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2/16/96 The morning of the interview dawned clear and February cold, the Dhauladhar range of the Himalaya shining bright white from several days of heavy winter storms. The schedule went somehow haywire, and His Holiness' press secretary, Tenzin Geyche, hustled me and Gerardo Stansky, an Uruguayan journalist who had asked to sit in on the interview, into the spacious audience room, a blend of sedate western furniture with the riotous colors of Tibetan religious art. Flustered and out of breath from literally running up the stairs, the three of us were still fumbling with tape recorders and cracking nervous jokes when His Holiness' entrance caught us by surprise. He was halfway across the room before we even realized he was there, and I was struck for a moment by his height and dignified bearing, having always seen him stooped in humility in his public audiences. His face lit up in greeting as we scrambled to our feet, and he bowed over his clasped hands, smiling up over his fingertips before shaking our hands with a kind of grave pleasure. In an instant all the noise and activity stopped, as His Holiness settled into a chair, adjusted his robes, and after a few pleasantries, leaned his large head to one side and narrowed his chocolate-brown eyes in focus, indicating his readiness for the interview to begin.
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