House Sitting Qld
House Sitting Qld
A Day In Bylakuppe, India- A Retreat From My Retreat
Bylakuppe is a Tibetan refugee settlement about 29km to the west of Mysore in southern India.
When I was living in India I went into the hills as a oasis from the intense heat for holiday.
I took a bus from the status by Gandhi Square in Mysore, where I was living at the time.
The bus pulled out of the station at 1:45pm arriving in Bylakuppe about 4:30pm.
My bus tag emolument me 35 rupees, less than a single dollar.
I was dropped off at a halt where the scene had suddenly changed from Indian to Tibetan.
Everything looked and smelled different, the people, their clothes, the foods they ate and the words they spoke, even the temperature and foliage differed.
It was completely a surprise for me.
I got a rickshaw for 50 rupees, additional expensive than my bus tab which I found amusing.
The ride was only about 10 minutes, compared to the 2 hour plus bus ride.
As I sat comfortably back, I watched the diverse landscape pass me by as we drove up the hillside along a thumping narrow, bent road.
We passed withdraw fields the lush color of unfinished grass, across the scenery cows we scattered here and there grazing lazily.
We passed some slough where the water buffalos hunkered down.
The prospect changed rapidly to a palm wilderness reasonable as the rickshaw driver hire me off in the Sera Jhe Settlement district, my destination.
Sera Jhe is just one Tibetan village in a settlement of 20 in the surrounding area.
Soon after I got out, it started to rain.
It was a welcomed occurrence since it hadn’t rained much in the last few months.
Thunder rumbled in the spread and menacing menacing clouds lumbered in the distance.
I found a guest domicile and checked into a trifling humble, yet thumping clean room with a single bed, a table and chair and a bathroom with a Western style toilet.
That’s when the pour really started to come down.
It was tasteless and heavy, flushing out any other background sound.
After I settled in I wrapped a pashmina around me and explored the village, getting entirely wettest from the rain.
It was salute after the solid heat I had been living with in Mysore.
All the buildings were built in the Tibetan routine and they all looked holy.
I was used to being the minority while living in India but as I walked around I noticed I was only one in a handful of women here.
I was visiting the mainly village where boys and men were studying to be monks.
The men that I walked by kept their eyes to the impetus and all were chanting mantras as their fingers passed over their mala beads.
I heard the sound of instruments, foreign to my ears and chanting far off.
I followed the sacred sounds until I was in model of an mammoth magnification hall.
Many sandals were lined up neatly facade the door.
I found some drain wall gap and sat down, closed my eyes and let the chanting consume me on every standard I could absorb.
One eremite came to me with a pillow to sit on.
How very benign I notion as we smiled at each further briefly in silence before he turned and walked away.
Other monks sat by me and as I listened, they joined in the chants.
The alike man that gave me the pillow, came back with a stainless steel cup and placed that in bob of me.
He verbal naught and walked away again.
A infrequently while later, 2 sharply mirthful boys ran by with buckets of rice and filled the bowls that sat in surpass of the monks who I was sitting with.
It was like hey were having a contest with each more to see who could fill the most bowls.
Not a bit of rice was spilled, I noticed.
They were recent as quick as they had arrived, like the lightening flashing in the sky.
They returned with another bucket fill of warm buttermilk.
They did not ravine my cup by as they filled those before the monks.
It warmed me as I drank.
The winds had picked up as the gale persisted like a background symphony to the chanting and air within.
Once the chanting stopped there was a inclination title of silence, object of an unconventional phenomena in India.
I was immersed in deep meditation and could touch hundreds of monks silently hike by me to put on their sandals and go about the rest of their day.
I waited until I felt like I was fairly alone before I got up to quit myself.
Later I walked along the roads and through fields for about 3km to the Golden Temple.
I passed a token that said, “It is better to be 10 minutes behind in this life than 10 minutes early for the next.
” Quite true.
Tibetan humor! I could see the altar in the distance, glimmering in the sun that was breaking through the hurricane clouds.
All seemed especially calm as I approached the temple.
The greatness of the shrine was felt the closer I got to it.
Before entering, I walked clockwise around the temple, spinning all the stainless steel glorification wheels with thousands of mantras hammered into them to send these prayers merged with my have into the wind.
While I was focused on my prayers, I halfway ran into four descendants monks who were playing with toy guns.
Ironic, I thought! I passed a line of stupas, altars and then walked into the temple when my breath was pulled from lungs in awe! I gazed upon three of the largest buddha statues I retain ever seen.
What made them break-taking was they were all gold plated! The walls were covered in drudge painted Tibetan gods and goddesses.
It is beyond my utterance to narrate this beauty.
After sitting in the altar in contemplation for a while I stroke noiseless and like I’ve shed unnecessary layers off my being that was no longer needed.
I begin my cruise back home to Mysore.
The long, bumpy, loud, stinky, hot bus ride home is like a dream.
As we pull into the bus station, Indian music crackles through blown out speakers, horns, voices, vehicles and animal sounds maraud the airwaves as I’ve left the silence of Bylakuppe behind.
The chaos of India surrounds me again.
Strange scenes, like folks falling out of buses at intersections, a heirs of five riding on a single motorcycle, decorated cows and camels with bells tied to their knees, mainly naked sadhus meditating in the bustling streets, beggars with boils or burns or sawed off limbs asking for rupees, scrambling chickens and successors gorge me by and yet I observe like I’ve mutual home again.