It took her over a month of travelling undercover to reach India. She cowered hidden in trucks, walked for days in the snow, climbed high passes on foot, crossed gushing rapids and conquered bone-chilling rivers; all the while dodging the attention of Chinese border guards. She was then 11 years old.
This is not just her story. This is the story of every Tibetan refugee.
The Temple in the Clouds
Prayer bells are humming through the streets of Mcleodganj, just like every morning. I walk through the mist floating in the chilly February air, with a handwoven scarf wrapped around my chin. Smiling faces look up at me, momentarily distracted from their early morning routine. Lines of multicoloured pennants flutter in a distance, swaying with the symphony of the wind. The lady who makes my favourite momos is not here yet.