Whither The Khaliblog?

We have been thinking a lot about which direction this blog is heading.

When we started this blog, the three of us, Vini, Suni and Mai, we were very clear in our own minds what this blog was about. We had scoured the Internet and found a lot of information about the Indian atrocities of 1984, but very few personal stories. The main purpose of this blog was to help rectify this situation. We also hoped to be a platform where others could tell their personal stories.

The first purpose, we think, has been accomplished. Our stories are here; we've put a link to them a the top of the right hand column. Looking at Site Meter, we are pleased that those links are being used and our stories are being read.

We have been much less successful with our second objective. Only a very few have responded with their own stories. There might be several reasons for this. A big one is that many survivors don't have access to the 'Net, and many of those who do are either uncomfortable with English or unable to write in English. Another is that these stories are very difficult - painful - to tell, much less write. We hope that more will come forward. We do hope, as well, that our stories may have provoked discussions across generational lines about survivors' experiences. From e-mails we have received, we know that this is the case.

We would now like to issue an invitation to those who were not there, maybe not even born yet, to tell their own personal stories. Where were you when you first heard the news stories of these events? What was your reaction? Have you spoken to your elders about these things? What were their reactions? We would love to hear any such stories you would care to tell. Just send them to Mai at simayanan@gmail.com. We'll be happy to publish them, with or without your name, that's up to you. (Yes, anywhere on the 'Net you see 'Simayanan' no doubt that's Mai.)

Which brings us to this: For a long time now, Mai has been writing this on her own, with very little input from the rest of us. After some discussion, we feel we should officially turn The Road To Khalistan over to our Mai alone. Her health has improved and she seems able to handle it. We will always be here for backup and we both have her passwords (hehehehe), so we'll still be here in spirit. And if she gets too hot-headed, we'll try to rein her in a little - but only a little - her passion is one of the things we treasure about her.

So we two bow out and turn this over to Mai.

Go to it, Lady Khalsa!

Gurfateh and Chardi Kala to all!

Vini Kaur

Suni Kaur

*******************************************************

I admit that I'm a bit sad at dissolving our corporate person; at the same time, I am now more free to say what I want without clearing any controversial statements I may wish to make. Now I have complete editorial control, although, of course, my co-authors are always very welcome to contribute. When we started this blog, we were all inexperienced and very naive about the Internet. We didn't understand much about search engines and key words. We all thought that our little blog would be lost among the millions out there in the blogosphere. Little did we realise that putting 'Khalistan' in our title would get us noticed. I think that if we had realised, we would have found another name, something less conspicuous.. None of us wished to draw attention to ourselves and our very personal stories. I am pleased, though, that our stories are out there and being read, not because they are our stories, but because these stories need to be told.

Now it seems that I have a few decisions to make.

First, is there any point in continuing this blog? Yes, I think there is. We have a readership of about 45 each day, mostly from India, Canada, The USA and The UK - in that order. We also have a regular readership in Australia, Singapore and Malaysia. There are a few readers from other countries, too, some intrepid person in Oslo, Norway visits often, plus a smattering of readers in the Arabian Peninsula and Pakistan. We have occasional visitors from throughout Europe, Asia and Africa. Once in a great while, someone from South America stops in for a visit. There are a couple of maps in the right-hand column that you can check out, if interested.
As long as you keep reading, I'll keep writing. Is that a deal?

Second, what about content? I have pretty much been putting into this blog whatever comes up of a nature that I feel involved in as a Sikh. You'll keep hearing about the continuing saga of Brother Laibar Singh Ji, a person I am strongly committed to. An exception to this policy of covering all interesting things Sikh is that I have avoided involving this blog in the shenanigans of the High Muckety-Mucks in Amritsar. I find their manipulating Machiavellian machinations in Maya to be disgusting. Sikhi is my religion, my way of life, who and what I am. It is the core of my being, my great passion, my way of maneuvering through this life. It causes me great pain to see those who are supposed to be leading us acting like snot-nosed little brats who should be sitting on the 'naughty stool, not holding positions of power affecting all Sikh worldwide. I hate seeing one family set itself up as the Royal Family of Sikhdom - and it hurts me to see others accept their domination. That said, I do not see how my delving into this cesspool of dirty politics and ruthless, filthy ambition will in any way help my dear sisters and brothers, my fellow Sikhs. So I intend to continue to avoid these political issues. But my mind might be changed if it gets too outrageous.

I intend to change my profile picture each month to reflect some current Sikh issue. I might or might not write about it, but it will be there. Last month, I showed the damage caused to a brother's back by a lathi in Mumbai. How deeply we are loved and appreciated by these Indian people whom we have saved numerous times! I guess seeing Sikh blood gives them a feeling of power. Or something.

