Remembering The True Father Of Indian Independence

BHAGAT SINGH

CENTENARY

BORN 27 SEPTEMBER 1907

ACHIEVED SHAHEEDI 23 MARCH 1931

Bhagat Singh

Age 20

Bhagat Singh

Age 17

Bhagat Singh

Age 11

Kishan Singh

Father

Arjan Singh

Grandfather

'The Terrorists' - Where Are They Now?

The Hindu is not my favourite newspaper. Nonetheless, I do sometimes read it. And invariably come away annoyed. This article , The Road Home From Khalistan, showed up in a Google News Alert for 'Khalistan.' It talks about what has become of three Khalistanis in the years since 'the end of the war for Khalistan.'. That is, the taming of the the Khalistan terrorists. This article annoyed me greatly and I'd like your ideas and opinions on this, er, assessment of the situation. Excepts from the story are below, a short bit about each of these tamed 'terrorists.' Please go to the link above and read the whole **[rather biased] article.

Fifteen years ago, Navtej Singh was one of *the Khalistan
Commando Force’s leading operatives. From 1981 to 1993, the war he fought in
claimed the lives of 21,043 people — 11,594 civilians, 8,003 terrorists, and
1,746 security force personnel. Now, dozens of men like Singh, fortunate enough
to survive the carnage, are attempting to put their forgotten war
behind them, and rebuild their lives. (Italics mine)

Singh joined the KCF as a teenager. His brother had joined the
Khalistan movement soon after Operation Bluestar, in 1984; many of his closest
friends were members of terror groups. “I used to be detained for questioning
whenever anything happened,” he recalls, “and the police would often torture me.
I finally decided to fight.” Read on...

The Truck Driver

On the day Prime Minister Indira Gandhi was assassinated, Manjinder Singh Issi was celebrating the sale of his family
harvest with six friends — and five bottles of liquor. He had no idea of the
gathering storm that would, within months, transfigure his life.
Back in
1984, Issi was a student at the Government College in Malerkotla. His family,
which owned a 10-hectare farm near the south Punjab town of Dhuri, supported the
centre-right Shiromani Akali Dal leaders ranged against Jarnail Singh
Bhindranwale’s neoconservative movement. On one occasion, Issi marched to the
Golden Temple in support of the former Chief Minister, Surjit Singh Barnala.
In college, though, he met the man who changed his life: ‘Professor’
Devinder Pal Singh Bhullar, a top *Khalistan
Liberation Front operative ...Read on...

And the third

Soon after Gyan Singh Leel emerged from his 17
years in prison, three of them on death row, he sat with a small group of
friends in Ludhiana, listening to a virtuoso sitar performance. “The one thing I
have ever really wanted to do,” he said, crying quietly, “is learn to play the
sitar.”
Leel was one of a group of young men who, on August 21, 1985, pumped
bullets into the body of the centrist SAD leader, Harcharan Singh Longowal. The
architect of a peace deal with Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi, Longowal was seen by
most in Punjab as the last hope of a peaceful resolution of the conflict — and
by his neoconservative detractors as a traitor. Leel’s bullet, it is believed,
hit Longowal on the chest...Read on...

*If anyone has better links than Wikipedia for these two organisations, I would love to link them. Just let me know. Also if anyone has good links to these gentlemen, I would be most grateful if you would share them with us.

**For those of you that don't know, I use [--] as a devise to avoid the use of expletives. To get the meaning, just substitute the enclosed words with something really filthy.

If you are interested in the establishment of the Republic of Khalistan as a political reality, please read this letter.

The Will Of God Will Never Take You

I took this poem from the blog, Waheguru Ji. Mr. Singh didn't know who wrote it; I don't know who wrote it, but we assume the Gursikh who wrote would want it to bring comfort to us all.

We think of that time in Delhi in 1984 when we had to keep repeating to ourselves, 'The Hukam of Waheguru,' hold onto our faith and each other and sing and do our best to live as last hours before going home, as we had always been taught, in chardi kalaa.

We find this poem comforting and we hope it also brings you comfort and hope.

The will of God will never take you,
Where the grace of God cannot keep you.
Where the arms of God cannot support you,
Where the riches of God cannot supply your needs,
Where the power of God cannot endow you.



The will of God will never take you,
Where the spirit of God cannot work through you,
Where the wisdom of God cannot teach you,
Where the army of God cannot protect you,
Where the hands of God cannot mold you.



The will of God will never take you,
Where the love of God cannot enfold you,
Where the mercies of God cannot sustain you,
Where the peace of God cannot calm your fears,
Where the authority of God cannot overrule you.






The will of God will never take you,
Where the comfort of God cannot dry your tears,
Where the Word of God cannot feed you,
Where the miracles of God cannot be done for you,
Where the omnipresence of God cannot find you.












Top photograph: Bhagat Singh in Prison

All other illustrations courtesy of Simmal Tree

A Sikhtoon Worth Considering

This seems a bit hard to read, so here's what they're saying:

1. AFTER INDIRIA JI'S ASSASINATION, WE TOOK OUR REVENGE AND BURNT ALIVE A FEW THOUSAND SIKHS AND RAPED THEIR WOMEN.
2. AS HOME MINISTER I MADE SURE THE MILITARY WAITED IT OUT UNTIL THE MOBS COULD DO THEIR JOB.
3. DELHI POLICE WANTED A PIECE OF THE ACTION SO WE JOINED THE MOBS AS WELL.
4. WE PROVIDED THE BLESSINGS OF THE CONGRESS PARTY.
5. 10 JUDICIAL COMMISSIONS IN 20 YEARS AND YOU THOUGHT WE WERE SERVING JUSTICE. HEY, YOU CAN'T TRY MOST OF THE GUILTY ANYMORE.
6. ALLTHE PRIME MINISTERS BEFORE ME DID NOT TAKE ANY ACTION, SO WHY THE HELL SHOULD I?
7. MY APOLOGIES FOR ALL THEIR CRIMES.
8. WE BURN ALIVE A FEW THOUSANDS SIKHS, GET AWAY WITH IT, AND 21 YEARS LATER GET THIS GUY, A SIKH PRIME MINISTER TO APOLOGISE FOR IT ALL. A FREAKING STROKE A GENIUS. WE ARE TRULY WICKED!

used with permission

An Unexpected Encounter

I had not intended to write this particular post - it seems a little self-serving to me - but the people involved, especially the lady, have asked me to, so how can I refuse?

