McLeod Ganj is a bustling little town nestled high up in northern India at the foothills of the Himalayas. Despite wide belief that the hometown of His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama is Dharamsala, it is actually this wonderful little town that is his home in exile. Since the Cultural Revolution in Tibet thousands of Tibetans have taken the perilous trip over the Himalayas for the safe sanctuary that this town provides. The Tibetan culture is so strong here that it now has the nickname ‘Little Lhasa’.

I flew into Gaggalairport which is a short taxi ride away from McLeod Ganj where you are instantly greeted by the peaks and troughs of the majestic Himalayan range. Straight away a yearning was born to get higher up to see the full beauty of what was on offer from this incredible landscape. A few days into the trip I learned of a trek that could be done in one day that affords you a wonderful up close and personal view of the snowy peaks I had seen in the distance.

Armed with water, snacks and many layers of clothing we set off a week later to climb up to this place which is commonly known by the locals as ‘Triund’. Straight away our band of two became a band of seven as five local dogs decided to accompany us all the way to the top. Something told us that this was their way of ensuring a daily meal or two from many unsuspecting tourists who were easily smitten by how cute they were. And their endearing ways had us pulled right in there with the best of them! Two hours into the climb we stopped some local people to ask them was it much further. The glint in their eyes accompanied by scoffs of laughter confirmed we were nowhere near where we wanted to be and had to toughen up if we wanted to get to the view we had heard so much about.

The day got hotter and hotter, the climb got steeper and more perilous as we found ourselves weaving around and up the edge of the mountain with nothing but a seemingly infinite drop to our right to make sure we kept our focus. At one point we turned a corner and could see the path winding and winding its way upward and beyond, which at the point in time made our feet ache that little bit more. Three quarters way up to the top, although we didn’t know it at the time, we came across a little house with a shop selling food, drink and beautiful raw crystals cut straight from the mountain. It was there we got chatting to other climbers who were Nepalese and did this climb regularly. Their advice was ‘slowly slowly’. Armed with more water, extra biscuits for the dogs and fantastic crystals for friends and family we set off once again.

About an hour and a half later, we were so high that snowflakes gently falling all around had replaced the blistering sun and we thought we must be near! Another quick check in with some locals passing by in the opposite direction confirmed we had guessed right. Inching our way up the last winding pass we came out into a view that can only be described as incredulous! Snowy peaks towered over us in the nearby distance bringing about genuine humilityat the true power and beauty of our dear Mother Gaia. It was one of those times in life where you are totally present to the mercy we humans are at when it comes to here leniency towards us and all the harm that we do to her. The mighty strength coming from those mountains was so intense that one could only feel respect. Mess with those mountains and there would be only one winner…

As for the dogs well they followed us all the way back down and at the end of our journey ran back into their respective houses!

About the Author:
Lisa Tully is a keen traveler, meditator and tour host creating opportunities for people to explore themselves as they explore other lands through spiritual travel tours. She is hosting an India Meditation Tour in October, 2011 that includes teaching sessions with His Holiness the Dalai Lama.

By Margaret Deefholts

In the Judeo-Christian world, the sacred and the profane are polar opposites – the one hallowed, the other obscene; in Hinduism the two concepts meld into one another-indivisible and eternal as the cosmos. Nowhere is this more evident than in the erotic temple carvings of Khajuraho in northern India, where spirituality and sensuality, playfulness and profundity meet in a joyous celebration of life, energy and passion.

It is a gloriously sunny, but mild January morning and the temples are silhouetted against a deep blue sky. Tourists cluster around their guides; some of them gaze bemused at the explicit sexual positions depicted on the walls, others snicker and exchange sly winks. My own guide, Jagdip, is an earnest young man and he has his spiel down pat.

“Originally about 85 temples were built here between the 9th and 14th century, but today only 25 survive.” He gestures across the site’s manicured lawns and bordering flower beds filled with orange marigolds and scarlet cannas. “We are in the Western group and we will visit the rest in the Eastern group a little later.”

He turns back to the temple façade before us. It is adorned with divine and semi-divine figures-celestial dancers, heavenly beauties, musicians, cherubs and above all, several amorous couples. In one frieze, a voluptuous woman, her hip out-thrust, looks flirtatiously up at her partner; he looks adoringly down at her while cupping one of her full, rounded breasts in his palm. Another tableaux portrays a ménage à trois, and along the base of another temple an elaborately carved band runs around the parameter depicting couplings in every conceivable position.

Standing in front of the Kandriaya Mahadeva temple I goggle at a pose so contorted that it prompts me to remark, “How could they possibly be enjoying this?” The pose in question shows a male standing on his head while straddled by a female, the pair of them in coitus, the female supported by two heavenly maidens.

