Travel Journal India

Love Gurus & the Dalai Lama – Discovering the North of India

The pendant catches my eye right away. It shows a picture of Osho in black and white. When you carry the Osho pendant on your prayer chain, you are part of the exclusive circle of the love guru. Even though Osho, who called himself Bhagwan first, is still controversial today, countless people from the Western hemisphere went on a pilgrimage to India in the 1970s and 80s to find enlightenment with his help. Many of them simply stayed, for others the Osho Mala remains a memory of old times.

Delhi – an Encounter on the Bus

My boyfriend and I have been travelling through India for four weeks now. Starting in Goa, we travelled across the country. Now the north with the foothills of the Himalayas awaits us. After the masses on buses, in cities and at markets, I am yearning for one thing in particular – quiet.

A man sitting next to me on the bus carries the Osho Mala around his neck. He has a white, well-kempt beard, kind eyes and is dressed solely in white and saffron yellow like you often see it in India. Our bus is moving at a crawl and with some daring manoeuvres through Delhi traffic. Between the honking, the throng and the sticky heat, this man exudes a calmness that is almost palpable. I guess that is what we call an »aura«… We get to talking and he tells me the name Osho once gave him – Hari Prem, »divine love.« Hari Prem is originally from the Netherlands but he says that was a long time ago. Many years ago, he came to India because of Osho. Today he is a teacher for tantra and meditation and passes on the heritage of Osho, this time in Dharamsala which is where we are going as well. During the bus ride, we literally talk about God and creation.

»Are you on the search for enlightenment?,« he asks me with a smirk. Up to this point, my answer would have always been »no« right away but now I can’t utter the word. Who knows, maybe India still has something to offer that I couldn’t have imagined. When we say our goodbyes we promise that we will see each other again. I watch him leave until his yellow robe disappears in the crowds of the bus terminal.

»Little Lhasa« in the Indian Mountains

Two weeks pass until we cross the border of the state Himachal Pradesh. Up here, where India and Tibet border on each other and the hills slowly rise to the enormous mountain range of the Himalayas, everything is different. Instead of the dusty beige of the sand and a light palm green, we suddenly see vibrant pink blossoms, pine green trees and the colour saffron yellow again and again. Instead of a colourful potpourri, there are more and more warm colours in the streets now – it is the Tibetan monks in their robes in saffron yellow, orange and different shades of red that dominate the picture now. The reason behind this is that when the Dalai Lama fled into exile in 1959, he came to India. And up here in the north, he received political asylum. In the government-in-exile, he's been welcoming his fans and people of faith from all over the world to this day. There are still Tibetans fleeing to Dharamsala, or »Little Lhasa,« to live out their culture. In the picturesque mountain town McLeod Ganji, a suburb of Dharamsala at a higher altitude, the Dalai Lama is omnipresent, even though he is not actually there. Pictures of him are everywhere, his books are piling up in the shops and the flag of Tibet with its yellow border hangs anywhere you look. »Free Tibet« is the slogan in this town.The Namgyal monastery where the Dalai Lama resides is one of many Buddhist monasteries that often line the streets in warm shades of yellow. Whereas India is very noisy, the monasteries are very quiet. You can hear no noise from the streets, no talking, just the monotone singing of the monks who sit crossed-legged in their saffron yellow robes, immersed in prayer. I walk clockwise, performing the Buddhist kora. I follow the worshippers, some of whom devoutly take one step after the other whereas others proudly take selfies. All of us spin the prayer wheels that shimmer yellow and golden in the sun. Every spin recites the same mantra that is repeated on the prayer scroll on the inside: »Om mani padme him.« One spin is equivalent to praying a hundred times. A flat rate, so to speak.

Still moved and inspired by the atmosphere inside the monastery, we walk back to the village. And suddenly we are face to face with Hari Prem. His yellow robe is glowing. »There you are. I have been waiting for you.« He smiles wisely and my heart beats faster. Maybe this is how it feels when you find your guru.

Text: Julia Schattauer

Photos: Diana Patient