Tibet might be off limit for most of us. In search of a little Tibet in India, I landed up in Dharamsala / Mcleodganj, in the lap of the mountains. Dharamsala feels so unlike India. I feel I’ve skipped legalities, missed stamps on my passport and entered a world I was taught is forbidden. I see a foreign face around every corner. Interspersed with men and women robed in red and orange. A tranquil vibe flows through the chaos of Mcleodganj on the narrow streets. I am fascinated by the small stalls and shops selling colorful bric-a-brac. Little memorabilia from the “Little Tibet” in India that has been produced elsewhere in India or Nepal. The side walls are covered with graffiti about Tibet, a reminder of the refugee lives of the people in Dharamsala. This has to be the only hill station in India where no shop-owners are shouting to sell their goods, nor touting foreign travelers. I can feel a spirit of acceptance among the people, or maybe a disguised form of dejection. Also …