Destined encounters with Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo

By Sonam Chhomo

My family friends came to meet us a day after the beginning of the Tibetan New Year and Fagli, the new year celebrated by the people of the Pattan Valley in Lahaul. They were cheery and happy like always. They told me how they used to spend their winter days in Lahaul as children. It started from their school days and ended up discussing the pack of young boys who used to take notice of the shepherds from Zanskar and use their donkeys to ride in the fields. From picking apples from a neighbor’s farm to playing with a bow and arrow in the field, they concluded: “You have never experienced this joy in the cities.” I agreed with her since our city life was almost devoid of the community and nature that Lahual offered. In the next few silent minutes, my aunt finally asked me about my meeting with Jetsunma. She later revealed how she met Jetsunma Palmo. Her first meeting was surprisingly in that same cave that Jetsunma had resided in. She had gone on one of her expeditions with her father to the jungle. One day, as she was the youngest in that expedition, she was sent to her to ask for some salt. The first meeting was the simple act of getting salt from Jetsunma. The second time she met her was at a function organized by some monks from Kinnaur. At a random book collection for her daughter at Capital Book Depot in Chandigarh, she came across a book with a cover image of someone she knew. On further notice, she recognized Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo in her first book. Her meetings with her happened by chance as if fate was just unveiling itself as she opened one door to another.

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How Lippa celebrates Losar

Written and photographed by Karma Negi.

Losar is the new year celebration in most parts of Kinnaur and Himalayan regions where there is an influence of Himalayan Buddhism. Losar breaks up into two words ‘Lo’ (Year) and ‘Sar’ (New). Every year it is celebrated according to the Tibetan calendar so it doesn’t fall on the 1st of January. The dates vary even amongst the regions that celebrate Losar.

In Kinnaur region, the Losar of Lippa is the most famous one; this year their losar was celebrated from 24th to 26th December. People from nearby places come to enjoy the three-day grand celebrations. Lippa is one of the biggest villages of Kinnaur. While travelling, we have to take a diversion from Akpa or Kiran Nallah on the National Highway 505. The village is a bit remote and reaching there is a task. The whole village is situated on a steep mountain, with a river flowing right below the village.

Lippa,Kinnaur
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I, a mountain flaneur

A personal essay by Sonam C

On my way

There are times when I feel that I do not have a right to speak about my valley. After all, I have half a parentage from there. Since childhood, my sister and I have constantly juggled between identities that our multi-ethnic selves reflected in our facial features and body languages. If the places in which we lived commented on our not-so mainlandish features, our hometowns considered us the opposite. We looked quite different even from them. As the looks would always be an issue, I guess my family members tried looking at it from a different perspective. Instead of eyes, they would comment on how my hair resembled my aane’s. Instead of the tone of the skin, they would tell me that I behaved exactly like a Lahauli. Although I used to take these matters seriously, it’s only on reflection that I realize these were rueful complements to make me feel a part of the family, of the larger community.

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The love-hate relationship between Himachal and the monsoon.

Written by Drishti.

It’s been fourteen days since that night when I witnessed the fields of my grandmother turn into debris. The lush green plants that used to crown those fields have now disappeared. What remains now are uprooted plants merged with soil and water flowing over them. The groundwater, surging from an overcharged aquifer, displayed a relentless determination to escape onto the Earth’s surface, washing the fields away. The night of 13th August 2023 will remain unforgettable. The fear of the unknown robbed me of sleep and caused my heart to pound. At the crack of dawn, I came out to check on the aftermath of the night. In front of my eyes lay the remains of the hard work of my guardians. Many emotions coursed through me, but the prevailing feeling was that of thankfulness for our survival. This incident had occurred when I was at my grandparents’ house near Garloni, which is about 4 km from Rewalsar town. Our phones were out of network for two days, and there was no electricity. Amid the rain, it was challenging to go out and find a spot with good network. But the urge to talk to my parents and loved ones kept me going out frequently. An old radio of my grandfather’s found a purpose after years of neglect; the news bulletin informed us that the situation in other places was much worse.

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