All the men that work in the shops are really boys in their 20's and early 30's. After being here for awhile you start to understand there are different "unspoken of" territories on the streets. There's the Jogiwara road boys and the Temple road boys (the two main roads here). Then there's the Upper Temple road boys and the Lower Temple road boys. You see, it's not like America where if you work in a store you are confined to the walls of that location for the duration of the hours demanded from you. Instead, they all hang out in groups across the street from their stores. They're all basically selling the exact same stuff. The saying here is: the same, same but different. They work as a team and are always hustlin to help each other out. They're all "slashies". Coming from Hollywood this usually means bartender/ model, actress/ waiter, comedian/ nanny... Here it's shop owner/tour guide/ aruyvedic masseuse. They all want to give you a massage. For example, say a group of westerners walk into a shop, there's usually no one inside. But one of the boys will see this and immediately summon the one responsible for that shop. While waiting for him to return, that guy will act as the liaison. Then the store owner will enter and do his thing. If he's really good he'll find out that the group would love to go to a temple somewhere. He will then reveal he can in fact take them right now if they'd like! Usually the westerners are immediately thrilled over- what they think is a great find, not knowing everyone in town basically offers this service- and say yes for a good price, special price just for them... There's always a special price just for you. ;) At this point, the store owner has already made the call to one of his boys and by the time the westerners walk out of the shop, there's a car convienantly waiting. The guy hands over the car to the store owner while the other friend who was the liaison now takes over and watches the shop. The owner now jumps into the tour guide role and barrels down the road with the westerners. Then at the end of the day everyone involved gets a cut. The trick is which team of boys will get the westerners? Will it be the uppers or the lowers, or will it be the Jogiwara boys? The competition is obvious. It's an interesting play on the "it's all who you know" business model because you want to be connected to the guy who knows the best English, the guy who owns the car, and the guy with the best looking shop. Essentially, it's the same same but different as in Corporate America. Is it not? Competition, alliances, hustle, the strong will prevail.
Another thing worth noting is all across India the men of all ages from boys to Seniors hold hands with each other. They either do the full on all five fingers intertwined or just connect at the pinky or the entire arm over the shoulder. It's something I'm still getting used to because it's a sign of brotherly love. Homosexuality is forbidden here but how the hell would you ever know with all the men arm and arm all over the place! It's sooooo the opposite of the men in America, who pretty much live by the secret code of never show any emotion. I can't help but laugh imagining my brother and his life long friends just cruisin the streets, pinky fingers intertwined. Lol, I'm sure he's nervous even just reading this right now. Or how about my Father and his group of friends... Actually, I bet if it were socially acceptable in America his friends and him would be holding hands all over town! They're very close, so crazy how cultural conditioning causes such drastic gaps. How does it all work? I know I've seen several pictures of my brother and all his friends as boys holding hands. Why not anymore? Are the Indians simply remaining true to their authentic child-like nature and we (westerners) have lost our way? As a woman, my friends and I hold hands whenever we want. But you wouldn't dare imagine two grown men in business suits holding hands as they walk around Chicago. Don't be ridiculous! Here. Totally normal. Just some thoughts passing through...
Next are the women beggars with their babies strapped to their sides. Very different from the homeless in America. They don't want money here and won't accept it. They want you to buy them food. There are these, I guess you could call them grocery stands because they're not stores, where you can get giant bags of rice, milk, oil, butter, and other necessities. I tell them all no but there's one specific woman who I feel a connection to. Her little baby is so cute too. He holds my hand, smiles, and I instantly fall in love with him and she's way younger than me. I ended up taking her, another woman, and this young man shopping one of the days. They all got huge bags of rice, oil, and butter. A decent amount of money later, they're all happy. Now, I know they then go and sell that stuff but hey, either way they need it more than I do. It's a couple extra OM scarves less for me, but for them it's like a month's pay. It's my way of showing Om Mani Padme Hum while in their land. The woman I felt connected to invited me to her home down in Dharamsala to meet the rest of her whole family and I really wanted to go too. You know, for the story of it. But my intuition told me no. I try to always say yes but you also have to listen to the No's as well.
And lets not forget about the amazing dogs of India and the devious monkeys. Up here all the dogs work together like a Police squad to keep the monkeys in the trees and off the streets. One morning a female Tibetan monk and I stood on the corner of the street and watched quite the altercation. A group of large monkeys had made there way to a lower rooftop and you would have though we were in 101 Dalmatians- when all the puppies were stolen and they send out the dog cry to alert the town's canines. It was just like that. We hear two barks up the road and out of nowhere dogs explode from their houses, emerge from alleys, and race from the other streets. They certainly weren't monkeying around, this was the real deal, like it was a fire drill they had all practiced many times before. There was one hilariously fat wiener dog that was stuck down a huge staircase and couldn't get up to the action but even he was serving his part in the howling. The monkeys were springing from rooftop to rooftop, making huge sounds as they crashed on the tin roofs, purposely provoking the dogs. This woman in her red robe and shaved head and I just watched in awe. It was quite the scene while the humans had yet to really arise for the day.
And there's your insider's look at life in McLeod Ganj. After being up here for 16 days by yourself, you get to stop playing tourist and start seeing the flow of the town's unique colors. Well, that's my observation at least. Life is but a sequence of scenes. How do you direct yours?
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