Press Pass

Today I went to get my press pass, laughing at myself—yet trying to be very professional. More often than not I find myself in this predicament, ie. suddenly being in a very real/professional professional situation where I am deferred to for very real/ professional decisions. For example, my first day of work. I cruse into the office a little late, check my e mail, chat- drink tea, check the internet for new news. Nothing, I sit around a little longer. Then my boss asks me if I would mind going to talk to a man abut his work. Nothing else is going on so I say I don’t mind. I climb to the top of the hill to catch a cab to the seat of the Tibetan Government compound. Suddenly I am in a rush, driving fast, honking, pausing patiently for cows in the road, it is all very exciting. When I get to the café I am supposed to meet this man at, I ask around, and he has gone. A bystander with a badge makes a phone call, and said to me he has stopped on the road we must go catch him. He runs away and I stand there, confused. He comes back on his motorcycle and I am supposed to jump on, so naturally I do. I am terrified,---yet trying to be very professional.

We run down a car that has Ghandi’s portrait affixed to the top and various other decorative elements. Dr. x gets out, he is the man I have been looking for and my first interview takes place right there in the street. He is a human rights activist who uses his own blood to paint pictures and write appeals to the Indian government. He shows me his work, I don’t want to touch it. When the interview is over he asks if he can give me a ride somewhere (we were still in no mans land) I say no that I will walk up to town from there. He insists that he is going that way and that I should get in the front seat of his car while he and his two assistants/translators are in the back with the baggage, I am not allowed to refuse. I get in. Going up the steep slope needles slide off the dashboard and onto my lap, I think of the other refuse in the car and I am happy it is a short trip. He brings me to the front door of my office and hands me a picture of himself with His Holiness. I bust into the office, and write my first report.