The Dalai Lama's Cat (27 page)

For all kinds of reasons, I felt I was living on the cusp of profound change. The tectonic plates of life were shifting. Things would never be the same again. I sensed the excitement of it, as well as the apprehension. But with the image of Geshe Wangpo vivid in my mind, I had all I needed. I was going to make this a positive transformation. I wasn’t going to avoid any of it.

In particular, I wasn’t going to miss out on the relaunch of Café Franc, which had been the cause of so much activity.

The event was scheduled for 6
P.M.
one evening, but I made my way down the hill well in advance. My viewing platform was unaffected by the changes, which were no longer concealed by security screens but by large sheets of paper held together with a broad, red ribbon.

A crowd of people started trickling in as the time drew near. There were the McLeod Ganj regulars, always an eclectic mix, including people I knew from Jokhang. Mrs. Trinci arrived, fresh from the hairdresser, where she’d had her dark hair specially coiffed in honor of the occasion. Wearing a black dress, gold jewelry, and kohl eyes, she had added to her characteristic drama a certain Continental je ne sais quoi.

Chogyal also made an appearance in his capacity as Kyi Kyi’s former guardian. Franc had soon led him over to show him the basket under the counter where both Kyi Kyi and Marcel, immaculate from the dog wash, wore red-and-gold bows around their necks.

As the drinks flowed freely and canapés circulated, the noise in the room grew ever louder. In the crowd I spotted Mrs. Patel from Cut Price Bazaar; these days, she greeted me, plateless and somewhat mournfully, whenever I passed her shop.

Sam was also there, positively debonair in a dark blue shirt and white linen sports jacket. In recent weeks he’d been a constant presence in the restaurant, as he and Franc managed the frenetic activity going on behind the screens. Since accepting Franc’s offer, he had made a real effort to reinvent himself. Taking charge of the bookstore, he had summoned a succession of publishers’ sales reps, had been quite clear about how point-of-sales gifts were to be displayed, and had directed tradesmen with newfound assertiveness. I had even seen him jab his hand emphatically at a carpenter whose workmanship hadn’t been up to scratch.

Tenzin was in the crowd—a diplomatic presence talking to a pair of visiting academics from Harvard. Geshe Wangpo was standing at the front of the room near the ribbon, in a circle of senior Namgyal monks.

Franc was in his element, circulating throughout the room. But, unusually, today he had a very attractive, 30-something woman on his arm.

The metamorphosis of Franc had continued since that first encounter with Geshe Wangpo, reinforced by his visits to the classes at the temple every week. The golden Om earring and blessing strings had long since gone, the ascetically bald head now sported a surprisingly thick thatch of fair hair, and the clothes were less tight. And less black.

The biggest change was not visible. Gone was the hectoring bully who made life hell for the kitchen and waitstaff. There was no covering over his bursts of impatience, but instead of building to a frenzy of righteous indignation, now he seemed embarrassed when they happened. Gone, too, were the constant references to Dalai Lama this and Dharma that. The origins of Rinpoche were no longer mentioned, and I hadn’t heard him even say the word Buddhist for weeks.

But exactly who was the young woman by his side? She had been in the café twice this week. The first time, she and Franc had spent more than two hours in earnest discussion at one of the pavement tables. The second time, he had taken her into the kitchen, where she’d spent a long time talking to the Dragpa brothers, as well as to Kusali.

Tonight she was resplendent in a coral red dress, long, dark hair swept straight down her back and jewelry glittering at her ears, throat, and wrists. I thought her the most exquisite woman I’d ever seen—there was such energy, such compassion in her features. As Franc introduced her to people, they seemed almost to melt in her presence, she conveyed such warmth.

Resting on my lotus cushion between
Vogue
and
Vanity Fair
, aware of the occasional movement in my distended belly, I looked out at the gathering crowd with a feeling of deep contentment for this moment, now, and all that had led me to it.

Kyi Kyi, lying in his basket under the counter, had arrived in my life at the same time as the self-development guru Jack. Through them I had come to understand the foolishness of being jealous of others’ apparently wonderful lives, and to see that the true cause of happiness is the sincere wish to give happiness to others and help free them of all forms of dissatisfaction—love and compassion defined.

From Mrs. Trinci I had discovered that simply knowing these things was of little value. Our awareness of a truth needs to deepen to the point at which it actually changes our behavior. We call that a
realization
.

From the many people around me who practiced mindfulness, I realized how essential it is to attend to the present moment if we are to experience the rich variety of everyday life. Only by being fully awake to the present are we able to put our realizations into action—not to mention make every cup of coffee count.

Franc had been my teacher on fur balls—the danger of thinking about me, myself, and I to the point of becoming sick of myself. It was also because of him that I had discovered that the Dharma isn’t about mouthing high-sounding principles, dressing in attention-seeking clothes, or calling yourself a Buddhist, but about expressing the teachings in your every thought, word, and deed.

And while the enormity of trying to become a more enlightened being might seem daunting at times, as Geshe Wangpo had explained, there is no room for laziness or a lack of confidence. Leading an authentic life calls for big eyes and a strong voice!

