 On a balmy, brilliant morning, in the inner sanctum of His Holiness’s temple, there I sat on a low stone wall, covered with a celebratory crimson fabric, waiting for my first glimpse of the Dalai Lama. Wait! What? Is this the same person that spends her time in the company of nature in the wilds of Vermont? The same person that talks to the all the creatures that call Pond home? Yes, my life definitely has taken some surprisingly circuitous twists and turns. I’m generally a very content person however, sometimes I become restless. I get a churning in my gut, a tell tale sign, it’s time for an adventure and I do mean adventure. An adventure that challenges me, that knocks me out of my comfy corner of the world opening my eyes to the intricate web we call life. India has always captivated me, but also scared me. It is a country of extremes, offering enchanting beauty along with horrific squalor. Visitors may experience a sensory overload, hypnotized by the sights and sounds, almost impossible to comprehend. Fifteen years ago I gathered enough courage to visit India for the first time, from that point on, I was hooked. After a five year break from travel, I was ready to revisit this intoxicating country. Never wanting to travel as a tourist, especially the dreaded, stereotypical American tourist, I needed to find a purpose for my travel. Photography was my calling card. On this trip to India I volunteered my services to The Pencil Tree organization, a small Not for Profit based out of Australia. Their mission, to help disadvantaged children in the Northern region of India, more specifically Dharamsalha, home to His Holiness the Dalai Lama. My assignment was to photograph the children and some of the 15 schools which Pencil Tree supports.  There’s a tremendous amount of trust and faith that goes into the planning of a trip of this kind. My first conversations with the founder and director of The Pencil Tree, Stevie Bellamy was through a DM, direct message, on Instagram. There we introduced ourselves, set intentions and made plans. Months later, traveling nearly 7,000 miles, we met for the first time at the Kangra airport in Dharamshala, my first words to Stevie were, “Thank you for trusting me, for all you know I could be a mass murderer,” His response was, “What are the odds there would be two mass murderers in the same town?” From that moment I knew all would be well. My days with Pencil Tree consisted of visits to remote elementary schools lying at the base of the lower Himalayan mountains. Some schools required a walk to get to, for the dirt roads ended before the small village. After a brief hike we were met by the spirited and enthusiastic smiles of children. Most, dressed impeccably in their government issued uniforms. The teachers, many women, dressed in vibrant Indian garb looking more like they about to attend a celebratory event, not begin an English lesson.  The classrooms were well-organized, walls plastered with maps, alphabet charts, and cheerful animal murals that set a playful tone. On our visit, volunteers played various games with the children, from head, shoulders, knees and toes to creating a conga line. Sometimes dropping off all important school supplies, such as printers, books or pads for the students to sit on, away from the cold concrete floor. After a few hours of play we left the students exhilarated, volunteers exhausted.  In every school there was at least one or two children with some type of disability. That was the heartbreaking part of our visits. With limited resources and remote locations these children languished in their own world, generally isolated from rambunctiousness of the others. Each day, there were different schools with classrooms that were equally organized, except one. One morning, we piled into our cars as usual, hearing, “We are visiting a slum today.” The word slum, I don’t think registered with me. After a short drive we pulled up to a dirt settlement, strewn with stick structures. Walls exposed, with flimsy blue tarps acting as a roof. My cosmopolitan vanities were in shock. I felt I just walk into a National Geographic cover story. The tears began to stream down my face.  We entered the only concrete building, with a metal corrugated roof — the school. The classroom, if you call it that, had a dirt floor with naked pre-school children, running about. There I stood sobbing and shaking. Never in my life had I seen such poverty first hand. Never in my life had I been rattled to my core.  I took a deep breath, told myself to get a grip and do your job! With tear soaked eyes I started to document the scene. With each click of the shutter, I thought of my beautiful, blessed grandchildren. How could there be such disparity in the world? How in this day and age could these conditions still exist. Oh, my blind innocence. One by one the children were ushered outside, naked and lined up for their morning bath. Each scrubbed, then dressed in tattered, oversized clothes. The commonality amongst the children, most had smiles. They thought they were rich, they had a warm bath, clothes to wear and a school to attend. Oh, the lessons we have to learn.   Once again the volunteers played with the children and offered plates of cut fruit, while I stood there, with camera in hand, simply trembling. Some children had a disheartening gaze in their eyes, a gaze no child should have, while others, vibrant, curious pre-schoolers. After a short visit we gathered our things and said our good-byes.  