I've now got three half finished blogs in edit mode - either not good enough or simply rambles without any point or real meaning to them, Two of them are, I think fixable and you may see them soon.
Most of you know by now that this is the skeletal embryo of a book - one that moves between now and then so that the tension inherent in the now informs the pathos and nostalgia of the then. Darling Dubby emailed this morning and said, "At last my Joanna begins to bud;" and oddly enough I think I do.
When I was small the aunties, along with the Kalimpong Homes, organised a dance festival in the gardens of the homes - they were very keen that the Tibetan children placed at the strict Presbyterian mercy of Dr. Graham's inheritors might forget their heritage. The children all performed charming Tibetan folk dances waving their overlong pink sleeves rhythmically with their singing and gentle body movement.
There was sudden pandemonium as down the hillside came a procession of horsemen, wild Khampas all, though dispossessed of home and their culture - the procession shone a light into a time gone be. The King of LIng, for it was he leading was greeted most reverently with white scarves and led to the VIP seats at the front.
His arrival was for the monks from the gompa to start. All the dancers were masked, masks made with reverence over the centuries to the same pattern and each dancer became more that a man as he danced. There was the story of Guru Rinpoche fighting the the black hats and their tantric shamanisn, the use of the animals to prove his enlightenment.
Those monks that were the deer leapt and twirled in a way that would have made Nijinsky weep with envy. And then, just as we all needed a break - the clowns with their red devil faces would come out and taunt the pretty girls, who gave back what they got with interest. It was joyous and a glimpse into another world and time that was fast disappearing.
Some five years my parents and I were invited to the Setchu dances in Pairo, Bhutan. No fresh faced children here - this was one of the great Bhutanese lamaseries and this year was more special than most for a giant thanka(religious painting on cloth), was to be hung from the roof of the gompa. There were only four such thankas in existence: one in Lhasa, one in Gyantse, one in Leh and this one in Pario and thus this was a day of high religion and joy to the people of the Paro valley.
We sat behind a carved wooden screen with the Queen, Ashi Kesang, her two daughters, the Crown Prince and his two tutors, Major Cann and Michael Airies (who later became fellow of Oriental Studies at Oxford and married Aang San Syu Ke. Plus the usual rat tag mob of Desmond, Mum, my sister, me, the ubiquitous Tibetan entourage and the (assumedly CIA) American Consul and his wife and daughter. One the first day the Thanka was lowered and it was huge, depicting the great wheel with the Buddha in the centre. Pilgrims had come from all over Bhutan to see it and help toward their enlightenment.
The dances were, if anything even more stunning - higher leaps performed in slow motion with only the discordant note of cymbals and drums played to keep away the evil spirits. This seemed to me to be magic that I was watching not men and I was transported to another world, time place. Whatever fascination I have with religion now comes from those days of watching not just the lamas dancing but the reverent people, young and old to whom it meant so much to see all of this as if the gods themselves danced before them.
I was very, very privileged.
PS At this point I would love to show you photographs and videos of mine but my sister has custody and those of you who follow me regularly know that means no chance. So apart from the picture of me everything else is courtesy of Google image search.
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