Emotional Time

I published this earlier today in my personal blog, sometimes - 2. After some thought. I think it also belongs over here. I start out talking to my blog.

sometimes 2, I need to talk to you very intimately today. I need the relief of talking to a good friend who knows me well enough to understand my heart. Mani is gone, so I'll have to talk to you.

I am feeling very emotional, an unusual state for me. I usually keep my emotions under a control that would do a Vulcan proud. But today I even had to cut short a chat with a friend because I was getting too emotionally overcome to carry on a decent conversation. I tend to get like this twice a year: the first week in November and the second week in April. The first week in November we all know. The second week in April is personal.

Next Monday is my birthday. I'll be 55. It's also the anniversary of my wedding to Mani. That would have been 37. He died 22 1/2 years ago. I have another husband who loves me dearly, another life, I live in another place. You would think that after so many years and so many events, the loneliness would dissipate. I keep hoping.

It is no coincidence that my wedding day was also my eighteenth birthday. It was the first day I could get married without parental consent. I not only had consent, I had joyful, overwhelming approval. But I am me, and I wanted to be totally free. Dad understood and was, in fact, amused.

If I may offer some advice, don't get married on a day that you will celebrate every year for some other reason. Each year on my birthday, which I can't escape, I am also transported back to that other day, eighteen years later. And it hurts.

This afternoon, I was watching Judge Judy on TV, when I was overcome by a sudden need to hide my face in Mani's hair. I used to do that when I felt overwhelmed by the world. I'd curl up next to him and he'd take down his kes and open it and cover me with it, especially my face. I'd feel so safe and secure and loved. His hair was always impeccably clean, of course, and had a distinctive fresh aroma. He'd put his arm around me and softly sing whatever came into his head. I could just lie like that for as long as he'd let me. The world would slip away until nothing but the two of us remained. Then we could share with each other whatever we had to share. I longed so much for that this
afternoon that it made me dizzy. Detachment has never been easy for me.

Something else I have carried in me for all this time is a picture, perhaps a vision, perhaps just imagination. I see Mani and Sandy running into the light, holding our two baby Kaurs, laughing and happy, all four of them. I see them joyfully greeted by Guru Gobind Singh Ji, who is so very happy to see them. One by one, he gently tosses the girls up in the air and catches them as they come down into his arms gurgling happily. He puts his arms around my men's shoulders and greets them as his sons and they greet him as 'Dad.' It is all informal and familial. They are in a field of yellow flowers, with a pride of lions watching. The whole scene is one of joyful homecoming, without the slightest hint of pain or tragedy. I'm sure this all violates some accepted Sikh teaching, but still I wish I were a good artist and could paint this. Or maybe someday, I'll get enough money to hire some talented Singh or Kaur to paint it for me.

I close my eyes and see it all so clearly. Perhaps I should use that thought control I tout so often. Give me a few more days and I'll put it all away for another year.

Darling, be home soon,
I couldn't stand to wait another
minute if you dawdled,
My darling, be home soon.
It's not just these few
hours, I've been waiting since I toddled
For the great reliefof having you
to talk to.

from Darling Be Home Soon

Watercolour courtesy of jathedar

Used by permission

'A Big Apology'

Earlier this month we received this e-mail. Thinking that the readers of our blog might like to read it, we have received the author's permission to publish it. We had offered to leave his name off, but he said it was matter of honour to him to support our cause. He is now 33 years old and has recently moved to America. Here is his letter.

Respected writer,
I today happened to read about your life incidents on the
October 31 - November 6, 1984. I am very sorry for what had happened back then,
I just can't imagine the pain you must have gone through, If anything I offer
you heart felt condolences and a big and sincere apology on behalf of all Hindus
who participated in that gory act of vandalism and hate. Please understand that
tragedy was the work of very mindless individuals; and the larger community all
around the India at that time and still do sympathize with the victims and their
near and dear ones and if possible please don't hate all Hindus for the this
very reason.
Respectfully Yours
Suresh Sharma

Here is the reply from Maman (Vini):

Esteemed reader, Mr. Sharma,

Thank you for your gracious
note. Yes, we had a lot of pain and we still do and we always
will.
Goodwill and the hope that people will not let it happen again
help keep us
going. Of course, we do not hate all Hindus. I
think I don't hate
any Hindus. I want justice, though. We all
do.

Thank
you again for your note.

Sincere
regards to you and your
family,

Vini Kaur

And here is the reply from Mai and Suni:

Dear Mr. Sharma,

The three of us have been discussing your letter since
it came to our in boxes yesterday. Maman (Vini) has already answered you. So
this is from Mai and Suni, with Mai actually writing and Suni kibbitzing.

