Days before his 90th birthday celebrations began, His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama made a declaration that resonated deeply across the Tibetan diaspora and the global spiritual community: “The institution of the Dalai Lama will continue.” With these simple but powerful words, he reaffirmed not only the continuation of his spiritual lineage but also the enduring relevance of Tibetan identity, faith, and culture.
This statement was more than ceremonial—it was a reaffirmation of hope. Back in 2011, the Dalai Lama had promised to settle the question of his reincarnation during his 90th birthday celebrations. Now, with clarity and conviction, he has done just that, affirming the need for the recognition of the 15th Dalai Lama. This moment marks not only a spiritual continuity but the preservation of an entire civilization in exile.
I visited McLeod Ganj, the seat of the Tibetan government-in-exile nestled in the hills of Himachal Pradesh, nearly a month before this historic announcement. Walking from my hotel down the winding streets of this British-era town, I was drawn toward the lively sounds of traditional Tibetan music near the central square.
Following the melody, I arrived at an open skating rink where a group of women, dressed in vibrant chubas, danced joyfully in circles. Young men joined in, their steps as practiced as their elders’, rehearsing for the grand celebrations ahead.
They had traveled from across the region, as they do every year, to honour their beloved spiritual leader. Their movements, set to the rhythm of ancient songs, were not merely festive—they were acts of cultural resistance and renewal. At the center of the dancers’ circle stood a photograph of the Karmapa Lama, believed to be in Chinese captivity, a silent yet powerful reminder of the ongoing struggles faced by Tibetans.
The next day, I journeyed further into the hills to visit a Tibetan Children’s School—one of the many institutions founded under the vision and compassion of His Holiness. Set atop a serene ridge, the school’s modest gate opened onto a sprawling playground alive with the laughter and energy of children playing basketball, football, and skating, guided by dedicated coaches.
This school was one of the first established to care for orphans—children who had lost their families during the perilous journey into exile following the 1959 Chinese occupation of Lhasa. The Dalai Lama had entrusted his elder sister with the care of these vulnerable souls, ensuring they received not only food and shelter but education rooted in Tibetan values.
In the Montessori wing, I witnessed a heart warming scene. Tiny children, too young to recite alphabets or numbers, were instead immersed in life skills. One group carefully poured water from vase to vase; another hung clothes on a miniature wooden line. Some lay sprawled on floor mats, others served make-believe tea with enormous seriousness. Their world was one of quiet confidence—learning through joy, without fear of mistakes.
The school principal, himself a Tibetan refugee who arrived in India five decades ago, shared his mission: to uphold the standards of this institution as its reach grows beyond Tibetan children alone. “We’re not just preserving culture,” he told me.
“We’re preparing children for life—with wisdom, skill, and compassion.”
Across India, similar Tibetan schools uphold this vision—where education goes far beyond textbooks, into the realm of values, dialogue, and cultural resilience.
Later that afternoon, I visited Norbulingka Institute—a stunning cultural sanctuary and replica of the original palace in Lhasa. Here, young artisans learn the ancient skills of Tibetan thangka painting, wood carving, and traditional architecture. Every brushstroke, every carved petal, is an act of remembrance—a testimony to what was, what remains, and what must endure.
The next morning brought me to the serene offices of the Dalai Lama. Despite his age and recent health concerns, His Holiness still meets visitors thrice a week. That day, he barely spoke, offering gentle nods, warm waves, and the radiant smile that has uplifted millions. Even in near silence, his presence filled the room—calm, centered, and profoundly reassuring.
At another school run under the direct guidance of the Dalai Lama, the director spoke of a distinct teaching method—one that encourages students to debate ideas, using expressive gestures and movement. Mathematics, science, and philosophy are learned not through rote, but through performance and articulation. Here, knowledge is not just recited—it is embodied and lived.
It has been over six decades since the Dalai Lama fled Tibet, but the longing for the homeland remains as fresh as ever. Generations born in exile—some of whom have never seen the land of their ancestors—still carry Tibet in their hearts like a sacred flame.
One such soul is a 30-year-old woman, the librarian at the Dalai Lama Library. She was just five when her mother crossed the Tibetan border with her baby brother in arms. Her father stayed behind. Since then, her only connection to him has been through video calls—until even that was banned by Chinese authorities. Her deepest wish is painfully simple: to see her father once again in her lifetime.
Stories like hers are heartbreakingly common—tales of families torn apart by sealed borders, but never by broken spirits. Among Tibetans, the belief in the “institution of the Dalai Lama” is more than a matter of faith—it is a lifeline. It is their greatest connector, their deepest hope.
That evening, I walked through the main bazaar of McLeod Ganj toward my hotel. Along the way, I saw a group of young artists painting the walls of a city Library with vibrant slogans of “Free Tibet.” Their hands moved with fierce determination, dipping brushes into bold colours. On the adjacent wall, a 90-year-old woman sat quietly, knitting woollen caps adorned with the same words: Free Tibet. Her fingers, like theirs, wove hope into every thread.
When His Holiness declared that the “institution of the Dalai Lama will continue,” he offered more than spiritual continuity. He offered assurance that Tibet lives on—not only through a reincarnated soul, but through every child learning to serve tea, every dancer spinning in circles, every refugee knitting caps under a fading sky.
Tibet may remain behind closed borders. But its spirit—carried by generations in exile—remains unbroken, burning brightly in every corner where hope, dignity, and devotion endure.