My grandparents were refugees once. They got kicked out of the country of their birth because they were speaking another language. But fortunately they had a home country to go to, where they started a new life.
The Tibetans here are not really wanted by anybody. Tens of thousands who escaped. Some remember their homeland vaguely but it’s been too long – more than 50 years. They teach the language and the religion and the culture to their children and grandchildren. And English. I talked to several people today and it was painful to listen to. The youngest are all orphans from remote regions or their families were unable to care for them.
Some photos are blurry because flash is not allowed in the temple, and no photography at all during the chanting and prayers that we can sit and listen to. There were horns and drums and bells, not just chanting. Very different from the ceremonies I know from Thailand. And even the temple dog was in deep meditative state I swear.
Oh yes, it’s the brand new Miss Nepal who visited the refugee village today, by coincidence, and had her photo taken with the young monks. They were being boys for a little while, wanting her facebook contact 🙂
I need to learn more about these people and their culture. Easy to find books around here. And I will go back to their temple in Kathmandu as well on an ordinary day.
(And I’m told my favourite momos – dumplings – are from Tibet, too.)