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Kalimpong

Date:
3 December 2002

Ten years ago I volunteered for an eight-week door knocking appeal for the Karuna Trust. I found it challenging and also incredibly inspiring. I can still recall the streets of Putney, West London, and the kindness and generosity of new supporters. I had no intention of door-knocking again!

Life, however, has turned out differently. Six years ago I took responsibility for door-to-door fundraising at Karuna. Since then I have trained most of the volunteer fundraisers and continued to knock doors myself. Consequently I feel a strong connection with our supporters. In this Newsletter I hope to communicate how inspired and grateful I feel to those who enable this work, which transforms so many peoples' lives. Here is an account of 'my recent visit reviewing some of our projects in India.

We arrive at 3am: and eventually reach Hotel Namaskar. By now it is nearly dawn and, though we promptly fall asleep, I'm soon woken by street noise and sunlight. My companion Ian, our photographer, sleeps on. We have a 24-hour train
journey ahead but first I want a good meal, a haircut and a chance to visit Delhi market.

Date:
4 December 2002

On the train I lie awake, aware there are four hours until dawn. I am just dropping off when breakfast comes: cold omelette and two small slices of white bread. Out of the window we see beautiful birds, people working the land, and lush scenery. The train arrives in Siliguri, two hours late. We disembark and are faced with a scrum of taxi drivers: Where to, where to?' 'How much?' I leave it to Ian, who has made this trip before.

We leave the plains and head into the Himalayan foothills, steep tree-clad slopes lined with silver-grey boulders and shale; below runs a river of blue-green jade. In places the road has been washed away and is being rebuilt. Deeper into the jungle, skirting perilous drops and occasionally passing small hamlets or bands of inquisitive monkeys.

The river disappears, Kalimpong 7km. I wonder how there could be a town up here. The houses increase, built into the slopes, and soon we reach Kalimpong itself.

Ian asks the driver to take a sharp right but the answer is a definite no. 'Och, we'll have a wee trek then, lan says in fluent Glaswegian.

We pass a full-sizeld football pitch, complete with goals and stands, awash with games of cricket. Ahead stands a large ornate purple gate and a cluster of buildings with rich, yellow roofs.

This is the Indo-Tibetan Schoof for Tibetan refugees, which Karuna has funded since 1986. Later we eat a traditional meal of mamos, vegetables and Tibetan bread with Jampel, the headmaster, and his family. "The village wakes before dawn to get water from the stand pipe below your room." Sure enough, each morning we're woken by water drumming in empty plastic containers to the accompaniment of singing, laughter or argument.

Date:
5 December 2002

I interview five children and decide to focus on two, Kelsang and Dawa, whose parents live close to the school. The others are children of refugees scattered throughout India. I play football in the schoolyard. Ian nods in respect, "Aye, you look pretty good playing against a bunch of 10-year olds."

Date:
6 December 2002

Kelsang's father arrives home slightly breathless but cheerful. His boss of 27 years is happy for him to finish early - the same boss who had encouraged him to enrol his daughters at the school. He has worked in a guest house as a cook since the age of 10, when his father died and he had to help support the family. Kelsang, the youngest by two years, boards at the school; while Pema, her sister who also attends the school lives at home to help out. their mother works as a cleaner for 4OO rupees a month (£6).

We sit on two beds that take up most of the floor space of the house. I ask Kelsang's father about his background, what age he had left school and if he can read and write. A little, he says, and he can speak a ittle Hindi but no English. He asks if can speak Hindi? "Toure, toure," I replied, signalling 'virtually nothing' with my finger and thumb. We both laugh.

Doma, his wife, shyly serves us sweet, milky tea and bisQuits. I can't help wondering if I would be so rriendly and hospitable to strangers when everyday life is such a struggle I ask how she feels about her daughters doing so well at school and she says she's very proud: "We have no sons and I hope they will be able to look after us when we are old. It is very hard to make a living."

Kelsang twists on her rickety wicker stool. "I hope to be a teacher," she says. "What kind of teacher?" "English," she smiles back.

Ian, who has been inspecting the room for suitable camera angles, takes over. He moves everyone around to get the best light and composition with the precision of a sergeant major, but the concern of a clucking mother hen, so everyone is relaxed, including the many neighbours who have gathered outside.

Date:
7 December 2002

We set off to the nearby town of Ghoom with our guide/translator, accompanied by Dawa, a bright and friendly boy of 12. Dawa's mother lives in the grounds of Ghoom monastery. We park the Jeep and walk through the bamboo growth to the house. His mother, Ki Ki Lhamo, and neighbours, greet us. We are invited into the small hut. I am puzzled - how did they know we were coming?

Ki Ki Lhamo's husband died leaving her with five boys; Dawa is the second youngest. She works at the monastery clearing up after festivals; the income is variable and sometimes friends have to support her. Ki Ki Lhamo is reserved and partially deaf and her friends often speak for her. As a baby she had been left on the steps of the monastery, so the Buddhist monks had brought her up. No one knows what happened to her parents. Perhaps they died on the long, hazardous journey from Tibet.

She is happy that her sons are doing well at the school. Dawa enjoys dance and says he wants to be a Maths teacher, a common ambition among the children at the schools and hostels Karuna supports. Indicative, I think of the positive image of teachers

Date:
8 December 2002

A three-day end-of-year festival has been planned. Jampel is preparing his speech for the prize-giving and the children are busy rehearsing. Many former pupils help, painting drums, coachuing the kids in their dance steps, or playing music. I talk with Sandhup Tsering, now aged 24, who has a Bsc in Pure Science and is studying computer animation in Calcutta. He wants to use his skills to keep Tibetan culture alive - a central aim of the school

Date:
9 December 2002

The prize-giving and cultural festival is cut short because of a general strike, which means nothing will move in Kalimpong for three days. To avoid being stranded we must leave. I hope, someday, to return

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