News & Update

Introducing a new non-profit started by Siri Deva Singh of Austin, TX, USA

A few weeks ago I found myself out in the FreshGiving garden for the first harvest of our summer crop fifteen pounds of cucumbers clipped from lush, sprawling vines. These cukes were later dropped off to Hope Food Pantry in Austin, TX, where they were distributed to the hungry. With that, the FreshGiving vision became a reality.

The concept behind FreshGiving is pretty simple. We grow local, organic produce and donate it to hunger relief agencies and food banks in Austin. Everything is volunteer based right now– people working towards a common goal and enjoying the blessing of seva. I like to think of it as a pilot program. I’ve used every available piece of my backyard to get things started.

The vision is to get bigger. The idea for FreshGiving came to me one winter morning last year while I was working in my (then much smaller) garden. It came into my awareness with bright, expansive energy. It felt instantly alive. Though I spent a couple months rueing it over before I took the leap, my heart knew instantly it was a call from God and Guru to serve. In February, I started a small crowdfunding campaign and raised $200 to buy seed, soil amendments and infrastructure supplies. My wife and I matched it with a few hundred dollars of our own money and the journey began.

Travis County Texas has a hunger problem. Approximately 1 in 6 people go hungry in Austin. In research studies, the term used is “food insecure”. This means that people do not always know where their next meal is going to come from or they skip meals to pay other bills. The Austin economy is booming on the surface, but there’s an unpleasant underbelly to the city’s rapid growth. Property taxes and the cost of basic services have skyrocketed in the last several years. Wages outside of a select set of booming industries remain extraordinarily low. Increasingly, people are finding they cannot pay their bills. Nor can they afford to eat, which means that more and more, they’re turning to hunger relief agencies to get fed.

But the food that the hungry receive isn’t always the most nourishing. I did some volunteering at different agencies over the winter to get a better understanding of the hunger problem. One day I remember working with a team that cleaned and processed over a ton of donated food. My estimate is a least half of it was either candy, soda or some form of processed food high in high fructose corn syrup or preservatives. That’s food, yes. But whether it’s healthy is another question.

The idea behind Fresh Giving is to shift the goal from simply feeding people to nourishing them with healthy food and supporting them in living a healthy, happy lifestyle. Vegetables begin losing nutrients as soon as they are picked. Matters get worse if they are frozen or trucked thousands of miles in a refrigerated tractor trailer. The fresher the food is, the better it is for you. This is something simple we can all feel directly when we are attuned to our body, mind and consciousness. When we eat well, we feel
better. Helping the hungry do this is what FreshGiving is all about. We intend to widen our impact in the future.

The vision is to see FreshGiving grow into a mature nonprofit with salaried staff and a nice hunk of land over the course of the next several years. We are planning a
“Neighbor Grow” program for the upcoming winter season. This will involve picking up produce grown by volunteers in their home gardens and distributing it to hunger relief partners. We are also planning larger fundraisers in 2017 as we begin our push to acquire land.

On a personal level, I feel blessed to be a part of this seva. It is healing for me to be helping others, particularly those that our governments and society at large tend to forget about. I grew up in the Northeast amidst an “eat what you kill” culture. The general ethos was, “Hey. If you can’t make it on your own, tough. It’s not my responsibility to give you a handout.” Sweating to feed others has opened my heart more and helped me let go of these kinds of perspectives.

Source: www.sikhdharma.org

The history of European art is often considered synonymous with the development of the idea of European individualism. In schools across European countries, individualism is a byword not limited to situating the idea of art within the geography of psychology, but situating it within the landscape of life itself. What would then two sisters who look like each other, paint like each other, and have similar inclinations and ideas, do differently?

The Singh Twins, as they like to call themselves, have been answering that question for about two decades, and with some currency left in the wallet to engender praise, and not for the most visible trait that makes the two unique – their mutual oneness.

Amrit and Rabindra Kaur’s family moved to London during the turmoil of Partition. Born in London, the two sisters at the age of four moved along with their family to Liverpool where they have continued to live till today. “We grew up in a quiet little village and were sent to a Catholic Convent school for its high standards of education, discipline and spiritual grounding. We were the only Indians and non-Christians there, but it didn’t stop us getting involved in the religious life of the school,” the twins say. (They insist that all quotes be attributed to both of them.) “So from the age of seven when we started at the school, this Christian imagery – rich in iconography, symbolism, decoration and narrative – played a huge part in influencing our aesthetic taste and led to our love of Art Nouveau, Renaissance, Pre-Raphaelite and Symbolists art. As children we spent our spare time drawing fantasy and fairytale images inspired by these art movements,” they add.

