Bat an eyelid, and you’re likely to miss the Foreigners’ Registration Office ? an inconspicuous hill house located a flight of uneven stairs off Bhagsu Road ? in McLeodganj. Only a solitary notice board, smeared with handbills to the extent of rendering the original text illegible, tells travellers of its presence and work hours. It also spells out a few points on how to help the Tibetan cause. “Boycott all things made in China,” says point three.

March, however, is a month when the office sees more than its share of activity. It’s springtime in this minuscule hill station, located at the foot of the majestic Dhauladhar mountains in Himachal Pradesh. The sun is a bright golden; the sky a vivid azure. The evenings are gentle and bring with them a comfortable numbness that flows well into the next day.

Human activity is basic ? mildly reminiscent of the sleepy Latin American seaside villages in Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s novels. Time is never quite at a premium here.

March is also when the lord of the land, His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet, personally administers Buddhist teaching sessions for the public. An annual feature, it stretches over weeks, and attracts followers from the world over who wish to pick up a few tips on worldliness and divinity from none other than ‘the ocean of wisdom’ himself. Ergo, the bustle at the Foreigners’ Registration Office, which hands out passes for the sessions, held twice every day at the Namgyal Monastery, the high seat of Tibetan Buddhism in present times.

A ticket to the sessions is easy to procure, and requires no more than a copy of one’s passport, two photographs and a nominal sum of Rs 5.

There is no upper limit to the number of passes given out ? the Dalai Lama entertains every soul bent towards Buddhist philosophy. And space, almost miraculously, is never a constraint. Sessions are held from 9 to 11 in the morning and 1 to 4 ? evenings are left free for contemplation.

Known as Little Lhasa, and housing the headquarters of the Tibetan government in exile, McLeodganj was originally carved out of the mountains 150-odd years ago as a second home of sorts for a British garrison. Little evidence of the town being a British outpost remains today, save the Church of St John-in-the-wilderness, a beautiful structure lavishly adorned with Belgian glass panels, that stands out among the ageless pines.

In its place thrives a bustling culture that has taken root here for want of a home. Ever since the Dalai Lama fled Tibet to escape Chinese persecution in 1959, several thousand Tibetans have followed his footsteps out of the country every year to arrive in McLeodganj and Dharamsala. Some peg the number of new arrivals at 3,000 a year, including children.

Not everyone who sets out for India lives to see the end of the arduous journey that cuts right across the icy expanse of the Greater Himalayas. But once in the benign climes of McLeodganj, it doesn’t take long for the refugees to revert to their pleasant, cheerful and peace-loving nature. The Dalai Lama is known to personally greet every refugee upon his or her arrival. Employment options are given to refugees to rehabilitate them. Many take up public service jobs with the local administration; others choose to go their own way.

The hospitality industry is the most opted-for occupation for the second lot. McLeodganj seems to have a bed and a morsel to spare for every traveller who walks in, even during the teaching sessions, when most established hotels in town run to advance bookings.

Tibetan cuisine is dished out in every eatery that lines the streets of the town. Roadside stalls sell homemade momos to those who can’t find a seat in restaurants, where friends of entrepreneurs double up as waiters to cater to a line of eaters. Hoteliers are not in the habit of overcharging for their rooms even when the sun shines. A smile accompanies every service availed of on the streets of McLeodganj.

Beneath the bustle, a subliminal sense of homelessness and patriotism, combined with remembrances of a promised land, prevails. Video halls, some resembling a luxury bus with a console up ahead, show ‘must see’ documentaries on Tibet in between Hollywood blockbusters through the day. Tibetan music ? including a few rock ’’ roll renditions of Tibetan lyrics ? blare out of speakers at street corners.

A few upmarket joints have upgraded to swankier interiors to rope in the foreign tourist. Tibet is represented more subtly in their decors, often in the form of early black-and-white photographs taken in early 20th century Tibet, a country that is feared to have been lost forever to the spoils of time and tyranny.

“I’ve been to Tibet once to meet members of my family who still stay there. It still remains a beautiful country,” says Tsering, over coffee at a terrace cafe. Not everyone shares his view, though ? in the absence of an appropriate punching bag, some choose to vent their anger on travellers from other nations known for their routing foreign policies. ‘Israelis f*** off’, is a piece of writing that adorns many a wall in McLeodganj.

Tibetans are traditionally not known to be a hostile or protesting lot, but there have been violent skirmishes with local Himachalis in recent years. There are some who believe that Mcleodganj opens its arms to the foreign tourist but is indifferent to the local traveller.

In the midst of contrasting thoughts, the Dalai Lama sits over every teaching session. All devotees who arrive at the Namgyal Monastery are received with a humble offering of a loaf of bread and a glass of milk before the jovial Buddhist leader starts his teachings. He chants in Tibetan, and the monastery makes the effort of airing an English translation on a local bandwidth for outsiders, as well as for people who can’t make it to the monastery in person.

The sessions begin, only to end after a few hours. In the recesses of the monastery, sand mandalas are painstakingly laid out by monks, only to be destroyed after prayers. A non-believer strings himself to a parachute and becomes a speck of an adventurer against the towering Dhauladhar, only to return to terra firma some thrilling moments later. A luxury bus from Delhi crawls up the hillside to reach the mall every morning, to leave at dusk, its luggage racks full of souvenir bags.

Nothing becomes all; all becomes nothing. And amid the transitory ebb and tide, the wheel of life keeps on turning. Forever.