MCLEODGANJ ONLY has two parallel streets. We make fun of it and call it the Trouser,” says Sonam Dorjee, manager of the Pema Thang Guesthouse, one of the larger guesthouses in Mcleodganj. It is certainly a strange object, too small to be a town, too international to be a village. Dorjee moved here from Darjeeling and really enjoys the endless arrival and departures of writers, filmmakers, those in search of peace and those in search of a story. Not quite like any other place in the country, Mcleodganj radiates outward from the monastery of His Holiness the Dalai Lama.
Tenzin is 27 and runs a small shop on the main street, selling lurid coloured shawls and sweaters. He is amused at the idea of a Mcleodganj economy. “There are not many opportunities here.” But as Tenzin’s compatriots will tell you, Tibetans set up small enterprises quite comfortably and work the endless hours required to keep them in the red. Tenkyi, a couple of years younger, who works with the Tibetan government in exile, talks of how much young Tibetans love Mcleodganj. Brain drain is not something they worry about here. Young Tibetans grow up loyal to the family, the Dalai Lama and the idea of their lost home in the snows.
On the weekends Mcleodganj is an increasingly popular getaway. And except in the depths of winter, it retains a steady stream of visitors. Most enterprises are thus trained towards the needs of tourists: the garden variety, those on the Buddha trail and those who intend to free Tibet. A significant population of Mcleodganj are the First World volunteers working with the dozens of Tibetan NGOs here. Some of the hard-bargaining backpackers will tell you that there is an annual itinerary they follow: Gokarna and Goa in the winter, Manali and Mcleodganj in the summer. The hippie trail creates identical souvenirs, clothing and bizarre menus across the country. The Nestle milkmaid crépe is ubiquitous from Varkala to Mcleodganj.