But being similar and not just in the physical sense, comes with the kind of baggage most people, let alone artists, are not familiar with carrying. Further, the sisters work on the same painting simultaneously, which is as curious an approach as it is must be difficult to execute.

“At school we were first separated in class and then placed in different classrooms, against our will. Later, when we were studying 20th century Western Art History as part of a BA (Hons) degree in Combined Studies, we were heavily criticised by our art tutors for developing similar styles of work (something that was a natural outcome of our joint love for the Indian miniature tradition rather than any conscious decision on our part to be the same). They felt we were not being individual enough. Which went against the ideal they held and taught about ‘individuality’ being ‘the be all and end all’ of contemporary art,” the twins say.

Despite an embedded sense of ‘pop’ in their works, and its rising value in the West, the twins, contrary to logic some might say, took to reviving the Indian miniature tradition. “We absolutely fell in love with miniature paintings when we discovered them during our first trip to India as teenagers in 1980. The technical skill, intricate detail and imaginative compositions; their beautiful jewel-like quality with the illuminated gold work, their narrative power; their satire (often used within the social and political themes) and their rich symbolic language, fascinated us,” the twins say.

Indian miniature paintings over the years have found themselves being replaced with a penchant for the European aesthetic, embodied in the several artistic movements to have run with the likes of Picasso as their central inspiration. And this is something the twins have witnessed for themselves. “We were very disappointed to see how modern Indian art seemed by and large to be following western trends and aesthetics rather than looking to Indian art for inspiration. Not only that, but it seemed that India in general no longer valued this art form which was reduced to cheap imitations for the tourist industry,” the twins say.

As part of an Indian family, albeit one living in the progressive West, women are expected to abide by a certain culture and way of living that enhances our proclivity for social participation. How then did the two unabashedly learn, experiment and express while refusing to accommodate tenets like that of marriage? “We were the first girls in our family to go to University and to be encouraged to develop a career for example. And in fact, being women has actually been beneficial to us because we were not expected to have to go out and earn a living as such. Unlike many artists early on in their career, we didn’t have to sell our work to survive or get a second job to support ourselves,” the twins say. That said, Amrit and Rabindra have had to hone their art of over a period of time, and not without the criticism of their peers and mentors regarding subjects that are rooted most certainly in tradition rather than the modern.

For all that the two sisters have been criticised, they have refused to conform to popular opinion. Even their subjects have not been without their share of controversy. A painting titled Nineteen Eighty-Four, which shows the Golden Temple after Operation Blue Star, garnered them praise but a fair share of negative reviews, as it was termed ‘violent’ by some. “The feedback to 1984 moved us but it also humbled us because we don’t feel that we had been particularly brave in depicting this event. It is easy to speak out against injustice when you are not in fear of serious repercussions. We sometimes wonder if we lived in Punjab whether we might perhaps have thought twice about creating it?” the twins say.

But the work that gave the two sisters a sizeable reputation was the portrait of the last Sikh king, Maharaja Duleep Singh. In 2009, the National Museum of Scotland commissioned the sisters to draw a portrait with attention focused on the belongings of the Maharaja that were part of the museum’s collection. “We had been fascinated by the tragic story of Maharaja Duleep Singh for many years. It was a dream commission!” say the twins. “As the starting point of the painting, the museum objects became a key visual focus of the piece. We responded to them in terms of what they represented to us as Sikhs – namely, the nostalgia of a bygone era and the ‘glorious’ days of the Sikh Empire with all its wealth and power on the one hand, but also the spoils of war and conquest representing a stolen heritage – both collective and personal (in the case of Duleep Singh and his family) – on the other,” they add. The portrait was regarded positively by most, while some went on to term it as the “Reclamation of the Last Maharaja”. The sisters, had indeed, reclaimed a bit of Indian colonial history from a popular narrative, in the backyard of the power that perpetuated it in the first place.

Both Amrit and Rabindra stress their affiliation to and longing for their homeland. “Despite living here (in the UK), our lives and our work is a reflection of our cultural values that continue to be inspired by our very Indian traditions,” they say. When asked about the revered portrait of the Raja and whether they would like to re-claim anything in India the sisters say, “It would be the re-appreciation for traditional spiritual and family values that we feel, sadly, appear to be losing importance against the influence and drive for Western life styles and materialism.”