Since the stroke a year ago April, my main source of exercise has been walking, first around the house, then around the block, now around the neighbourhood. I enjoy these walks; aside from stretching my muscles, I have met many of my neighbours, almost all of whom are very nice people.


I have recently had a miserable cold that put me out of commission for a while. About a week ago, I was able to resume my ramblings.

Just down the street from us, a few houses away, a Sikh lady about my age was working in her front yard. I had seen her many times, always wearing a pale coloured salwar kameez and a filmy white chunni, usually on her hands and knees, working in her garden. She had always looked up at me and smiled slightly and nodded in greeting, but had never said a word to me, although I always gave her a 'sat sri akaal.' I wondered if she was mute or maybe just shy of talking to strangers.

This time, she jumped up and was suddenly directly in front of me on the sidewalk, blocking my way. She was tall and looked very strong. Her hoe was in one hand and she had a serious, determined look on her face. I greeted her as usual, 'Sat sri akaal.'

She shook her head and looked directly in my eyes, then pointed at my kara, my hair covered by a scarf, my left waistband and then the front of my stomach. The Five Ks? I guessed at what she wanted. 'Waheguru ji ka khalsa, Waheguru ji ki fateh.'

She actually grinned.

She led me into the soil in her garden. With the handle of her hoe, she began writing in the dirt: a nine, a lower case t with an off-center cross bar and a fishhook on the end, the same t without the fishhook and an 8 with the top broken.

Everyone knows that I lost my Punjabi in the stroke and along with it, my ability to read Gurmukhi. But I have been working on relearning Gurmukhi, starting with the numbers, so I knew at once what she was saying, '1984,' I said out loud to her.

She smiled briefly, then pointed to her eye and brought her finger down her cheek, then pointed to her heart. The meaning was unmistakable - and painful. I repeated her movements and pointing to the scars on my arm said, 'Yeah, me, too.'

She stared at me for a minute, then in a very small, rusty voice said, 'Mai? Harinder Kaur? Blog?'

I had to make a quick decision. I am very jealous of my privacy and have no desire for anyone to know exactly who I am. But she was clearly my sister and I could neither lie to her nor refuse to answer. I said, 'Yes.'

She looked up, gave me a beautiful, unclouded smile - and burst out laughing.

Immediately, the door to the house opened and a young woman, an older woman, a younger man and a little girl came flying out. The younger woman was screaming, 'Mata ji! Mata ji! Mata ji!' over and over again. She grabbed me and demanded, 'Who are you? What have you done to my mother?!'

'Mai. Harinder Kaur,' the lady said, enunciating very clearly. The whole family burst into tears.

'You don't know, but my mother hasn't made a sound since that night in Delhi. Nothing. We thought she'd never talk again. Maybe even her vocal chords were broken or something.'

I, of course, was astonished. I knew she was quiet, and I had suspected she might be a 1984 widow.

We all went inside where we had juice and biscuits. They explained that they had found this blog on a Google search of 'Khalistan' some time ago and had been following it, as well as my personal blog. Although she didn't talk, this lady read and wrote both English and Punjabi and had told them that her story was like mine in some ways.

Her story is actually much worse. She, her husband and her son were visiting in Trilokpuri visiting on that day and were trapped there. Her husband and son were burnt alive in front of her. She was treated as all Sikh women were there that day and left to live or die, with two shaheeds watching over her. Yes, she saw the shaheeds, too.

I will not tell her story beyond that. Perhaps she will later tell it herself in this blog or better still, maybe she'll start her own blog.

After our talk, I asked them for a promise. 'I can tell you're not,' I said to the man, 'but are you women amritdhari?'

All three said, 'Yes.'

'OK, then, will you promise me on your word as Khalsa, and you, on your word as a Sikh, that you won't tell anybody who I am?'

They didn't want to, but in the end they all agreed. I suggested to the man that, although he was quite handsome with just neck-length hair and a trimmed beard, he'd look and feel a lot better if he joined the rest of his family and took amrit. None of my business, perhaps, but I'm neither shy nor reserved about speaking my mind on this matter. And his wife agreed with me, vigorously!

They wanted to meet Suni and Lilly, who were just a few doors away, but they were as sick as I had been the week before, so that had to wait.

Oh, how did the lady know who I was? After all, she had no picture of me and such descriptions as I have given of myself could apply to thousands, maybe millions, of women. All anybody could get out of her was, 'I had a dream.'

The lady herself has read this and tells me it is accurate, and she has chosen the illustrations.
--
WHY TRY TO FIT IN WHEN YOU WERE BORN TO STAND OUT?

I have published my post about September 11 on sometimes - 2, as it would not be appropriate here. I f you would like to see it, please go here. You might also like to read the previous post, where I do mention 1984.





Let us take a minute now to remember our brother, Balbir Singh Sodhi, needlessly martyred shortly after the attacks, solely because of his appearance.