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“Yesterday night I dreamt of a woman with 3 kids visiting our monastery, and here she is", said the monk, almost a whisper. Before this, I was listening inattentively, nodding occasionally as he recited a list of rules to be followed in the monastery. I took a closer look at him, beyond the monk wrapped in a maroon robe was a mountain man still free in his wilderness, he was short with a physique as tough as the terrain of these mountains he must have climbed for years. It looked as if the harshest of suns and coldest of winters had taken turns to settle on his face. Fierce winds of Spiti had dilated the blood vessels under his cheeks appearing as a crimson blush beneath layers of tan and dust which almost matched the color of the soil he lived on. His almond shaped eyes gleaming with a hint of excitement as he looked at the woman and the kids walking towards the prayer room. I was intrigued. I had many questions but wasn't sure if this was the right moment to ask. He gently walked away handing me over a receipt of 350rs for my 7 days stay. I stood there for a while. The abrupt fluttering of prayer flags caused by strong winds broke the melody of the chants and bells of Morning prayers. I had covered a distance of 522km on road in last 48hrs from Chandigarh airport (nearest international airport) to Key monastery, facing some major landslides, with no transport for 10 hrs, and camping on unknown terrain to survive the night. I was finally here in this Tibetan Buddhist Monastery nestled in the lap of Himalayas at an altitude of 4166m atop a hill. My body hurt due to exhaustion but I couldn’t have been happier. A drop of tear escaped the corner of my eye, I wasn’t sure if it was the Joy, the body ache or the cold wind. I closed my eyes and breathed in, the smell of fresh and ripe crops travelled from distant farms. Indeed it was the time for harvest. Chham festival (the festival of harvest) was near , a lot of preparations were due and I was welcome to lend a hand. Soon I was a part of the daily life of monks. My day would begin by serving freshly churned butter tea prepared by Tenzin lama. I poured years of tradition into the bowls of the monks as they took a break from their morning prayers. It felt as if every sip of butter tea brought a little more color to the dawn and to the lives of the monks. The morning would proceed with our endless chatter over chopping vegetables. Our stories would gently blend in the kitchen with the thick and warm aroma of Thukpa boiling on the stove. In the afternoon prior to rehearsals, the young lamas would come running to me with bowls of face paint. And as we masked their faces, we unmasked a small part of our own lives. One evening, I asked Nima lama (the monk with the dream),”What was it like to be a monk? to lead a life of such simplicity away from the rest of the world, Why did you choose this? " He smiled sensing my growing impatience, he explained me about their Culture where every second boy child in their families had to become a monk. There were monks who willingly chose this path but there were many like him(second boy child). He said, "I did not have a choice, But i was chosen". And when you speak about temptations my child, imagine how beautiful it is to walk into your lover’s arms? would other trivial things matter to you at that moment? I was born into my lover’s arms. I did not have the need to seek." That evening I realized most of the times we have choices in our lives but when we dont, it is because we were chosen for it. The best we could do is accept and embrace it with great gratitude and love. I chose to come to this place but for the matter of experience, I was chosen.