Yesterday evening, a ferocious storm rolled in, pelting Mcleodganj with heavy rain and powerful lightning bolts, and temporarily turning the steep streets to fast-running creeks. Today, though, we awoke to a cloudless blue sky and the heart-lifting sight of the huge peaks that loom above town, now covered by fresh snow.

On days like this, Mcleodganj could be mistaken for Shangri-la. But now and then, I'm reminded that it's located on Planet Earth along with everyone else.

Lha, the Tibetan-run NGO I've been volunteering for, hosts a "Conversation Class" every weekday afternoon that's open to all. I almost always go. The conversation class begins just an hour after I finish teaching my Intermediate English class, so it's convenient to work on lesson plans in Lha's library for that hour, and then to join a conversation. The idea is for English speakers and English learners (nearly all Tibetan) to form small groups and to talk together for an hour of language practice.

Today I joined a group of two monks and a young Tibetan man. All three came originally from Tibet but now live as exiles in Mcleodganj. Our conversation soon turned to the difficulties that people in Tibet are currently facing. My conversation partners all share strong concerns about the erosion of Tibetan culture that's taken place since Tibet became part of China. They see deliberate efforts by the Chinese government as being largely responsible.

One of the monks had heard that the Chinese government has recently decreed that Tibetan is no longer to be spoken or taught in Tibet. (I just checked Google News and found a news story explaining that the Chinese government "plans to enforce Mandarin as the primary or possibly sole teaching language" in schools and universities in Tibet. I didn't see evidence that Tibetan can no longer be spoken or, presumably, taught to children by their parents at home.) My conversation partners expressed their worry that Tibetan will gradually decline until no one can speak it.

I commented that along with many other Westerners, I have been studying Tibetan for the last few weeks, and I treated them to my best rendition of "This yak is white" in Tibetan (that the monks easily understood what I said is a highlight of my day today).

The monks were delighted to learn that Westerners were studying their language. But this didn't satisfy the young man, who argued that it's time for the Tibetans to take up weapons and free Tibet from China by force. "It's been 50 years, and Tibet has already lost too much. Without weapons, we have no power and the Chinese will never listen to us," he said. "When we have weapons, the Chinese will have to listen." He looked searchingly at me as he expressed his opinion that the U.S. should provide those weapons.

In my experience, this isn't a common opinion among the Tibetans here in the home of His Holiness, who repeatedly expresses his belief in nonviolence. Still, the young man's comment set the direction of our conversation for the rest of our hour. I brought up the obvious example of how Mahatma Gandhi and his followers had achieved India's independence from Britain by only nonviolent means, and noted that for many years, the people of India probably didn't believe that independence could be gained without fighting. I said that ever since that day, the whole world has known that nonviolence is powerful, and that countries can use it to free themselves. I talked about the Jasmine Revolution countries in which common people have managed to change their governments without adopting intentionally violent means. The monks expressed their strong support for nonviolence and their belief that the Tibetan people should follow His Holiness in supporting peaceful autonomy for Tibet within China, rather than independence.

The young man was having none of it. What about World War II?, he asked: It wasn't won by nonviolence, nor could it have been. And besides, he said, China is far more powerful than the British Empire ever was; England was in decline when India won its independence. The US and the West have only been talking, he argued; now it's time for them to supply the Tibetan people with the weapons they need. I pointed out that then two nuclear superpowers would be at odds, putting the whole world in danger. I also noted that my country has often tried to use weapons to solve problems for several other countries in past decades, and that it's not yet clear to me whether those efforts have helped in any of the cases. The monks quietly nodded in agreement.

But then our hour was over. The young man left with his opinions unshaken. Perhaps the monks had the same thought as I: how many other young Tibetans share his feelings?