he described the Chinese Communist leaders as behaving as they do because of not seeing clearly. He told of how flies go towards light because it’s attractive to them, and they get zapped by bug zappers because that light is attractive to them, though they’re not seeing clearly what the thing really is. And I didn’t catch the whole thing but he told a story of someone who was meditating to increase their patience, who when asked to eat shit, got angry. That one got a chuckle but I’m not quite sure what the lesson there was. Something about continuing the things we practice in meditation, in the rest of life.

His Holiness gave a nod to theistic religions, counseling the westerners in the crowd to respect their traditional beliefs even if they themselves prefer to practice Buddhism. In wanting to do right in a god’s eyes, he said, you’re doing right by others, and the result is still of benefit. And he extolled listeners to reflect, contemplate, and examine the teachings. No blind faith here, that would be missing the point.

His Holiness concluded with the Refuge and Bodhichitta prayer, a powerful prayer that invokes the aspiration to raise compassion towards all. He called the group in attendance a “mahayana sangha”, a community of those working towards the release from suffering of all. Having been thinking about my own practice in these ways, it was an amazing stroke of luck and timing for me.

I decided to forego yesterday’s Uprising Day marches and speeches in favor of a quiet day, as I was still catching up on sleep and getting over a cold. It was an important day for Tibetans, though, the 50th anniversary of the uprising and a big change in tune from His Holiness on the issue — from consilience to serious displeasure over the Tibetan suffering under the Chinese. His statement can be found here, and is well worth a read.

Arrival

I arrived safely in India two days ago, and am attempting to settle into a nice routine here in Dharamsala. I am here for the next few months, to study and practice and work, and I am beginning to put together other ideas for things to be involved in during this time.

The area of McLeod Ganj, above Dharamsala and the center of Tibetan life, is always a buzzing place, but is even more so now. This March is a month full of holy days, teachings and anniversaries. Today there will be large crowds and marches, as it is either Uprising Day or Liberation Day, depending on whether you’re Tibetan (the former) or Chinese (the latter). Exactly 50 years ago was the Tibetan uprising and His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama fled Tibet and came to settle here. In the bazaar yesterday there was a frenetic flurry of activity, and an underlying tone of dissatisfaction, maybe desperation. The situation in Tibet is as bad as ever, and there is very little hope on the horizon for improvement at this time.

In addition, it seems the transient community is ever-more separated from the long-term populations. So many people come here for a brief stint, to learn, to make money, to advocate, to fall in love, to have a respite from the rest of India, and this wears on the weave of the fabric of everyday life. I am one of these people, and I will do my best to tread lightly here, and to be of some benefit to the local communities.