Jagdip clears his throat. “Yes…well this is a Yoga pose, and is possibly Tantric in origin.

Tantric rituals are often linked to dark occult practices, but it is also a philosophy that centres on sexual energy as being part of the cosmic circle of re-birth arising from death and destruction. The arousal of sensual passion also brings with it a karmic awakening, and a god such as Shiva, the Destroyer and the malevolent goddess Kali, are yoked to pure energy (“shakti”) a force that fuels the universe and all things within it. Temples throughout the country display Shiva-Lingams-an erect “lingam” (phallus) cradled in the “yoni” (vagina), symbolizing the mystical power of creativity.

Sexuality and spirituality went hand in hand even before the temples in Khajuraho took shape. Back in the 6th century AD a scholar, Vatsyayana, who was (get this!) an ascetic and a yogi, authored the “Kama Sutra” a detailed and explicit treatise on the art of love-making. This instruction manual not only lists sixty-four sexual positions (many of them requiring the agility of a gymnast and the flexibility of a contortionist), but also gravely discusses a wide range of philosophical concepts such as Dharma, (virtuous living), Artha, (material prosperity) Kama (aesthetic and erotic pleasure) and Moksha (liberation from the cycle of rebirth).

Indian erotic paintings mirror the sculptures that adorn Khajuraho. Like the amorous couples on the temple facades, paintings depict curvaceous women and well endowed men gazing tenderly into each others’ eyes while engaged in sexual couplings. Some paintings are whimsical-a couple makes ardent love in a howdah perched on an elephant, another couple is likewise engaged while riding a camel!

About the same time as the Kama Sutra was written, professional temple dancers known as Devadasis were to be found in temples throughout India. Young virgins, dedicated to the temple deity, were trained as erotic dancers; their role was also to pleasure patrons in the temple precincts using techniques described in the Kama Sutra. Temple prostitution was prohibited in 1988, but Jagdip wobbles his head ruefully as he admits, “here and there this practice still exists.”

Today’s India in fact, seethes with repressed sexuality. Society prohibits sexual dalliances and arranged marriages are the norm, so many couples have never set eyes on one another until the day of their wedding. They come as virgins to the nuptial bed. Carnal desires hide in the shadows. But for the inhibited or shy there is a whole world of sexual voyeurism – Bollywood movies! In darkened theatres, audiences salivate over seductive, scantily clad heroines as they sing, dance and flirt.

But the world of movies in India go a step further. They spin dramatic stories of human passion and divine adoration. They speak to universal emotions; they transcend time. So too do the erotic temples of Khajuraho.

If You Go:

Getting There: Khajuraho is accessible by air from Delhi
Where to Stay: http://www.khajuraho.org.uk/hotels/index.html
General Information: http://www.khajuraho.org.uk/index.html

Margaret Deefholts is a travel writer as well as the editor of the Travel Writers’ Tales article syndicate and website.

by Janet Amalia Weinberg

People think differently in India, or so it seemed as I stood on the banks of the Ganges, surrounded by sixty million Hindu pilgrims who had come to the river to bathe.  I thought the water was polluted and could make me sick-I’d seen garbage, excrement, and three dead bodies in it.  They thought it was holy and could cleanse them of sin.

Such pilgrimages, called Kumbha Melas, occur periodically at various sacred bathing sites in India, but this was a Maha Kumbha Mela, a particularly auspicious event that happens once every hundred and forty four years.  According to legend, the universal forces for good are so concentrated at this time that simply attending the Mela can purify many lifetimes. I was at a change point in life and had come, not to dip in the Ganges, but to immerse myself in this positive consensus reality.

It was the largest gathering of people anywhere on the planet and a temporary city of perhaps a million army tents had been erected for the month-long happening.  I was camped just outside the Mela grounds in an enclave of  400 other Westerners from the States.

One day, a group of us from my camp got a ride to hear the Dalai Llama speak.  A crowd of tens of thousands was expected so we left early. As our car entered the Mela, we were swept into a sensory tsunami.  People were everywhere–riding rickshaws and Land Rovers, camels and donkeys, walking, standing, cooking, praying, waiting, sleeping.  Groups from distant villages sat along the dusty roads.  Vendors sold cabbages, peanuts, onions, potatoes, and eggplants.  Women, drying freshly washed saris in the wind, unfurled eighteen-foot banners of color.  Sadhus-holy men with flowing beards and penetrating eyes–hiked to and from the Ganges.  Cows roamed. Competing public address systems blasted chants and prayers.  Smoke from a million dung cooking fires clogged the air and the smell of incense, sandalwood and curry sweetened it.

The sixty square mile tent-city was divided into sectors.  There were no street signs, but temples and religious groups had their own encampments with identifying gateways.  We were in such sensory overload that we probably had passed the same gateways over and over before we noticed our driver was taking us in circles.