This month, I am using a portrait by the very talented and equally modest brother simmal tree. Our former header picture, We Are Going To Battle, is also from him..He allows me to freely use his pictures, asking only that I acknowledge Vahe guru. Since anything good we do is really Vaheguru, I love doing that. To see the discussion on this month's painting, go here. I would also suggest that you click on his photostream there and look at some of his own pictures. This portrait, Daughter(s) Of The Khalsa, has several meanings to me. First is the way we Kaurs seem to have no voice. I think we need to find our voice ourselves. This Singhni is not bound or tied. What is stopping her from taking the tape off her own mouth? I also see this as a metaphor for the way the government of India keeps trying to subdue and silence us Sikhs. I have no idea what it will take for them to realise the futility of their tactics.

Another note. According to a poll I took some time ago, the majority of readers of this blog are young men in their twenties, mostly from India. I am aware only a small percentage of readers answer polls, and I think that is probably accurate, although quite a few female readers have comminicated to me privately and I also know of several older people, hurray! I want to assure all of you that I will never let The Khaliblog - my personal name for The Road To Khalistan - degenerate into a feminist rag. There is one very good reason for this. I am not a feminist. I do believe in the equality - or rather the equivalency - of the sexes, as Sikhi clearly teaches. I do not believe one gender ought to dominate. And I do not believe in one of the feminists' key beliefs, abortion on demand, for both moral and practical reasons. And I do have an outrageous sense of humour that has been very unappreciated by the feminists I have known. So, while I will continue to write on women's issues as they arise, I will continue to write on whatever concerns me.

The remaining author, Kamal Kaur, is my dear friend and younger sister. The Internet being what it is, and given the volitile nature of our world, we have thought it prudent to preserve this blog outside of blogger. She is helping with this and needs administrative powers to help me. She has never written here, but I heartily hope she'll one day write about how she first learned about the events of 1984, events that occurred before she was even born. Come on, Kamal, please? I'll even proof read it for you, if you like.

(BTW, I am aware that many of my readers do not have English as their primary language. I promise to try to avoid using expressions like 'manipulating Machiavellian machinations' too often, but I love the English language and can't promise I'll be entirely successful. I have put a dictionary widget in the right hand column. If anyone knows of a widget that will translate English into Punjabi, please let me know. I've installed the one that translates into Spanish, French, Japanese, Chinese, etc., but I haven't found one for Punjabi.)

So where is this blog headed? The answer is I'm not sure, except that it is running headlong into the Sikh experience in the Twenty-First Century of the Common Era.

There is a saying, if you don't know where you're going, you'll probably end up somewhere else. So let us gather up our chardi kala and stride into that 'somewhere else,' 'the road less traveled by', with our integrity intact, our heads held high, and courage and joy in our hearts.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

From: The Road Not Taken

by Robert Frost

Mai Harinder Kaur

WHY TRY TO FIT IN?
YOU WERE BORN TO STAND OUT!

So Much Trouble In The World

Vaheguru! So much evil in the world! So much injustice! So much unnecessary pain, suffering, inhumanity! What is one human being to do? How many worthy causes are there out there in Maya? How can I pick and choose what to bellow and howl about.? Sikh things, Sikh causes, of course. But what constitutes a 'Sikh cause'? What injustice does not constitute a 'Sikh cause'? Picking and choosing is so very difficult!

I remember back in the 1960s a newspaper - maybe it still exists, I'm not sure - called The San Francisco Bay Guardian. On its masthead was the line, It is a newspaper's duty to print the truth and raise hell. Me, too. That is what I try to do. One voice. I hope with an added voice or two. I remember a poem:

Only we two

And yet our howling can encircle the world's end

Frightened, you are my only friend.

And, frightened, we are everyone.

Someone must take a stand.

Me, frightened? Of course not! Mai is never afraid! But sometimes she is. She wonders if she's gone just a little too far and someone, somewhere will find a way to silence her. But then she sigh a sigh of relief, remembering she is just one small voice among the billions on the planet. She really isn't afraid for herself. Her fear is for her dear Maman, Vini, in occupied Khalistan. The noble Vivi, however, with a wave of her hand, laughs and says, 'Carry on, daughter.' And so I do. But constantly I pray for her safety. I have begged her to return to Canada, but she insists that she will live - and die - in Khalistan, occupied or not. So let me salute our beloved Vini Kaur and print out one of her favourite marching songs - from the 1960s, Carry it on:

There's a man by my side walking
There's a voice within me talking,
There's a voice, within me saying,
Carry it on, carry it on.

They will tell their lying stories,
Send their dogs to bite our bodies,
They will lock us up in prison,
Carry it on, carry it on.

