A Personal Essay

Written by Alok Bhatt

While the temperature shot up like never before, I was preparing myself for a diametrically opposite world -a transition from over forty degrees to zero degree Celsius.I have always been interested in the lives of people living in the remote parts of my country. I’ve looked forward to frame policies wherein the Government and the people can come together in a symbiotic manner and garner mutual benefits. 

I was looking for a place without too many distractions. A place where I could undergo a kind of retreat for a few days to explore and strengthen the connection I had built with the people living in the farthest corners of my country. Moreover, I wanted to teach in a school as I believe education ​is fundamental to the growth and development of a region. 

Hence I decided to visit the place which remains snow-covered and thus cut-off from the rest of the world for more than half the year- the “harsh but beautiful” cold desert of Spiti Valley in the northern part of Himachal Pradesh, India. There are two roads connecting Spiti with the outside world. One is the beautiful eastern route via Shimla and Kinnaur Valley whereas the other one is via Manali and Rohtang Pass. I took the latter one. The actual gate to Spiti is the Kunzum Pass at 4590 metres which I reached after a bumpy ride of countless hours through a no man’s landscape of pebbles, stones and rocks. On the top of the pass, I got out and for a moment imagined myself in an ocean of mountain peaks transformed into halcon waves with soft undulating crests. 

While I was standing there with my twenty-five khatas dangling from my neck and a cry for Tibet’s freedom on my forehead, I felt a fountain of tears welling up inside me. 

-Alok Bhatt

The pass was adorned with a wilderness of prayer flags. Often they are called ​lung ta​, ‘wind horse’, after the most common prayer flags on which a horse is printed. Wind and horse together act as a vehicle for spreading prayers of peace and compassion. One could imagine a continuous wave of prayers being spread across the valley, for on the top of the pass, the wind blows unceasingly from every direction.With this reassuring thought I let myself be swayed downwards along the last 25 kilometres, before reaching a big concrete gate adorned in a colourful Tibetan design with the text “Most welcome in Spiti Valley”. At dusk, I reached Losar, the first village in Spiti and finally reached my destination around 8:00pm. 

Where I had actually ended up only became clear the next morning when I drew back the curtains. I saw sunbeams piercing through my window, a lonesome cloud competing against a crisp azure sky.All the pictures I had seen so many times before suddenly came alive. A plain with small fields stretching for miles and miles. To the left, descending into the distance, flowed a white river. Somewhere in the far distance, at the foot of a steep slope, one could spot small speckles of the next village. And beyond that village a background of mountains and more mountains fading away into a hazy and irregularly serrated horizon. 

My temporary place of residence was Rangrik, located at an altitude of 3700 metres. The name Spiti is often explained as “land of the middle”, the country between India and Tibet or the country between two medieval Tibetan kingdoms of Ladakh and Guge, in West-Tibet.I have also come across the dubious translation “the place of ​mane​-jewel”, and in the valley it is sometimes translated as “hidden water”. It is very difficult to find out where the actual name Spiti stems from. Tibetan scholars accept the name as being innate and impossible to deduce. 

I had made a clear map for each of my classes in school but before proceeding with my lessons, I decided to bridge the gap by having a quick round of introduction. As the students started telling me about them, I wrote down their names according to their desk places which I was determined to memorise. In a few moments I already had some names such as Tenzin Paljor,Thenpa Thendup,Lobsang, Zotpa-curious names for me-as if they had escaped from a fantasy novel. 

At the end of the day I leafed through my notebook and drew up the balance. No less than twenty seven of my hundred and twenty one pupils are called Tenzin which is more than twenty percent. There are sixteen Lobsangs, twelve Kungas, ten Tserings, eight Tashis and few Sonams, Kelsangs and Ngawangs. How am I supposed to distinguish each one’s name?

I thought maybe their surnames could help me get more of a hold on things but that also didn’t offer any more variation. I discovered a Tenzin Dolma in class 5, in class 6 ,in class 7 and a Lobsang Gyalsen in class 6,7 and 8. Furthermore what is a surname here? The people in Spiti, as well as Tibetans in general, use a double name. The second name doesn’t tell you anything about the name of their father or mother, I learn.

To make it more complicated, most names can be given to a boy as well as a girl, like Tashi or Tsering or Tenzin. A further complication that arises is that a first name can also be used as a surname. One of the students form class 8 is Tsering Tashi whereas a boy in class 6 is called Tashi Tsering. Fortunately for me, the latter had introduced himself to me on the other day with a different name. 

In Tibetan culture names serve a slightly different function from the west. There are no lists circulating with the most popular names. Parents don’t feel the need to name their children after a memorable grandfather or aunt, nor do they feel the urge to saddle their children with the name of their idols. Names are not the anchor of someone’s identity or the hat-rack of the ego. In this culture, a name has a positive meaning, meant to act as an auspicious blessing to life.Thus, Tenzin is the protector of the Buddhist doctrine, Tashi means prosperity, Lobsang is someone with a sharp mind, Norbu stands for richness or precious jewel, Sherab is wisdom and Tsering means long life. 

Parents leave the choice of their son’s or daughter’s name mostly to the Buddhist lama they consider their spiritual guide. Lochen Tulku Rinpoche, the spiritual leader of Spiti, is often consulted for this reason. But most parents call the office of the Dalai lama in Dharamshala after their child is born. At the other end of the telephone line a name is produced which at that moment is heading a list drafted by the Dalai Lama. It is a rather monotonous series because it is predominantly Tenzin which is given as the first name. Tenzin, because that is Dalai Lama’s first name, Tenzin Gyatso. 

The learning and growth of every pilgrim like me is made possible by places like Spiti Valley and the people residing there. It is a hard life if not accepted with full understanding-as hard as reaching the place is! I wanted to stay there for years with those spontaneous and thankful people. Apparently they had learnt something from me, but I think I learnt much more from them.On the day of my departure, all the students came to see me off at the bus I was taking back to Delhi. All of them hung a ​khata​, a white scarf of respect, around my neck. We took lots of photographs with each other. While I was standing there with my twenty-five khatas dangling from my neck and a cry for Tibet’s freedom on my forehead, I felt a fountain of tears welling up inside me. But I thought it improper to blubber in front of people who already knew what it is like to leave behind one’s dear ones.