For now, theirs is a lonely presence that accounts for modern sensibilities marked by Indian tradition, in art, in the west. And there has been evidence in the past, to suggest that they will continue to paint in the same image, two at a time, quite literally.

Works by the Singh twins are currently being showcased as part of the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition in London up till 21 August

The history of European art is often considered synonymous with the development of the idea of European individualism. In schools across European countries, individualism is a byword not limited to situating the idea of art within the geography of psychology, but situating it within the landscape of life itself. What would then two sisters who look like each other, paint like each other, and have similar inclinations and ideas, do differently?

The Singh Twins, as they like to call themselves, have been answering that question for about two decades, and with some currency left in the wallet to engender praise, and not for the most visible trait that makes the two unique – their mutual oneness.

Amrit and Rabindra Kaur’s family moved to London during the turmoil of Partition. Born in London, the two sisters at the age of four moved along with their family to Liverpool where they have continued to live till today. “We grew up in a quiet little village and were sent to a Catholic Convent school for its high standards of education, discipline and spiritual grounding. We were the only Indians and non-Christians there, but it didn’t stop us getting involved in the religious life of the school,” the twins say. (They insist that all quotes be attributed to both of them.) “So from the age of seven when we started at the school, this Christian imagery – rich in iconography, symbolism, decoration and narrative – played a huge part in influencing our aesthetic taste and led to our love of Art Nouveau, Renaissance, Pre-Raphaelite and Symbolists art. As children we spent our spare time drawing fantasy and fairytale images inspired by these art movements,” they add.

But being similar and not just in the physical sense, comes with the kind of baggage most people, let alone artists, are not familiar with carrying. Further, the sisters work on the same painting simultaneously, which is as curious an approach as it is must be difficult to execute.

“At school we were first separated in class and then placed in different classrooms, against our will. Later, when we were studying 20th century Western Art History as part of a BA (Hons) degree in Combined Studies, we were heavily criticised by our art tutors for developing similar styles of work (something that was a natural outcome of our joint love for the Indian miniature tradition rather than any conscious decision on our part to be the same). They felt we were not being individual enough. Which went against the ideal they held and taught about ‘individuality’ being ‘the be all and end all’ of contemporary art,” the twins say.

Despite an embedded sense of ‘pop’ in their works, and its rising value in the West, the twins, contrary to logic some might say, took to reviving the Indian miniature tradition. “We absolutely fell in love with miniature paintings when we discovered them during our first trip to India as teenagers in 1980. The technical skill, intricate detail and imaginative compositions; their beautiful jewel-like quality with the illuminated gold work, their narrative power; their satire (often used within the social and political themes) and their rich symbolic language, fascinated us,” the twins say.

Indian miniature paintings over the years have found themselves being replaced with a penchant for the European aesthetic, embodied in the several artistic movements to have run with the likes of Picasso as their central inspiration. And this is something the twins have witnessed for themselves. “We were very disappointed to see how modern Indian art seemed by and large to be following western trends and aesthetics rather than looking to Indian art for inspiration. Not only that, but it seemed that India in general no longer valued this art form which was reduced to cheap imitations for the tourist industry,” the twins say.

As part of an Indian family, albeit one living in the progressive West, women are expected to abide by a certain culture and way of living that enhances our proclivity for social participation. How then did the two unabashedly learn, experiment and express while refusing to accommodate tenets like that of marriage? “We were the first girls in our family to go to University and to be encouraged to develop a career for example. And in fact, being women has actually been beneficial to us because we were not expected to have to go out and earn a living as such. Unlike many artists early on in their career, we didn’t have to sell our work to survive or get a second job to support ourselves,” the twins say. That said, Amrit and Rabindra have had to hone their art of over a period of time, and not without the criticism of their peers and mentors regarding subjects that are rooted most certainly in tradition rather than the modern.

For all that the two sisters have been criticised, they have refused to conform to popular opinion. Even their subjects have not been without their share of controversy. A painting titled Nineteen Eighty-Four, which shows the Golden Temple after Operation Blue Star, garnered them praise but a fair share of negative reviews, as it was termed ‘violent’ by some. “The feedback to 1984 moved us but it also humbled us because we don’t feel that we had been particularly brave in depicting this event. It is easy to speak out against injustice when you are not in fear of serious repercussions. We sometimes wonder if we lived in Punjab whether we might perhaps have thought twice about creating it?” the twins say.

