A date with the monks in maroon

A woman from the city sitting in the canteen of the Namdroling monastery at Bylakuppe surrounded by about 10 Lamas enjoying their 3-pm-cup-of-tea. I was definitely an intruder.

I was that jarring note in the otherwise serene picture of the maroon-clad monks watching the rain-swept road in silence as they sipped on tea.

I was interrupting something, and I felt it in every nerve in my body.

But the Lamas didn’t make me feel like an outsider. We all sat on the wooden benches in a makeshift shed near the entrance to the monastery’s residential quarters.

They didn’t stare me down with uncomfortable, questioning looks; nor did they ask me what brought me there.

If anything, they smiled calmly and got back to watching the rain.

Maybe they are just too used to nosy ‘tourists’ like me, curious to make conversation, eager to take telling pictures of their lives in exile. We sat for a long time in silence; there was no compulsion to make small talk.

Yet, there was no discomfort. If there’s one memory that will stay with me for a long time from my hurried day-trip to Bylakuppe, this would be it. A light drizzle, Lamas taking a break from their studies, and cups of hot tea on a cloudy July afternoon.

If it’s only a state of mind that leads to inner peace, then how was it that I found so many pockets of tranquility within the mini Tibetan town of Bylakuppe?

Yes, the road leading to Kushalnagar in Kodagu district was as beautiful as the lush green district itself.

Nestling by the road were the two Tibetan settlements that make up Bylakuppe. The sprawling fields of fresh vegetation were punctuated with maroon and hints of yellow among other colours.

Winding, hilly roads and agricultural fields separated one settlement camp from another. As though making ripples through the green are the Lamas who walked in groups by the fields.

In mind medicine, there is something called a trickle down effect.

The beauty of the place seemed to have had that effect on me. In just a few hours, I was becoming an observer of my own thoughts.

Just an hour before I met the monks in their canteen at Namdroling monastery, I drove past a large pond. A few Lamas were sitting on the stone benches watching the pond. I was, again, intruding into their space.

But it seemed as though only I felt that way. The monks were smiling and willing to entertain the questions I had for them. When I left, they simply went back to that inner place of silence and calm. The interruption hadn’t rattled or disturbed them.

An hour before I was at the pond, I visited the Golden Temple.

Three large golden 60-feet tall Buddha statues stared down at me.

Traditional Tibetan murals in bursts of colour hit me. The temple was empty except for one Lama who was sitting on a circular bright blue cushion. He was smiling and in deep meditation.

I watched for a few minutes but I, again, felt like I was intruding. I silently tiptoed out.

If thoughts indeed create our reality, then the serene pond area, the lush green open fields or the silence within the Golden Temple were props that created an aura of calm.

The physical environment may aid our thought process. But it’s all left to the mind, in the end.

As for the Lamas I enjoyed a cup of tea with, I did speak to them — in broken Hindi — before heading back to Bangalore.

I’m not sure I did the right thing breaking that silence. But they didn’t mind at all. Maybe I shouldn’t, too.