The true story behind "Guy Talk"
Jan. 13th, 2005 08:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
icarusHi guys. I hope you enjoy this. It's the true story that inspired Guy Talk. Please let me know if you see any errors, this is completely unbeta'd. Names and places are changed for privacy's sake.
One Man's Reason
by Icarus
Dondrup Monastery is a tiny Tibetan community in exile, in Karnataka, South India. Its white mudbrick walls nestle between a patchwork of cornfields threaded with rutted, wet roads that are more puddle than road. It was monsoon season. Nick and I bounced in the back seat of a cab as our Indian taxi driver peered through his windshield, amazed. "I did not even know this was here."
We drove into the courtyard of the monastery and were greeted by chickens, geese, and over-sized wild dogs that sniffed at the taxi and scurried away, tails between their legs. A number of bored teenage monks lounged at the front gate and watched us as we squelched out of the cab. The taxi driver devoured the place with his eyes. The monks finally wandered over, with the universal reluctance of teenagers, and helped us unload our bags into the muck.
They were unsurprised at visitors, but apparently we weren't expected. As it worked out, the monastery hadn't received even one of our letters accepting the invitation to study at Dondrup. Welcome to India.
We were introduced to Rinchen Khandro, a strikingly handsome, enthusiastic young monk with a business-like air. He wore classy, photosensitive sunglasses that one would sooner expect on the Autobahn, and often checked an expensive watch as he gave us our whirlwind tour of the monastery, gesturing dramatically to make up for his broken English. It was odd and out of place with his red robes. His brisk manner spoke more of a government aide than Buddhist monk. We learned he was twenty-four and a manager at Dondrup. "It make me popular," he confessed as we were interrupted time and again with administrative details. His hand swept out. "Rinchen Khandro, Rinchen Khandro! A thousand Rinchen Khandros I hear every day!"
Efficient at networking, he asked us to help him with his English, selling us on the value of it to the monastery before we could answer yes. He thanked us emphatically, and over the months we became close friends.
Rinchen did not fit in with the other monks, though they relied on him heavily. He was Indian, not Tibetan, melodramatic where the Tibetans were measured and calm. Tibetans are affectionate people for the most part, but Rinchen was uncomfortable with the way the monks leaned on him, and shoved even his friends away: "Stop leaning!" I was puzzled too, by the cautious distance the Tibetans kept from this gregarious young man. Over lunch one day, Nick and I had the opportunity to ask him how he decided to become a monk.
At eighteen, he explained, he was a driver for the government of India, apparently a stellar career: not everyone in India even knew how to drive. He proudly displayed his license, and I smiled that his government background was so obvious. He worked his way up from the bottom. Then he was approached on the job by a "college girl" he called her. "She say, oh, you are so a handsome boy! Say she liked. Like me much. In the beginning I was shocked!" Rinchen said. "But she come back. I was very... ngo sar sung... embarrassed."
He described how she pursued him for six weeks - almost two months. Complimenting him, teasing him for his shyness, finding moments alone.
"So then… I decide. Okay. I like."
His bashfulness was odd. My experience with Indian men had proved they were rather aggressive with women. But he continued, explaining how she had her own apartment - "college girl, yes?" I already knew college girls had a 'wild' westernized reputation, though truly, most of them lived with their parents. It was unusual that a woman in India would have so much independence.
After a few weeks, he moved in with her, though he kept the secret carefully, embarrassed by his new wild life.
He raised his chin in defiance as he explained to us, "I know it was wrong. But. I was in love." His attitudes were so conservative, so different from most men who would brag about this conquest to the high heavens. It was utterly charming.
"I was really happy," he admitted.
He took a deep breath, and his voice lowered. One day his girlfriend asked him permission to visit her sick cousin in another city. "Ask me. You are a free woman, I say. Why do you ask me? Go, of course - yes!" He said it seemed strange to him when she asked several more times. But he insisted.
A week, two weeks went by. He didn't hear from her. After a month he wrote to her cousin, but there was no response. Then two months passed and she did not return. He was worried sick. But there was no one else he could contact, nothing he could do.