But the work that gave the two sisters a sizeable reputation was the portrait of the last Sikh king, Maharaja Duleep Singh. In 2009, the National Museum of Scotland commissioned the sisters to draw a portrait with attention focused on the belongings of the Maharaja that were part of the museum’s collection. “We had been fascinated by the tragic story of Maharaja Duleep Singh for many years. It was a dream commission!” say the twins. “As the starting point of the painting, the museum objects became a key visual focus of the piece. We responded to them in terms of what they represented to us as Sikhs – namely, the nostalgia of a bygone era and the ‘glorious’ days of the Sikh Empire with all its wealth and power on the one hand, but also the spoils of war and conquest representing a stolen heritage – both collective and personal (in the case of Duleep Singh and his family) – on the other,” they add. The portrait was regarded positively by most, while some went on to term it as the “Reclamation of the Last Maharaja”. The sisters, had indeed, reclaimed a bit of Indian colonial history from a popular narrative, in the backyard of the power that perpetuated it in the first place.

Both Amrit and Rabindra stress their affiliation to and longing for their homeland. “Despite living here (in the UK), our lives and our work is a reflection of our cultural values that continue to be inspired by our very Indian traditions,” they say. When asked about the revered portrait of the Raja and whether they would like to re-claim anything in India the sisters say, “It would be the re-appreciation for traditional spiritual and family values that we feel, sadly, appear to be losing importance against the influence and drive for Western life styles and materialism.”

For now, theirs is a lonely presence that accounts for modern sensibilities marked by Indian tradition, in art, in the west. And there has been evidence in the past, to suggest that they will continue to paint in the same image, two at a time, quite literally.

Works by the Singh twins are currently being showcased as part of the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition in London up till 21 August

A man who lacks knowledge of history is as good to the world as the dead. History, that since the beginning of time, has been there to offer many lessons. The Sikhs too have a rich history bustling with passion for freedom, truth and humanity. With that, the Sikh culture in terms of domestic lifestyles, is largely influenced by the Indian culture, reason being that the majority of Sikhs reside there. However, the two are not to be mistaken as parallel or as two branches of the same tree.

Sadly, despite the fact that the Sikhs’ treasure of history loaded with thousands of gems of martyrdoms, today’s youth grows detached from the Guru, the congregation, and hence the Sikh way of life. This is mainly owing to the continuous portrayal of Sikhs as followers of Indian culture through manipulation of ancient historical reference books, the distribution of misleading literature under the label of “Sikh history” and the widely accepted concept being Sikh means you can practice the Punjabi culture. The poem weeps such loss.

Tragic
The history of aeons and pre, lost.
Leaving but a speck…

Today her children run
Night clubs, bars and vice-deeds,
They seek peace.

Alas! Life is hectic!
A race! A competition!
Live they, as though
They know
best still.

Contentment
A game of balance
Of acceptance and of
Thankfulness

Reconnecting to roots
One learns.
Useless, vicious and mundane
Desires
every man yearns.

Learn from Ancestors.

Grasp tightly ’till
your knuckles turn white
The lessons from history

Of the wrath of
wretched intentions- innocent blood spilled,
Entire countries at
Destruction.

Of self-centred mindsets
Hinder which
any
ripples of evolution.

Of the plethora of martyrdoms
For YOUR betterment,
For YOUR freedom.

God bless our nation,
Our generation.

by Kamalpreet Kaur Sabrah

A man who lacks knowledge of history is as good to the world as the dead. History, that since the beginning of time, has been there to offer many lessons. The Sikhs too have a rich history bustling with passion for freedom, truth and humanity. With that, the Sikh culture in terms of domestic lifestyles, is largely influenced by the Indian culture, reason being that the majority of Sikhs reside there. However, the two are not to be mistaken as parallel or as two branches of the same tree.

Sadly, despite the fact that the Sikhs’ treasure of history loaded with thousands of gems of martyrdoms, today’s youth grows detached from the Guru, the congregation, and hence the Sikh way of life. This is mainly owing to the continuous portrayal of Sikhs as followers of Indian culture through manipulation of ancient historical reference books, the distribution of misleading literature under the label of “Sikh history” and the widely accepted concept being Sikh means you can practice the Punjabi culture. The poem weeps such loss.

Tragic
The history of aeons and pre, lost.
Leaving but a speck…

Today her children run
Night clubs, bars and vice-deeds,
They seek peace.

