I've been conducting interviews for the past several days in Dharamsala. I've had the good fortune to speak to people from all different walks of life and regions of Tibet, especially from different parts of Kham and Amdo.
A couple of days ago, I went down to where the Dege and Markham women (two regions of Kham) sell, jewelry and knit goods along Temple Road. There are no formal stores, just stalls along the side of the road, made of rickety tables, bamboo framework and usually a tarp to protect against the rain.
The interview was memorable. Initially I asked if I could talk to them about their hometown culture, and Gesar of Ling, and they told me that they had nothing to say and didn't know enough. Eventually, one woman, the oldest in the group, volunteered to share her experiences and memories. As the questions turned to the significance of King Gesar, the other women started shouting their own answers, correcting the interviewee, or giving their own opinion. The interview soon became a free-for-all of opinions and stories. I was so happy that I was recording it all as an mp3 instead of just trying to take notes. Finally, they expressed their sadness that they couldn't get books of Gesar here in India. I told them that I had brought some with me, an they made me promise to bring them down.
Today, despite the threat of rain, I brought my books down temple road. As rain started to spot the street, I huddled under a tarp with a young woman from Markham and one of the older women from Dege, the others were tending to their shops. I pulled out my books and they began to flip through. Before long, we were opening the books to different pages, trying to find "good" drung (songs sung by characters with admirable qualities) to sing. One of us would start, and the rest of us would join in on the melody.
Tibetans from Tibet, walking down the busy road, stopped in their tracks when they heard the Gesar melodies. Many spent a few minutes listening to us, oblivious to the cars zooming mere centimeters behind them. Some smiled. Many just stared with a look of shock and longing.
After about an hour, the cold and rain were getting to us. We got cups of tea and sat talking. The girl from Markham told me how she used to do this in her hometown, but no one sang the drung here, and how it made her miss her fatherland.
As my friend and I walked back to my hotel, a few Tibetans stopped us to ask me to sing one more drung, even if it was only a few lines. We finally extricated ourselves and started to rush up the road to get out of the rain, and couldn't believe our ears: behind us, all different shop keepers were humming and singing the drung in all the different melodies they knew.
A couple of days ago, I went down to where the Dege and Markham women (two regions of Kham) sell, jewelry and knit goods along Temple Road. There are no formal stores, just stalls along the side of the road, made of rickety tables, bamboo framework and usually a tarp to protect against the rain.
The interview was memorable. Initially I asked if I could talk to them about their hometown culture, and Gesar of Ling, and they told me that they had nothing to say and didn't know enough. Eventually, one woman, the oldest in the group, volunteered to share her experiences and memories. As the questions turned to the significance of King Gesar, the other women started shouting their own answers, correcting the interviewee, or giving their own opinion. The interview soon became a free-for-all of opinions and stories. I was so happy that I was recording it all as an mp3 instead of just trying to take notes. Finally, they expressed their sadness that they couldn't get books of Gesar here in India. I told them that I had brought some with me, an they made me promise to bring them down.
Today, despite the threat of rain, I brought my books down temple road. As rain started to spot the street, I huddled under a tarp with a young woman from Markham and one of the older women from Dege, the others were tending to their shops. I pulled out my books and they began to flip through. Before long, we were opening the books to different pages, trying to find "good" drung (songs sung by characters with admirable qualities) to sing. One of us would start, and the rest of us would join in on the melody.
Tibetans from Tibet, walking down the busy road, stopped in their tracks when they heard the Gesar melodies. Many spent a few minutes listening to us, oblivious to the cars zooming mere centimeters behind them. Some smiled. Many just stared with a look of shock and longing.
After about an hour, the cold and rain were getting to us. We got cups of tea and sat talking. The girl from Markham told me how she used to do this in her hometown, but no one sang the drung here, and how it made her miss her fatherland.
As my friend and I walked back to my hotel, a few Tibetans stopped us to ask me to sing one more drung, even if it was only a few lines. We finally extricated ourselves and started to rush up the road to get out of the rain, and couldn't believe our ears: behind us, all different shop keepers were humming and singing the drung in all the different melodies they knew.
Ngawang says talk to the Nangchen kids at the newcomer's school.
ReplyDeleteI didn't get a chance to go to Sokor Loptra, but a MASSIVE number of newcomers from Suja school work at Kagyu Monlam every year, which is part of why I'm here. Several will actually be performing the Lingdro! I interviewed a gaggle of 5 girls from Chamdo (2), Dege (1), Minyak (1) and Dzachuka (1) today, all from Suja school. I am loving this.
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