Then he happened to go to a place where there was gambling and dancing... and there she was. On the arm of another man. She looked straight at him, recognized him, but said nothing.
Rinchen stood there in shock. Then he spun around and ran. At first he wasn't sure where to go, what to do. Then he rushed home to get a knife. He was going to kill her!
But by the time he returned with the knife, she was gone. He had no idea where to even begin to look.
At that point he wanted to kill himself; he shattered everything of hers that he could find. But he calmed down, enough to recall that killing was very bad karma, even killing oneself. That's when it suddenly struck him, what terrible karma he must have created being with her.
This jarred with everything I knew of Buddhism. I interrupted, explaining that there was no bad karma. Relationships were normal. But he brushed me off with a gesture, saying I didn't understand.
He quit his job, his career, and went home to his family. There he locked himself in his room. He couldn't eat for a week. From anyone else I would say this was an exaggeration; but Rinchen's sense of drama certainly included not eating. His family was horribly worried but he could not explain what he had done. Especially not to his father. It was very odd; his reaction to an affair was so excessive and intense. Even for him. Nick and I said nothing.
It could not go on, he decided. There was only one solution he could see: "I will become monk."
"So I did," Rinchen added in his perky voice. Case closed.
The silence rings after a story like this. Rinchen had a busy calendar, as usual, so he excused himself and left Nick and I at the lunch table, still thoughtful.
As the door fell shut behind him, Nick observed a soft voice, "That story wasn't about a woman."
One Man's Reason
by Icarus
Dondrup Monastery is a tiny Tibetan community in exile, in Karnataka, South India. Its white mudbrick walls nestle between a patchwork of cornfields threaded with rutted, wet roads that are more puddle than road. It was monsoon season. Nick and I bounced in the back seat of a cab as our Indian taxi driver peered through his windshield, amazed. "I did not even know this was here."
We drove into the courtyard of the monastery and were greeted by chickens, geese, and over-sized wild dogs that sniffed at the taxi and scurried away, tails between their legs. A number of bored teenage monks lounged at the front gate and watched us as we squelched out of the cab. The taxi driver devoured the place with his eyes. The monks finally wandered over, with the universal reluctance of teenagers, and helped us unload our bags into the muck.
They were unsurprised at visitors, but apparently we weren't expected. As it worked out, the monastery hadn't received even one of our letters accepting the invitation to study at Dondrup. Welcome to India.
We were introduced to Rinchen Khandro, a strikingly handsome, enthusiastic young monk with a business-like air. He wore classy, photosensitive sunglasses that one would sooner expect on the Autobahn, and often checked an expensive watch as he gave us our whirlwind tour of the monastery, gesturing dramatically to make up for his broken English. It was odd and out of place with his red robes. His brisk manner spoke more of a government aide than Buddhist monk. We learned he was twenty-four and a manager at Dondrup. "It make me popular," he confessed as we were interrupted time and again with administrative details. His hand swept out. "Rinchen Khandro, Rinchen Khandro! A thousand Rinchen Khandros I hear every day!"
Efficient at networking, he asked us to help him with his English, selling us on the value of it to the monastery before we could answer yes. He thanked us emphatically, and over the months we became close friends.
Rinchen did not fit in with the other monks, though they relied on him heavily. He was Indian, not Tibetan, melodramatic where the Tibetans were measured and calm. Tibetans are affectionate people for the most part, but Rinchen was uncomfortable with the way the monks leaned on him, and shoved even his friends away: "Stop leaning!" I was puzzled too, by the cautious distance the Tibetans kept from this gregarious young man. Over lunch one day, Nick and I had the opportunity to ask him how he decided to become a monk.
At eighteen, he explained, he was a driver for the government of India, apparently a stellar career: not everyone in India even knew how to drive. He proudly displayed his license, and I smiled that his government background was so obvious. He worked his way up from the bottom. Then he was approached on the job by a "college girl" he called her. "She say, oh, you are so a handsome boy! Say she liked. Like me much. In the beginning I was shocked!" Rinchen said. "But she come back. I was very... ngo sar sung... embarrassed."