Ordinarily, I would have thought:  “We’re lost, we might miss the Dalai Llama, it’s all the driver’s fault….”    But I didn’t think what was happening was bad or wrong.  In fact, I didn’t think about it at all; it was just happening.

As the driver wandered, I marveled at the sights.  I had only explored the Mela on foot; seeing it by car was an unexpected bonus. Along the way, we met another lost car, packed with Westerners from our camp.  While the drivers conferred, we exchanged stares with a sadhu - he with his orange dhoti, glazed red eyes and Vishnu trident, we with our sun hats, dark glasses and sneakers.  Eventually, with reassuring nods, the drivers resumed their quest.

When we finally reached our destination, we found a crowd, churning with rumors that the Dalai Llama would not appear.  Again, I could have gotten disappointed, but my new and strange state of accepting and moving with the flow was still with me.

Suddenly, a vehicle shot out of the compound.  Someone yelled, “There goes the Dalai Llama!” and our vehicles took off in hot pursuit.  Now, it seemed we were lucky to have gotten lost.  Otherwise, our drivers would have dropped us off earlier and we, like all those people we left behind, would have had no transportation.

The chase ended at a small tent.  There were eleven of us now, five from my car and six, including a two-man camera crew, from the other.  We removed our shoes and entered the tent.  Menacing guards armed with Uzis scrutinized us but let us pass.  Inside, the Dalai Llama was kneeling in prayer before an altar.  Behind him, about fifty Indians, mostly sadhu’ in traditional orange and ochre robes, sat cross-legged on mats. Our two carloads clustered at the rear of the tent.

After a few moments, His Holiness, speaking Tibetan, began addressing the gathering through a Hindi translator. People asked questions he must have heard countless times, but he gave each person his full attention and responded with genuine caring.   When he finished talking with the Indians, he smiled and called to us in English, “Come on up.”

We closed in around him, astounded by our good fortune.  Instead of being part of a crowd of thousands, we had been practically granted a private audience.  He signed autographs, laughed, spoke of world peace, and expressed his pleasure at seeing Westerners at the Mela.  His radiant delight captivated us all.

When the Dalai Llama rose to leave, a dozen Tibetans immediately formed a human fence along both sides of his path to the exit.  He passed through, like a whoosh of joy, stopping to give one sadhu’s beard a playful tug and pat another’s cheek before he left.

My companions were waiting outside. Our car was not.  The second carload, including the camera crew, was gone as well.  We were all hot and tired and ready to return to our camp.  There was just one hitch: we didn’t know where it was.

We gathered at the side of the road to look for a taxi, a rickshaw, a pony cart – anything that could take us back. For as far as we could see, the dusty road was flanked by tents and teeming with people, but there were no vehicles.  None.  We tried to get directions, but those we asked either didn’t understand English or had never heard of our camp.  Even if we had known which way to go, two members of our group were somewhat handicapped and couldn’t walk very far.

Normally, I would have been alarmed and anxious.  But as before, I didn’t judge what was happening or think anything about it; it was just happening. I don’t know if being at the Mela purified lifetimes, but it sure was purifying my habit of evaluating and interpreting every experience.

We sat on some boxes, conveniently piled by the side of the road, watched the crowd, and waited.   Five minutes passed . . . ten . . . fifteen. . . .  Suddenly, a black sedan appeared!  Before any of us could wave to it, the car screeched to a halt in front of us.

The door flung open and out stepped the leader of the group I was staying with.  The leader!!  He had come to meet the Dalai Llama and found us instead.  When we informed him that His Holiness had left, he got back into his car and sped away-but not before he’d whipped out a cell phone and called for a car to pick us up.

We were giddy.  How amazing!  How perfect!  We could never have hoped for or imagined such a rescue.  As we waited for the car to arrive, someone joked,  “Now all we need is a parade.”  As if by magic, a procession complete with music, painted elephants, camels, and row after row of marchers appeared.

That’s how it was at the Mela.  Ordinary thinking, full of expectations and judgments, seemed to fall away and every disrupted plan became an adventure.

Now, back in my regular life, I have plenty of opportunity to get upset when things don’t go “right.” Car batteries die, keys get lost, people disappoint me, I disappoint myself-the possibilities are endless.  But that also means I have plenty of opportunity to remember the Mela and to see what’s happening as just what’s happening.

Janet Amalia Weinberg is a former psychologist who has traveled in Asia, Africa, South America and Europe. Her short stories have appeared in numerous literary magazines as well as in an anthology she edited, designed to change negative stereotypes of aging (STILL GOING STRONG; Memoirs, Poems and Stories about Great Older Women, Routledge, 2006).