Bound by Turban

Over the weekend I took the boys to Target, they had been good and it was time to reward them with a prize. After about forty minutes of running around the toy section and constant nudging towards toys which I wanted them to buy they finally decided.

Toys in hand each of them eagerly walked to the front of the store so we could pay and go home. As we got to the cashiers area and I was analyzing the shortest line, I hear Baltej yell “DADDY, SARDARJI!” pointing out that one of the cashiers was an eldery sardar gentlemen. I responded with the same excitement back “WOW that’s great!” but then headed towards the line which was shorter.

Baltej was adamant that we go to the same checkout as the Sardarji so we could meet him. Even though the line was longer I sensed his excitement so figured it was ok to spend a few extra minutes. As we were standing in line I noticed the excitement in both of the boys, they had spotted a Sardar and both were gleeful about it. I am sure the fact that they had toys in their hands was part of the ‘happiness’ as well.

It reminded me of a feeling I had when I went to India almost two decades ago, in 1995. Even before the trip I was excited, though I was born in India all my memories were of growing up in the United States, as my parents immigrated here when I was about four years old. In my mind Punjab would be like heaven, just Sikhs everywhere. Before the trip I even dreamed about it, like a place where I didn’t stick out, I was not the only Sardar, how blissful it would be just to be in a place which would feel like ‘home’.

I vividly remember getting to India and Punjab was not until a few weeks into our trip. I counted the days even then just wishing I could be in Punjab sooner. The day finally came; our journey to Punjab was on a bus. I had fallen asleep on the way but awoke at our destination a bus stop in Chandigarh. Oh how excited I was looking out the window to a sea of turbans. There were Sikhs everywhere I looked, they were the customers, there were Sikh police, Sikh street shop vendors, even the ticket conductors were turbaned Sikhs. That moment in time I felt like I was home, finally a place where I was just the same, looked like everyone else and just felt like I belonged.

After we got off the bus we were greeted by extended family, on the Taxi ride to their house I kept looking outside. I had never seen a place with so many Sardars!!! It was AWESOME; I kept looking they were everywhere! In the cars next to me, walking on the street, the taxi drivers, the rickshaw drivers everywhere!!!! I was so happy and ecstatic at this site, there was not a place like this in the America, there was no scene like this I had ever experienced that I remembered in my memory. Yet unfortunately the feeling that this was home, that I belonged here, was very short lived.

After a few days in Punjab I experienced many things which disheartened me. They laughed at the way I spoke Punjabi, at times they wanted me to repeat things I said so they could point out where my accent was wrong. They made fun of my turban calling it messy and pointing out how it was not tied properly. They called me ‘bhapa’ something that was used as a bad word or to degrade me somehow, even though I had no idea what it meant. All this coming from Sikhs who I thought would accept me, the only place in the world where I would be the same yet within a few days I felt like a foreigner in Punjab. I am sure it was all in fun spirit, and nobody meant harm (at least not most of them) however to a person who never felt fully integrated in America I had a very similar feeling in Punjab.

I realized how hurtful it was to be alienated by those you would think could understand you. In those days I contemplated a lot on our community and how we are somewhat ‘negative’ to each other. It was not just in Punjab, I know those who come to the USA, are given names like FOB or freshie, they are laughed at when they call ketchup tomato sauce, or ask for it with pizza. We joke about their pants and how high they wear them, we also laughed at their Indian accents. To a person who immigrated and saw someone similar this must be a very disheartening experience to have those they feel most associated with treat them this way. It made me wonder why our community is not more positive in our interactions with each other. Why are we not sensitive and supportive and I still cannot figure that out.

I see websites like www.patkaspotting.com and it really bothers me. Why do we make fun of our own community? Why do we think being negative or making fun of something can inspire someone?

There are better ways to do things; we should uplift each other, after all we are bound by turban! This means we are tied together not just because we are the same skin color or come from the same ‘region’ of the world but even deeper we share a heritage and moreover we share an experience. Every turban Sikh knows how it feels to stand out, to be unique, to have to overcome things based on perceptions others have, this is something that binds us deeply together yet we fail to use that bond to do anything productive.

Somehow we are great at alienating one another. We divide our community we find ways to be counterproductive. Forget external attacks, we are good enough internally attacking and bringing down one another!

Everyday a Sikh wraps a beautiful thing on his/her head, as they are tying it they are reinforcing their commitment, but at the same time they are being bound to something very special and unique. They are bound to others who don the same turban not just by a philosophy but by experiences in life nobody else will have but those who wear a turban. They are bound by the challenges and triumphs, by the feeling and situations they come across just because they have the unique appearance. That is something so deep and beautiful that it is difficult to acknowledge or express in words.

As I stood there in line with my excited children I was watching the elder Sardar doing his job. I admired his beard which was fully pressed perfectly and I was thinking that definitely must be Fixo as no western hair spray or gel could tame a beard like that. The cashier in the next lane had become free and she walked over to me…

“Sir I can help you here”

I followed her to her lane but noticed that Baltej and Himmat did not come along. Baltej had realized I was switching lanes and ran towards the Sardar cashier, following him his younger brother Himmat did the same. When they reached the Sardarji, Baltej said “Sat Sri Akal “ and Himmat in his typical excited and playful manner said “Waheguru ji ka Khalsa, Waheguru ji ke Fateh uncle jiiiii”. The elderly Sikh man was so happy to see this he stepped out of his cash register area and gave them both a hug, in a way I am sure that moment made his day.

As the boys ran back towards me, for a second the sardarji whom I don’t know or have ever met, made eye contact with me, and with a simple smile and nod, both of us acknowledged our unparalleled connection that goes deeper than just the way we look, but in essence goes to the root of who we are as a people, community and nation.