We are grateful for your sentiments. We hope our blog has put a human
face on this tragedy. After all, these things happened to real people, like us,
two normal, ordinary Sikh women caught up in abnormal, extraordinary
circumstances. We are more than happy to accept your apology on your own behalf.
Your sincerity is apparent and quite moving. However, you cannot really
apologise for others who may or may not be sorry for what they did. And I have
not heard a single apology from a real participant, only from a Sikh Prime
Minister on behalf of the government. I realise, of course, that an individual's
apology might result in legal trouble, so I don't expect any such thing.

If your sincerity extends to wanting to do something, might I suggest
aiding the survivors in Delhi? Many of them are living in a physical as well as
a mental and emotional hell. I know they accept any help with great gratitude.
We are fortunate ourselves, we could easily have ended up in that condition and
we ache for our sisters and our brothers who have not been able to recover even
financially.

Another, much more minor thing, you could do is not to
ridicule us; I'm sure you don't do that anyway. But these sardar jokes, the
Bollywood portrayals and the Santa/Banta jokes which aren't even funny have got
to go. It is much easier to mistreat people who are already treated with
disrespect.

As for hating Hindus, we simply don't, for lots of reasons.
To begin with, prejudice is a very heavy burden to bear - as well as being
immoral. It would be against the very foundation of Sikhism for us to indulge in
such evil.

A second reason, one we cannot tell in our blog, although we
wish we could, is that Hindus saved our lives.

It was like this:

THIS PART MUST BE DELETED AT THE
REQUEST OF OUR RESCUERS.

But they are the only reason you
are reading this now.

In addition, the other members of the household,
who all survived uninjured, hid with Hindu friends, who were also taking risks
in aiding them.

On the other hand, on a lighter note, we do demand a
special respect from our Hindu friends - of which we have many - reminding them
that if it weren't for us Sikhs, they might well be called Muhammed or Miriam.

We appreciate the fact that you signed your name. That took a great deal
of courage.

We would like your permission to post your letter - without
your name, of course - on our blog. I'm sure many Singhs and Singhnis would be
very happy to read it. Please think about this: if you look for that bit of God
in each individual, you could never possibly mistreat anyone, ever.

With
warmest regards,

Mai and Suni

We have no idea how our readers will react to this, but we thought you should be given an opportunity to reply.

The Warrior In Today's Society.

I have been carrying this article around in my wallet since I first found it last June. I have, however, in my own copy regendered all the pronouns, so it refers to the woman warrior directly. If anyone would like a copy of that, please contact me - address on the sidebar -->

It shows, to a large degree, how I/we attempt to live my/our life/lives.

Warrior in Today’s Society
Jermaine Andre is a professional mixed martial artist, a great warrior and a righteous man. These are his words.

'To be a warrior in today's society is to be one of the unaccepted and misunderstood.

As a true warrior carries more concern and emotion than the average person, he must always suppress his feelings so that he will not die from sadness.This usually leads the judgmental into believing that the warrior is a man of no heart. A true warrior looks deeply into all things without limiting his mind inside of the borders of societies restrictions. He makes his judgments off of what he has learned through experience instead of what he is told to believe.

A code of honor is always established somewhere within a warrior's life. His honor is more important to him than life itself. He would rather be dead with honor than alive without it. Please understand that a warrior's honor is not to be confused with a fool's ego. A warrior of today must always keep himself disconnected from the gratifications that society allows. Material things and money are only that to him. He must always be prepared to die for what he believes in, so he must never fear leaving things behind.

They do not sway with the winning side if it is in the wrong. This would be dishonorable. A warrior knows of things that the domesticated doesn't because of his courage to seek and find at his own will. This always keeps him separate from the sheep who follow the manipulating shepherd.

He does not look for his honor through fame or what other people think of him.

Even if the world condemns what he is doing as wrong, he will keep doing it if he himself feels that it is right. He does not seek the approval of misled and misguided men. Only the approval of the Spirit that he has chosen as his leader.

To the warrior, his only fear of death, is to die a cowardly one. To die a good, warrior's death … is only a blessing from his Superior Spirit.

Death through life is what the warrior will seek … and life through death, is what he shall find.'

Sevadaars Note : From reading the above what is the difference between a GurSikh and a Modern Day Warrior : NOTHING!!

WaheguruJeeKaaKhalsa WaheguruJeeKeeFateh!!

This entry was posted on Saturday, June 3rd, 2006 at 9:00 am

From: Singhs At The Crossroads

Reprinted with permission

Kurahit

If the previous post were fiction, I would end it thus:

'A few days later I returned to the same spot. All I saw was a vacant lot strewn
with litter. No Nishan. No gurdwara. [fade out, playing Twilight Zone
theme.]

Of course, nothing like that happened.

The granthi suggested that I knew what I needed to do. He was right, of course, but I felt as though he were suggesting that I turn myself into the Gestapo for execution. I had totally forgotten the love and compassion that exists within our sister/brotherhood. That small group of Khalsa know all the details of my 'crimes and misdemeanours.'

