Sometimes you want something so much, that you fantasize it into being something that it may not really be, or have been for a long long time.
For me, the fantasy was Tibet. For close to two decades now, I have found myself drawn to all things Tibetan. My brief sojourns in McLeodganj or Dharamshala stirred something deep in me. Sitting in the temple behind Dalai Lama’s house in McLeodganj, sipping butter tea passed around by locals as the chants washed over me, I felt both an inexplicable sense of being alone in that moment and a part of something much larger than myself.
In my mind, I believed this to be my spiritual guiding light. Perhaps there was something in Tibetan Buddhism calling to me. Or, at the very least, perhaps Tibet was calling to me. If there was anything left of it, that is.
So, when we started talking about working through our bucket list instead of waiting for the ‘right time’ to begin, I nominated Tibet for our summer holiday. A pipe dream, something I had always wanted to see, never believed I actually would. Potala Palace came alive for me through books and tales, but I wondered what I would feel when I saw it with my own eyes.
Perhaps that is the very burden of expectations. I went to Tibet looking for connection. A deep sense of peace, or belonging. Something that would explain why I felt like I did every time I visited a Tibetan monastery or a dzong in Bhutan. But alas, Tibet’s soul that I sought did not reside in the plateau of Tibet anymore.
What I found were tall buildings, wide highways, and tourist spots selling Chinese-made souvenirs. I roamed the streets of Lhasa, searching for the innocent smiles that chased my dreams. Instead, I found selfie-taking tourists walking around the temples, filming TikToks, with no regard for the local pilgrims doing the kora. Potala Palace, which had haunted me in my dreams for years, thankfully still retained its authenticity, though bereft of the hundreds of monks who once called it home.
I found bits of the Tibet I sought, more often than not, on trails that did not figure on tourist maps. A sunflower field on the banks of a sacred lake, the ruins of meditation caves never rebuilt, stalls run by local Tibetans selling handicrafts they made themselves, away from the most populous tourist lanes. Passers-bys, usually older Tibetans, who looked at you and smiled in glee, never having seen an Indian face before, yet fully aware of our deep connection. But the more I looked, the lesser I found. Until, one day, we changed our tickets, and flew out of Tibet earlier than we had planned.
That is often the problem with pipe dreams. They are better than reality. Maybe the Tibet I hoped to find never really existed. Maybe I was 50 years too late. Or maybe the connection I felt had nothing to do with Tibet at all. Perhaps it was more about having the courage to find corners of the world where parts of you fit snug together. Where you feel just a bit more whole. Maybe there isn’t a pattern or a reason, or one particular place. Perhaps there are many such spaces in the world where this may happen to you. One of mine happened to be the temples in McLeodganj and Bhutan. The next ones may be a Tuscan home or a hidden waterfall in New Zealand or Hawaii. And I guess that’s what makes the journey of life more exciting. You never know when you will stumble upon these pockets of spaces that complete you. It may happen when you’re not looking or when you least expect it. And when it does, just enjoy the moment for what is it, without the need to find meaning or reason.
Perhaps I never needed to visit Tibet. It was never about Tibet, after all. It was just a part of my journey. And now that I understand that, I’m all the better for it.
