In his first big interview with a British paper since rioting broke out in Tibet on March 10, I had expected the Dalai Lama to be in a sombre mood. As the exiled leader of his nation, he has little enough to laugh about: around 200 Tibetans have lost their lives since the uprising in March and many more have been beaten or imprisoned by the Chinese.

Meanwhile, the Chinese, who mounted a bloody takeover of the Himalayan plateau in 1950, have been busily painting the Dalai Lama as “a demon” and “a wolf in monk’s robes”. Never has the Tibetan leader’s dream of negotiating autonomy for his people seemed less likely to be fulfilled. Never has he seemed less likely to return to the country from which he fled to India as a young man, followed by tens of thousands of refugees.

This month the Dalai Lama is once again on the move – he met members of the German government last week and is to see Gordon Brown this week. When we met two days ago, it was in a modest hotel suite in the Ruhr Valley with what looked suspiciously like a Teasmaid in the corner.

In some ways he looked the same as I remembered from previous encounters: maroon robes, saffron waistcoat, cheap plastic flip-flops. But his entire demeanour was different. He hardly giggled – a trait for which he is famed. And, above all, he looked unexpectedly enthusiastic, as though someone had suddenly given him back the keys to his lost realm.

They haven’t, of course, but – rather surprisingly – he has clearly come to terms with this. “Actually,” he told me, “I am very much looking forward to becoming a citizen of the People’s Republic of China. At the moment I am a refugee. But I would like to return to Tibet as a member of China’s Tibetan minority.”

There is no doubt he means this. One of the remarkable features of the Dalai Lama’s leadership over the past decade or so, from his government in exile in Dharamsala, has been his willingness to risk the anger of his fellow countrymen. Many, already frustrated at what they see as the lack of progress being made by the so-called middle-way approach, are ready to risk all in direct confrontation with China.

Indeed, even as we were talking, there was a small demonstration of disaffected Tibetans in the car park outside the hotel – although admittedly they were protesting about the downgrading of a minor Buddhist deity. The Dalai Lama was unperturbed. “It is their right. They are enjoying themselves. And it makes me happy that they should exercise their democratic rights – as long as there is no violence, everyone can be happy.” He laughed. “But if they think that they can persuade me to change my principles by shouting, they are mistaken.”

His principles remain solid, though he is at least prepared to put some new proposals to the Chinese and – typically, perhaps, for a man who has kept Tibet in the news, year in and year out, by allowing the media to turn him into a fully fledged personality – he is giving them their first public airing in a newspaper interview. In an unexpected shift of policy, he has four conditions which, if met, would permit him to return.

“The first sign that the [Chinese] government is taking the world’s concerns seriously would be the opening of Tibet to foreign media,” he said. “They should be given free rein to report all that they find, whether it is good or bad.

“Secondly, it is important that the government accept medical aid from outside. There are great numbers of Tibetans who have been injured in the recent disturbances and it is very doubtful that they have received the treatment they require.

“Thirdly, the government must release all political prisoners. Not those who have perpetrated violence, but all who have protested peacefully. Then there should be fair and open trials for those who did engage in criminal activity.

“Finally, there need to be substantive discussions with a view to satisfying the Tibetan people’s aspiration to exercise their basic human rights. That is the right way to prevent any further disturbances. And by disturbances, I mean peaceful disturbances.”

During the riots this year, some western commentators suggested the Tibetan leader had been slow to condemn the violence among Tibet’s restive population. However, he is quite explicit: it is right that any Tibetans who have caused criminal damage or physical harm should be prosecuted.

While prominent figures debate whether to boycott the opening ceremony of the Olympics, the Dalai Lama also has no doubts about the fitness of holding the Games in China. “I have been a supporter of China’s right to host the Olympics from the beginning, “ he said. “It is right that China should have been awarded them. It has the world’s largest population and a great and ancient culture. In normal circumstances I would very much like to have gone to Beijing as a spectator, had I been invited.”

Couldn’t he go anyway? “With the present conditions in Tibet, many people would rightly be disappointed if I went without the Chinese government making some genuine efforts to resolve the Tibetan crisis.”

Yet he feels clearly a sense of responsibility not only towards his own people, but also towards the Chinese. He would like, he said, to make a donation towards the earthquake relief efforts in China – but he isn’t sure that such a gesture would be welcome; and he doesn’t wish to be seen as interfering in an internal Chinese matter.

In the immediate aftermath of the March riots, about 10m Chinese internet users posted comments on an official website that were critical of the Dalai Lama and of Tibetans in general. One of the most frequent complaints was of Tibetan ingratitude: most ordinary Chinese do not question the government’s claim to have brought prosperity to an economically deprived region. In fact, much of the money pumped into Tibet has found its way not into the pockets of the indigenous population, but into those of Chinese migrants.

However, a few educated Chinese are willing to listen to dissenting voices and an even smaller minority is actually willing to speak out against the Communist party’s treatment of Tibet. The Dalai Lama was particularly encouraged by an open letter written to the Chinese government by Chinese intellectuals. Originally signed by 29 courageous lawyers and academics, it eventually attracted more than 400 signatures.

“I have no doubt that the increasing education of the Chinese people will make an enormous difference,” he said.

Does he think that he is likely to be able to return home soon? “It could happen in a matter of hours. You see, there is nothing complicated about it. The sticking-point is not ideological. It is political. But such things can be put right very quickly.”

What if there is no speedy resolution? “Actually, I am looking forward to retiring. Then the responsibility will fall on the shoulders of the elected representatives of the Tibetan people in exile. In one sense I am already semi-retired. Since 2001 there has been an elected prime minister within the Tibetan government in exile.” It is true that the Dalai Lama is no longer minutely involved in the day-to-day running of an administration that serves the 150,000-strong worldwide community of exiled Tibetans. But does he believe that his people will allow him to retire? Surely that would create an even longer hiatus until the next Dalai Lama emerges – “taking rebirth” as a young boy – and is then suitably educated?

“Well,” he said laughing, “it is my human right to retire. Besides, I have held my position as head of state since the age of 16. I am now almost 73 years old. I think that I deserve some reward. I would like to spend some time preparing for my next life. As you know, we believe that this can be done through spiritual practice. And also, I feel that it would be beneficial if I were to retire while I can hope to have some years left to me. That way I can keep an eye on what is going on.

“It would be very difficult for people if I were to keep my position until I die. Suddenly, the Dalai Lama is gone and there is only a small child to take his place. There needs to be a period of transition.”

In the past he has spoken of his desire to decouple the institution of the Dalai Lama from politics, but he has never explained how he intends to achieve this.

“Definitely, by the time I am 80,” he continued, “I shall have retired completely. I have no desire to be in the position of Mr Mugabe.” He paused. “Of course, the situation in Tibet is a factor.”

But not a conclusive one, it seems. “As soon as the situation does improve and I am able to return to Tibet, I will immediately renounce all legitimate authority. I will hand over all executive power to the local representative government of Tibet.”

I know that it is his fondest wish to spend his last days in Reting monastery in Tibet. For the first time, I felt that he might yet live to achieve that.

Holder of the White Lotus: The Lives of the Dalai Lama, by Alexander Norman, is published by Little, Brown at £20. Copies can be ordered for £18, including postage, from The Sunday Times BooksFirst on 0870 165 8585

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