At Thikse Monastery, in a shrine draped in colorful silks, the air thick with juniper smoke, morning prayers are starting to adopt the unruly atmosphere of a school assembly. After the elders have filed in, performed their prostrations and taken their seats to join the chanting, after a monk in a mustard-yellow robe has purified the room with incense, the youngsters scamper in with cymbals, drums and a wailing pair of clarinets, “to wake the dead,” my guide, Sonam, whispers in my ear.