i just got my sketchbook back (i sent it to austria with my friend, so the indians would not get it if they decided to rob me), and i found another drawing which i made of my friend on that day of the dalai lama incident (yes, i had a lot of time to draw on this day).
after being kicked out, my friend decided not to give up yet. so we took a rickshaw and travelled to the beautiful umaid bhawan palace, where my friend's object of desire was residing. they had a little museum there and a nice garden, where i spent some hours drinking iced coffee and drawing while my friend was occupied with writing a letter to the dalai lama in a little book that she had bought in the museum shop, page after page with her beautiful huge letters. but by then i did not wonder anymore.
then everything that was left to do was to arrange that the message would reach the recipient.
but strangely enough it was more difficult to get into the hotel than to get into the school. they would not let anybody in without a passport, but as my friend insisted that she had a message for a "friend", they called the hotel manager. finally he appeared and listened attentively to my friend.
and who is your friend, he asked then.
why, the dalai lama, replied my friend as a matter of course.
however: in the end he took the little book and promised to deliver it.
we never knew if he kept his promise because - surprise, surprise - the dalai lama never replied.