He described how she pursued him for six weeks - almost two months. Complimenting him, teasing him for his shyness, finding moments alone.
"So then… I decide. Okay. I like."
His bashfulness was odd. My experience with Indian men had proved they were rather aggressive with women. But he continued, explaining how she had her own apartment - "college girl, yes?" I already knew college girls had a 'wild' westernized reputation, though truly, most of them lived with their parents. It was unusual that a woman in India would have so much independence.
After a few weeks, he moved in with her, though he kept the secret carefully, embarrassed by his new wild life.
He raised his chin in defiance as he explained to us, "I know it was wrong. But. I was in love." His attitudes were so conservative, so different from most men who would brag about this conquest to the high heavens. It was utterly charming.
"I was really happy," he admitted.
He took a deep breath, and his voice lowered. One day his girlfriend asked him permission to visit her sick cousin in another city. "Ask me. You are a free woman, I say. Why do you ask me? Go, of course - yes!" He said it seemed strange to him when she asked several more times. But he insisted.
A week, two weeks went by. He didn't hear from her. After a month he wrote to her cousin, but there was no response. Then two months passed and she did not return. He was worried sick. But there was no one else he could contact, nothing he could do.
Then he happened to go to a place where there was gambling and dancing... and there she was. On the arm of another man. She looked straight at him, recognized him, but said nothing.
Rinchen stood there in shock. Then he spun around and ran. At first he wasn't sure where to go, what to do. Then he rushed home to get a knife. He was going to kill her!
But by the time he returned with the knife, she was gone. He had no idea where to even begin to look.
At that point he wanted to kill himself; he shattered everything of hers that he could find. But he calmed down, enough to recall that killing was very bad karma, even killing oneself. That's when it suddenly struck him, what terrible karma he must have created being with her.
This jarred with everything I knew of Buddhism. I interrupted, explaining that there was no bad karma. Relationships were normal. But he brushed me off with a gesture, saying I didn't understand.
He quit his job, his career, and went home to his family. There he locked himself in his room. He couldn't eat for a week. From anyone else I would say this was an exaggeration; but Rinchen's sense of drama certainly included not eating. His family was horribly worried but he could not explain what he had done. Especially not to his father. It was very odd; his reaction to an affair was so excessive and intense. Even for him. Nick and I said nothing.
It could not go on, he decided. There was only one solution he could see: "I will become monk."
"So I did," Rinchen added in his perky voice. Case closed.
The silence rings after a story like this. Rinchen had a busy calendar, as usual, so he excused himself and left Nick and I at the lunch table, still thoughtful.
As the door fell shut behind him, Nick observed a soft voice, "That story wasn't about a woman."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Wow I'm tired
Date: 2005-01-14 11:23 am (UTC)I'm delighted you liked it, and I wish I were still in contact with "Rinchen."
Funny little side note: when he took his vows (he's a Genyen monk), the Lama gave him a woman's name. "Rinchen" laughed, and thought about it a long time. Obviously he never told the Lama his reasons for the vows, but talk about skill -- the Lama saw right through it, and found a way to offer acceptance and kindness, and tell Rinchen that gay/straight was just a label; it didn't change who he was.
Icarus
Icarus
Re: Wow I'm tired
Date: 2005-01-14 11:34 am (UTC)Re: Wow I'm tired
Date: 2005-01-14 06:43 pm (UTC)The Lama gives you your Buddhist name when you take the vows, so "Rinchen" had been given that name years before. Giving "Rinchen" a girl's name made his whole history sort of a private joke between them, and let Rinchen know "yes, I've guessed all that stuff and you're still welcome."
There's a Huge difference between the Lamas and the culture however. Tibetans are very against homosexuality, as are Indians to a slightly lesser degree. The stigma is worse than it is in the US, that's for sure.
But Lamas usually take a very broad perspective, they stick to Buddhism, and there's nothing in Buddhism that condemns homosexuality. It's a monastic tradition, so in serious spiritual life sexuality doesn't really come into it (except in the past tense).
Icarus