Alas! Life is hectic!
A race! A competition!
Live they, as though
They know
best still.

Contentment
A game of balance
Of acceptance and of
Thankfulness

Reconnecting to roots
One learns.
Useless, vicious and mundane
Desires
every man yearns.

Learn from Ancestors.

Grasp tightly ’till
your knuckles turn white
The lessons from history

Of the wrath of
wretched intentions- innocent blood spilled,
Entire countries at
Destruction.

Of self-centred mindsets
Hinder which
any
ripples of evolution.

Of the plethora of martyrdoms
For YOUR betterment,
For YOUR freedom.

God bless our nation,
Our generation.

by Kamalpreet Kaur Sabrah

A 35 years old IT professional from Melbourne will be the first Sikh woman to contest in the local government elections in Australia.

Gurinder Kaur, born and raised in Amritsar, will be contesting as an independent candidate to represent the South-West ward in Whittlesea council in Victoria.

“I have opinions on what I think our city could look like or should look like… I’m wanting to make sure I’m listening to the community as well so it’s not just me going in with what I think should happen,” she tells Asia Samachar in an email.

She is also an independent member of the Victorian Sikh Gurdwaras Council in Australia.
An IT professional, Gurinder said she moved to Australia in 2006 and has experience of working in private as well as public sector.

She added that she has been very active in community projects including mentoring refugees to setup small business, fund-raising for cancer hospitals, kids camps, crisis support for international students and other local projects.

John Arkan, a blueberry farmer from Woolgoolga, is the first Sikh councillor of Australia when he was elected as a council member of the Coffs Harbour City Council in 2008 and later as deputy mayor in 2012-2013.

In July, he ran as an independent candidate for a seat in the New South Wales (NSW) in the 2 July Federal elections. He came out in the sixth position on vote count.

In her email, Gurinder said she council matters were not just about pipes and drains and roads, but about the social things that need to go on in communities.

She said she would like to see a library around Wollert, greater safety for residents and small business owners, extension of O’herns Rd and a new secondary college in Epping North.

Voting is compulsory for voters on the State roll for this election and enrolled residents may be fined if they do not vote, according to information at the Victorian Electoral Commission website.

A 35 years old IT professional from Melbourne will be the first Sikh woman to contest in the local government elections in Australia.

Gurinder Kaur, born and raised in Amritsar, will be contesting as an independent candidate to represent the South-West ward in Whittlesea council in Victoria.

“I have opinions on what I think our city could look like or should look like… I’m wanting to make sure I’m listening to the community as well so it’s not just me going in with what I think should happen,” she tells Asia Samachar in an email.

She is also an independent member of the Victorian Sikh Gurdwaras Council in Australia.
An IT professional, Gurinder said she moved to Australia in 2006 and has experience of working in private as well as public sector.

She added that she has been very active in community projects including mentoring refugees to setup small business, fund-raising for cancer hospitals, kids camps, crisis support for international students and other local projects.

John Arkan, a blueberry farmer from Woolgoolga, is the first Sikh councillor of Australia when he was elected as a council member of the Coffs Harbour City Council in 2008 and later as deputy mayor in 2012-2013.

In July, he ran as an independent candidate for a seat in the New South Wales (NSW) in the 2 July Federal elections. He came out in the sixth position on vote count.

In her email, Gurinder said she council matters were not just about pipes and drains and roads, but about the social things that need to go on in communities.

She said she would like to see a library around Wollert, greater safety for residents and small business owners, extension of O’herns Rd and a new secondary college in Epping North.

Voting is compulsory for voters on the State roll for this election and enrolled residents may be fined if they do not vote, according to information at the Victorian Electoral Commission website.

Every day we celebrate the raucous diversity that is Mash-Up America. One of our greatest joys is meeting people whose stories are foreign to us, whose cultures and traditions we know nothing about, and learning from them and sharing our own.

But it takes strength to celebrate our differences, and sometimes, being mashy can be tough, especially for a kid. Bullying is real. Even years later, you can find yourself vulnerable to the same anger and fear you felt as a child. Our Sikh-American Mash-Up Rupinder Singh shares with us what happened when he faced his childhood nemesis, and the choice he made.

Oh, and have you seen Rupinder’s best tips for turning anger into hope? News you can use.

Without warning, a routine trip to the bank threw me back to my childhood, and dropped me at an emotional crossroads.