After chopping off my hair (#1) and disappearing into maya, I decided that to fully experience maya I needed to try drugs. And I did...everything I could find (#2). I hated it all, and felt like a perfect idiot. There were two exceptions to that: Courvoisier (after all, I am almost half French) and smoking. The cognac was pleasant, but easy enough to give up. Smoking, though, I had to try many times before being able to stop. Eventually, though, I succeeded. Our Guru Gobind Singh Ji was totally correct is his condemnation of tobacco. It is dangerous and insidious. I remained a vegetarian, so halal meat(#3) was no problem. I can just imagine everyone waiting to hear details of my filthy sex life (#4). I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint the more licentious of my readers; there was no sexual misbehaviour. My shield there was only my love for Mani. I couldn't bear to cheapen what we had had in our marriage. I am not sure of the order, but those are all four.

My sisters and brothers were all wonderful to me. When I was partway through my sewa, I had a major stroke; I flatlined twice and was expected to die and stay dead. I didn't. Every one of them came to me in hospital with encouragement and hope.

I have continued to clean up my life, now with half my body not working properly. So it goes. I am slowly moving toward some sort of normalcy. I can walk and I can talk and I can write. A soldier I have always been; the saint part takes a lot longer. I pray that will come in time.

Mai

Where My Foot Steps Down Is Where It's Home

I found this statement on Valerie Kaur's website. She is the woman who made the film Divided We Fall and the statement relates to that. We felt it could equally refer to our blog. We would encourage everyone, actually we would demand, if we could, that everyone reading our blog go to this address and read this post in her blog, Into the Whirlwind:

"I didn't start the journey because I thought I was the best person for the
job but rather because I could not be whole in the world without trying. I think
all of us are presented with moments when we must choose whether to cross our
fear and do something risky but important - or turn away and stay comfortable."

http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The rest of this post is not so easy to write. Several people have expressed an interest in what happened to me during the twenty years I was separated from my family and the Sangat. How would I title that? My Life in Exile or perhaps more accurately, My Life As A Patit?

I didn't break all the rules, but enough that I am not yet willing to face world-wide humiliation, even anonymously on the Internet. Maybe I'm not even really ready to face them in myself. (My ego will destroy me yet!) The truth is that I am not ready to make public all my mistakes, no, not mistakes, because I knew what I was doing, during those twenty years. Nor am I willing to gloss over the way that I lived and the things that I did. So the telling of those tales will have to wait for my spiritual growth.

I did, however, accomplish one thing that I can write about.

One person asked me, 'Did you find what you were looking for out there?'

The answer is, 'Yes, in a sort of back-handed way. In fact, I found that what I was looking for wasn't out there.'

The story of how my life as a tourist, an adventurer and an explorer in Maya ended is hopeful and worth telling.

I walk a lot. It is one of my favourite ways to think, contemplate and just be. I have often thought the people in my neighbourhood, if they notice me at all, must think I am a crazy eccentric just wandering around with her head in the clouds.

One day, I walked a bit farther than I had gone before. Without realising it, I had strolled several kilometres from home and found myself outside of a smallish square building with an inviting look to it. I looked up and saw the Nishan flying proudly above the surrounding trees. I felt an almost physicalfeeling of something pulling on my body, a compulsion to go in. So for the first time in twenty years, I entered a gurdwara.

There were several people inside, but no one who had ever seen me before. I had thought I would feel strange, but a sense of familiarity came over me. I did all the prescribed things, almost in a fog and found myself approaching our beloved Guruji. I bowed before him and, as my forehead touched the floor, I felt those years and the stench of all those stupid things I had done melt away from me. I had come home and I felt as if Guruji had welcomed me back.

I sat, not in a daze exactly, but also not in my usual state of consciousness. I sat, eyes closed, for a long time. I could hear the people around me, including a couple of kids that kept running around, but nothing disturbed me.

When I finally opened my eyes, everyone was gone except the granthi. When I got up to leave, he spoke to me.

He asked the questions I would expect since I was a complete stranger who looked like a gorah and acted like a Sikh.

I told him some of my story. He glanced at the scars on my right arm and I just nodded. He suggested that we ask Guruji what he has to say about all this. So we did. The Hukamnama was on page 709. I'm not going to reproduce it here, but a link to the Sri Granth Guru Sahib, Guruji, is www.srigranth.org/servlet/gurbani.gurbani?S=y. Since you are reading this, I assume you have access to the Internet.

That is enough of the story for now. I did not immediately contact my family. I still had a long way to go. But this was a first step, and a happy one.

Being lost is worth the coming home.

Neil Diamond, Stones

The title of this post is taken from a song The Crippled Lion by Michael Nesmith

Another Great Shaheed in the Battle For Khalistan

Please visit this blog to read this post. It is a great story of courage and hope about the life and death of Bhai Hakam Singh, another modern shaheed in the battle for Khalistan.

http://ikonkaar.blogspot.com/2007/03/children-of-waheguru-bhai-hakam-singh.html

We most highly recommend this whole blog.