What do I do with such raw emotion? I’m sure in the coming weeks, I’ll find out. The next school made sense of it all. Tong-Len, a school established in 2004 founded and run by a Tibetan monk, supported by His Holiness the Dalai Lama. Tong-Len opens its doors to kindergartners to 10th graders, offering a full-time education to children from the slums. One of the commendable aspects of Tong-Len was academics was not their sole curriculum, the integration of compassion and kindness was also emphasized. The personal development of the whole child was as important as English and the sciences.  I was escorted by a charming young Indian girl, taking me by the hand saying, “Come mum, I’ll show you around.” She was in the 9th grade and proficient in English. She guided me from classroom to classroom, each with a special project about compassion, kindness or cultivating mindfulness. She was so proud of her school and completely understood she was one of the fortunate few for attending such a premier institution. I asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, without hesitation, she said, “A scientist.”  If a child shows potential at Tong-Len, they can be sponsored, allowing them to continue their education through college. Many students have achieved degrees in their desired field. These are the success stories straight out of the slums. To experience these two extremes in the same day, the slum and this remarkable school, gave me hope. Knowing those naked children in the pre-school could eventually be educated here, if serious about their studies and supported by their families. There is always hope.  With a few days left in Dharamshala, on a whim, I decided to send in a request to the Dalai Lama’s office for a meeting with the Dalai Lama himself. What are the odds? Slim next to none, knowing His Holiness, who is approaching 90 and semi-retired. His audiences have been reduced dramatically. However, on one auspicious morning I received an email from his office, stating that I had been granted an audience. What do I do? What do I say? And being a good Long Island girl, what do I wear? I considered all the clever questions I could ask, but ultimately, I decided that I would do what I usually do, wing it. I did stop a few monks in town and asked what I should say or ask and more importantly what do I wear. Their answers were identical, clothing was not important, however it was imperative to wish his holiness a long life.  The day of my audience with His Holiness began at 8am. I entered the grounds of his residence flanked by armed guards. I needed to go through four stages of security: passport and visa check, removal of all bags, phones and cameras, a complete body scan by elegant Tibetan women, followed by a metal detector. The last and final prep, my hands were sanitized. The entire event was so well orchestrated by tall, handsome Tibetan men in suits speaking perfect English, wearing gleaming smiles. There were about 100 people in attendance, all lined up, sitting on a low concrete wall in front of a glass building with a large plush chair in waiting. Exactly at 9am, silently, a golf cart pulls up in front of the glass building, stopping in front of the plush chair. The Dalai Lama exits the cart with assistance, flanked by the suited men and monks. He seemed vibrant yet had difficulty walking. Once seated, the procession of admirers began to move. There were photographers on each side of His Holiness to document this memorable day for each attendee. Each person was introduced, their first name was announced and the country they were from. A humble bow by the attendee, a blessing, then on to the next. When it was my turn, it all became a blur. I barely heard my name announced, the next thing I knew I was standing in front of the highest spiritual leader and head of Tibetan Buddhism. He took my hand and I bowed before him, wishing him a long life. Then I squeezed his hand hard, looked directly into his eyes and said, “We need you.” His handlers started ushering me away, however the Dalai Lama stopped them and said to me through a translator, “You know, I plan on living till 110.” Again I squeezed his hand and without missing a beat said, “No! 120.” He laughed along with his handlers and I was ushered away.    Shaking from the entire meeting, I sat back down on a concrete wall to gather myself. I gazed up to the heavens and between the Himalayan pine branches I saw the waning moon still high in the morning sky.  I marveled to think this was the same moon I watch rise and set over the ridge at my home in Vermont. I had the impression that Mother Moon was smiling down at me and had somehow masterminded this entire trip, culminating to this very moment.  When I’m on a solo adventure, I want to be challenged. I want all my senses to be activated, to be stretched beyond my comfort level. That’s when I find out who I am and what I am made of. This trip challenged me more than expected but, it also rewarded me beyond my wildest dreams. Thank you India. Live in color, Abby “My religion is kindness” His Holiness the Dalai Lama To learn more about The Pencil Tree: https://penciltree.com.au/ Any level of sponsorship would be greatly appreciated. You have the power to change the trajectory of a child’s life today.                                
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