Growing up, I was smaller than most boys my age. I was shy, introverted, and a bit nerdy. As a child of immigrants, I was constantly playing catch up with my peers in terms of understanding western culture, having to figure out for myself what that even was. I had brown skin, long hair, and wore a patka, a Sikh article of faith worn by children to cover our hair. Needless to say, I stood out.

My appearance didn’t do me a lot of favors at school. I dreaded walking the hallways, because that was when other students, at best, would call me all kinds of names as I passed by them, or at worst, would grab at my turban and sometimes even try to pull it off. Given my size, I would try to silently ignore these kids instead of confront them, but that wasn’t entirely successful. I could only block so many hands, and my resolve could only be so strong in the face of constant harassment. I remember one day in the ninth grade when, in the midst of going through this torment in the middle of a class, I simply broke down and wept in front of my tormentors, who then lost interest in continuing to toy with their prey.

Fast forward to me as a grown man, walking into the bank for a simple errand. When it was my turn in line, I approached the teller. The instant I saw his name tag, I knew who he was. Let’s call him “Joe.”

I had a flashback to Joe grabbing my patka, and laughing. I remembered the shame and powerlessness I felt when he mocked me in front of my classmates. Joe never let an opportunity to bully me pass him by. As a kid, I was resigned to the fact that he would humiliate me any time he got a chance. And he did, every time. In fact, on his last day in our school, he made it a point to find me so he could grab my turban one last time. Shaming me was that important to him.

Now I stood in front of him in the bank, and he was serving me. I was taller than him. I wore a man’s full turban now, a beard and mustache.

As he helped me with my transaction, I could feel myself filling with anger. I looked him straight in the eye.

I wanted to say something, but I also was curious to see if he would recognize me and say something first. Would he apologize for what he did to me as a teen? Would he laugh it off? Perhaps he thought so little of what he did to that boy so many years ago, that he wouldn’t even remember. The thought made me more furious, and as Joe began stamping deposit slips, I felt my temperature rising.

I wanted Joe to know that despite how demeaned and humiliated I felt because of his actions back in school, I stood before him that day with my identity intact. He, and all the others like him, did not break me.

And I admit: There was also a part of me that wanted to dare him to touch my turban now. I wanted him to try so I could grab him and pull him over the counter by the collar, and humiliate him as he did to me all those many years.

However, as the minutes flew by, I did nothing and said nothing. I politely completed my transaction with him and left. I could have caused a confrontation, but what would that have even meant to him? I would have been the crazy guy with a turban who attacked him randomly in the bank and had to be thrown out by security. And what would it have meant to me? It would have changed nothing about our past. Even as I write this now, I can feel that anger welling up inside me. Joe’s bullying is probably not something he’s needed to come to terms with in his life, but for me, that damage was done, and indeed, it clearly lingers.

Whenever I see a Sikh child in this country, especially one wearing a patka as I did, I wonder about what that child might be going through in school. Is there a Joe in that child’s life? Are they facing what I did when I was their age? It’s enough to dampen my eyes.

And yet, I’m actually thankful that I went through the bullying. When as a child, I felt threatened to go to school, faced all kinds of abuse and yet still maintained my religious articles of faith without question, I know that today there is nothing I can’t face. Those experiences have made me a stronger, more confident Sikh, and a stronger, more compassionate man.

I can’t change the past. But I’ve learned to accept my own experiences and be constructive. I free myself from my anger by advocating for anti-bullying policies and laws, educating teachers and school administrators about Sikh children and the issues we face in their schools, and mentoring Sikh youth. I have found allies in these issues, and I hope that many find an ally in me. In some ways, my anger has empowered me to do what I couldn’t as a child, and has given me hope that together, we’re creating a safer, kinder world for our kids.

Every day we celebrate the raucous diversity that is Mash-Up America. One of our greatest joys is meeting people whose stories are foreign to us, whose cultures and traditions we know nothing about, and learning from them and sharing our own.

But it takes strength to celebrate our differences, and sometimes, being mashy can be tough, especially for a kid. Bullying is real. Even years later, you can find yourself vulnerable to the same anger and fear you felt as a child. Our Sikh-American Mash-Up Rupinder Singh shares with us what happened when he faced his childhood nemesis, and the choice he made.

Oh, and have you seen Rupinder’s best tips for turning anger into hope? News you can use.

Without warning, a routine trip to the bank threw me back to my childhood, and dropped me at an emotional crossroads.