There was one guest notable for his absence on this occasion. The Dalai Lama was on his way back from the airport, after a brief trip overseas. Nonetheless, his presence was palpable, abiding with every one of us in the room, along with his message, “My religion is kindness.” As Tibetan Buddhists, our central purpose is bodhichitta, arising out of a compassion to help all living beings find happiness.

People continued to arrive at Café Franc—I’d never seen the place so full. It was reaching the point of standing room only when Franc made his way to the front and onto a small platform set up for the dedication ceremony.

Someone tapped a glass loudly, and the hubbub in the room quickly diminished to a hush.

“Thanks to every one of you for coming,” Franc said, glancing around at the assembled faces. “This is a very special day for all of us in the café community. And I have not just one announcement but three.

“The first is that because my father’s health has taken a turn for the worse, I am leaving Café Franc to look after him.”

There were gasps of sympathy and surprise.

“I could be in San Francisco for six to twelve months.”

Geshe Wangpo, I noticed, was nodding approvingly.

“When I first realized I’d have to go, I wondered what to do about the café. I didn’t want to have to close it down”—dismay rippled audibly through the audience—“but I knew it couldn’t run on its own. Then, just two weeks ago, it was my amazing good fortune to meet Serena Trinci, fresh from managing some of the finest restaurants in Europe.” He gestured toward the young woman in red who he had been introducing all evening. She smiled broadly in acknowledgment.

“Serena has managed a two-Michelin-star restaurant in Bruges, the Hotel Danieli in Venice, and just recently was running one of the smartest society brasseries in London. But she couldn’t avoid the call home to McLeod Ganj, and I’m delighted to tell you that she has kindly agreed to be caretaker while I’m away.”

The announcement was greeted with a round of enthusiastic applause and a bow of appreciation from Serena. Mrs. Trinci looked on, glowing with maternal pride.

“For a long while I’ve been wondering how best to use the space behind here,” Franc said, gesturing to the concealed area behind him. “I’ve had a few ideas but didn’t know how to implement them. And then, in another spooky ‘coincidence,’ just the right person showed up at the right time.” He nodded toward Sam, who was standing nearby.

“What I’d like to do now is ask my teacher and honored guest, Geshe Wangpo, to formally unveil our new addition.”

Amid a smattering of applause, Geshe Wangpo joined Franc on the platform and walked over to the large, red bow. He was about to untie it before he remembered something. “Oh, yes. I am pleased to announce the opening of this marvelous new bookshop,” he said, his hesitation prompting amusement. “May its existence be a cause for all living beings to have happiness and to avoid suffering.”

As he tugged the ribbon, the panels of paper fell open, revealing gleaming rows of books, racks of CDs, and a colorful assortment of gifts. There was a wave of excited whooping and applause. Franc smiled as Geshe Wangpo gestured for Sam to join them on the podium. Sam vigorously shook his head, but Geshe Wangpo continued to insist. As Sam came to stand between the two men, the applause grew even louder, until the lama held up his hand in authoritative command.

“The books in this shop,” he said, indicating the titles ranged in front of them, “are most useful. I know, because I have checked up. I think in future weeks there will be many monks from Namgyal Monastery visiting. They may not have money to buy, but they will check up.”

Geshe Wangpo’s straight-faced delivery prompted great mirth.

“The person choosing the books, this one”—he turned and gripped Sam by the arm—“has read
many
books. More than some lamas I know. He has great knowledge, but he is a little bit shy.” There was a spark of mischief in the lama’s eyes. “So you must be patient with him.”

Far from looking down in embarrassment, Sam seemed energized by Geshe Wangpo’s remarks. Returning the lama’s smile, he looked out at the gathering and in a loud voice said, “We have a w-wonderful selection of book titles right here. All the old classics as well as some brand new releases. I can c-confidently say that this is a better stocked mind/body/spirit section than you’ll find in even the bigger American bookstores. I look forward to seeing you all sometime soon.”

A round of applause followed Sam’s remarks. Beside him, Geshe Wangpo gave a cryptic smile.

“I’m sure you’re all keen to get into the new section”—Franc took the lead again—“where you’ll be pleased to know we do take credit cards. But before that I have our third announcement. Which is that effective immediately, Café Franc is to be renamed The Himalaya Book Café. We have a new sign out in front, unveiled tonight for the first time.”

Another round of prolonged applause.

“When I first set up a business here, it was all about food and, I won’t try to deny, all about me. I’m glad to say that things have changed since then. We’re now about a lot more than just food. And fortunately we have grown way beyond just me. It is my very great privilege to work with the team of people here—Jigme and Ngawang Dragpa in the kitchen, Kusali and his team out front, and now Sam and Serena.

“So please, everyone, enjoy the food and drinks! Spend big on books and gifts! I look forward to seeing you all again when I am back from San Francisco!”

The launch party moved into full swing. No sooner was Sam in the bookstore than a line of eager purchasers formed at the till. In the restaurant, Franc circulated with Serena as the waitstaff replenished champagne and wine. The restaurant, now emporium, had never been so alive with energy, laughter, and joie de vivre.