Growing up, I was smaller than most boys my age. I was shy, introverted, and a bit nerdy. As a child of immigrants, I was constantly playing catch up with my peers in terms of understanding western culture, having to figure out for myself what that even was. I had brown skin, long hair, and wore a patka, a Sikh article of faith worn by children to cover our hair. Needless to say, I stood out.

My appearance didn’t do me a lot of favors at school. I dreaded walking the hallways, because that was when other students, at best, would call me all kinds of names as I passed by them, or at worst, would grab at my turban and sometimes even try to pull it off. Given my size, I would try to silently ignore these kids instead of confront them, but that wasn’t entirely successful. I could only block so many hands, and my resolve could only be so strong in the face of constant harassment. I remember one day in the ninth grade when, in the midst of going through this torment in the middle of a class, I simply broke down and wept in front of my tormentors, who then lost interest in continuing to toy with their prey.

Fast forward to me as a grown man, walking into the bank for a simple errand. When it was my turn in line, I approached the teller. The instant I saw his name tag, I knew who he was. Let’s call him “Joe.”

I had a flashback to Joe grabbing my patka, and laughing. I remembered the shame and powerlessness I felt when he mocked me in front of my classmates. Joe never let an opportunity to bully me pass him by. As a kid, I was resigned to the fact that he would humiliate me any time he got a chance. And he did, every time. In fact, on his last day in our school, he made it a point to find me so he could grab my turban one last time. Shaming me was that important to him.

Now I stood in front of him in the bank, and he was serving me. I was taller than him. I wore a man’s full turban now, a beard and mustache.

As he helped me with my transaction, I could feel myself filling with anger. I looked him straight in the eye.

I wanted to say something, but I also was curious to see if he would recognize me and say something first. Would he apologize for what he did to me as a teen? Would he laugh it off? Perhaps he thought so little of what he did to that boy so many years ago, that he wouldn’t even remember. The thought made me more furious, and as Joe began stamping deposit slips, I felt my temperature rising.

I wanted Joe to know that despite how demeaned and humiliated I felt because of his actions back in school, I stood before him that day with my identity intact. He, and all the others like him, did not break me.

And I admit: There was also a part of me that wanted to dare him to touch my turban now. I wanted him to try so I could grab him and pull him over the counter by the collar, and humiliate him as he did to me all those many years.

However, as the minutes flew by, I did nothing and said nothing. I politely completed my transaction with him and left. I could have caused a confrontation, but what would that have even meant to him? I would have been the crazy guy with a turban who attacked him randomly in the bank and had to be thrown out by security. And what would it have meant to me? It would have changed nothing about our past. Even as I write this now, I can feel that anger welling up inside me. Joe’s bullying is probably not something he’s needed to come to terms with in his life, but for me, that damage was done, and indeed, it clearly lingers.

Whenever I see a Sikh child in this country, especially one wearing a patka as I did, I wonder about what that child might be going through in school. Is there a Joe in that child’s life? Are they facing what I did when I was their age? It’s enough to dampen my eyes.

And yet, I’m actually thankful that I went through the bullying. When as a child, I felt threatened to go to school, faced all kinds of abuse and yet still maintained my religious articles of faith without question, I know that today there is nothing I can’t face. Those experiences have made me a stronger, more confident Sikh, and a stronger, more compassionate man.

I can’t change the past. But I’ve learned to accept my own experiences and be constructive. I free myself from my anger by advocating for anti-bullying policies and laws, educating teachers and school administrators about Sikh children and the issues we face in their schools, and mentoring Sikh youth. I have found allies in these issues, and I hope that many find an ally in me. In some ways, my anger has empowered me to do what I couldn’t as a child, and has given me hope that together, we’re creating a safer, kinder world for our kids.

This is Bhai Manvir Singh UK ‘s story of keeping Kesh (unshorn hair) and coming back to sikhi. He used to be a mona (cut my hair), who became keshdhari (stopped cutting my hair) and kept Guru’s Rehat (Sikh discipline). The story dates from May/April – August 2000. He has recorded and added his experiences from prior this time as well and how he have struggled to keep Kesh. He believes that his story isn’t anything exceptional, however he thought it might help to inspire those who might be in similar situation as he was in before.

_________________________________

Waheguru Ji Ka Khalsa,
Waheguru Ji Ki Fateh!!

I have recently kept my Kesh. Thanks to my parents, I feel I have been brought up with Sikh values and beliefs. I am able to do Keertan and read Gurbaani and have an interest in Sikh philosophy and history. I am not saying that I am a saint or anything, but as I grew older I realised the value of my actions and the distinction between gurmat and manmat acts. So my ‘Manmat’ actions were becoming aware to me.

However, I had always felt one thing missing in my life. Like a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of pieces missing. One of those pieces missing was my KESH! I had always wanted to have Kesh from when I was a child. As I grew up I learnt more and more things, and started realising more about Sikhi. I looked at other Keshdhari Sikhs and children and thought, ‘why am I not like them’, ‘why am I not a Sikh, but I call myself Sikh!’ I wished and wanted to look like them, with a ‘guttee’ (hair knot), ‘keshki’ and ‘dastaar’ (turban).

I enjoyed going to the Gurdwara and sitting in Saadh Sangat and listening to what the person on the stage was saying. Sometimes when I was really young, my dad used to tie a pagh on me when going to the Gurdwara. I liked wearing the ‘dastaar’. When I was about twelve to fourteen years old I used to tie a pagh by myself with a little help from my dad. I would tie a pagh when going to the Gurdwara on Gurpurbs. My Taya Ji (uncle) used to like me wearing a pagh to the Gurdwara. He used to always tell rishtedaar (relatives) about how good I am, and how I wear a pagh to the Gurdwara. He was happy and all excited when he used to tell people. However sometimes I used to feel awkward and annoyed. I felt a fool, as if I was tricking myself. Wearing pagh on Gurpurbs and then cutting my hair. So it felt a little embarrassing when my Taya Ji or someone else would say how good I am, how I can I sing shabads, do Keertan, read Paat and wear a pagh and look smart. I used to think that people must think what a fool I am. Doing all of this and thinking I am a Sikh, when I cut my hair. However, now I realise why my Taya Ji and others were happy, and I remain grateful to them for their support and guidance they gave me, which I realised later.

The town where I live is mostly full of gore and a strong minority of Pakistanis. There is only a small community of Sikhs, like 60 homes. However there are not any Keshdhari youngsters. In the whole town the only people I know who have Kesh are one or two old people and one or two very young children, but no teenagers or young adults have Kesh. I always dreamt and pictured myself in the future as being Keshdhari. I would say that one day I would have kesh. At night sometimes I would dream of being in full Sikhi Saroop. I never saw myself as a mona (cut haired), instead I used dream that as an adult I would have a pagh (turban) and an uncut beard, looking smart and proud.

I never liked having a hair cut! I remember as a child sometimes my dad would cut my hair with a trimming machine. Looking back now it reminds me of pictures and scenes when a Hindu child gets his head shaved by an elder family member in the Hindu initiation ceremony for babies. I wanted to keep Kesh but couldn’t. Like a hungry child who wants roti but can’t make it. I felt guilty and ashamed that as a Sikh, I was cutting my hair when great Sikhs like shaheed Bhai Taru Singh Ji refused to have his Kesh cut and instead he said that he would rather have his scalp removed. That is how much pyaar (love) Bhai Taru Singh Ji had for the Kesh, the identity, the image that the Guru had bestowed upon him.

I couldn’t bring myself around to saying that I am a Singh and that I am proud to be Sikh (even though I was proud). Instead I felt I was a disgrace to my religion because I had my hair cut and still had the nerve to call myself a Sikh. Even though I had religious views I wasn’t practising what I believed; so I felt awkward.

At school gore would ask me what my religion was. When I said I was ‘Sikh’ they would say, ‘yeah but why is your hair cut then, aren’t Sikhs supposed to have uncut hair and wear a turban’. WHAT ANSWER COULD I GIVE THEM! What that it is common for (BLIND FOOLISH) Sikhs to cut their hair? All I could say is that I am not religious, HOWEVER I was and was proud to be a Sikh! But again, I had put myself to shame. Shaheeds (martyrs) like the two young sahibzaade, sons of Guru Gobind Singh Ji, aged 5 and 7yrs old, were bricked alive for refusing to give up their Sikhi. When faced with the challenge of death or converting to another faith they chose death. They were confident and kept their faith, however difficult the times were, and they roared “BOLE SO NIHAL, SAT SIREE AKAAL” on being martyred. And there I was sitting in England, with an easy life, no one to asking me to convert or die; yet I was being forced to say that I am not Sikh when I really was.

-Source- SinghStation