All their lies will be forgotten,
All their dogs lie dead and rotten,
All their prison walls be crumblin',
Carry it on, carry it on.

When you can't go on any longer,
Take the hand, hand of your sister and brother,
Every victory gonna bring another,
Carry it on, carry it on.

Carry on, carry it on.

Repeat 1st Verse

VINI SAYS:

POSITIVE THOUGHT + DEEP DETERMINATION + RESOLUTE ACTION

=

DESIRED RESULTS!

This post was supposed to be about torture at Guantanamo Bay, about how a death sentence is about to be passed out based on 'testimony' given under torture. That is terribly important, so, I suppose that will be a third post for today here.

Vini Speaks

(We have stayed up all night and day working on this. Again, please read gently. Our Maman is very reserved and we're really proud of her having the strength and courage to tell this. Almost all the words are hers exactly as she told us.)

I usually let my two daughters-in-spirit, Mai and Suni, do the talking, but they are insisting that I tell my story and Mai, especially is an irresistible force, so what choice do I have? They say to do it however I want, they'll transcribe, we'll edit together and put it together to sound good and make sense.

I was born in 1926 in Srinigar, Kashmir to a Sikh family. Girls married very young then, so I married my husband, Jotinder, in 1939 and we came illegally to America shortly after our marriage. Both families thought I was far too young to travel so far only to live illegally, but I insisted on going and they finally fgured out a way to smuggle me in. This was unusual because quite a few young men emigrated at this time, but very few risked taking their wives into foreign countries illegally. But young as I was, I adored my husband and refused to be separated from him. Both of our families have strong-willed women.

We joined my husband's father who had been in Canada for quite a long time. I bore our son Mandeep in 1941 when I was 14. My body was too young for child-bearing, so he was our only child. We were in America when he was born, so he was American by birth, but we moved right away to Canada where eventually we managed to get him legal papers like a birth certificate.

We were not really welcome in either country at that time, but we were resourceful and, as they say now, flew under the radar. We always knew Mai's family. Although they were Punjabi and we were Kashmiri, our families had always had close ties. It was good that we had friends.

Mai was born 10 years after Mani, as he was always called, and we always hoped the two would get married. It was one of our happiest days when they did. About a year later, their son was born. Guruji said that the child's name should start with 'S' and Mani thought that 'Mandeep and Sandeep and Mai,' had a great sound, so that's how he got his name. Everybody was very happy for a long time.

Mani and Mai had often spent summers in India when they were young, but Mai was never comfortable there and after their marriage they stayed in Canada. Mani, however, wanted very badly to go back to Harimandir Sahib in Amritsar and was always pestering Mai for them to go.

He finally persuaded her and they left in early May, 1984. I remember Mai was in a dither about the trip and tried to get him to postpone it until their fifteenth anniversary in 1985, but he refused. As far as I know, it was the only time he ever refused her anything. I don't know, but I have always wondered if he had some particular reason for wanting to go then.

They went to Amritsar.

I got letters from them, telling that there was a lot of tension, you could cut it with a knife. During Operation Blue Star they were taken in and questioned. I have saved the letter I got from Mani about that which he wrote after their escape from the Punjab because the Indian government wasn't letting anyone in or out at that time. A whole post earlier in this blog was devoted to that incident. He was so proud of her and her behaviour, but I began to urge them to come home. I had a bad feeling about them being there.

They stayed, though, and travelled some, but not much because Mai was pregnant with twin girls and he didn't want to risk her health. I love her, but even she will admit that she should be more careful about her health, and she wanted to keep moving around. They spent most of the time in the countryside near Delhi, but outside of the city because with her pregnancy, the smell of the air pollution made Mai sick.

The last week in October they returned to Delhi, with plans to fly home during early November. As you know, that didn't work out.

I remember hearing the news on the radio that Mrs. Gandhi had been shot, followed immediately by the news that it was Sikhs who had shot, or more properly executed, her. I immediately called them in Delhi and by a miracle, got through. They said it was good they were in the capital, that if there was trouble, that at least Delhi would be the safest place to be. We said good-bye. I never spoke to my son or grandson again, of course.

We soon heard about the antiSikh violence in Delhi and I nearly went mad. We tried and tried and tried to call, but couldn't get through. For nearly a week we had no idea what had happened to them. Then, Alain, Mai's eldest brother, came and told us that they had Mai and Suni and Guruji, but the others were all dead, and Mai was badly injured and would probably die. I am trying now, as Mai would say, not to bleed emotionally all over the computer, but that was the worst moment of my life.

I wished I could faint or maybe wake up and it was all a nightmare, but it was real. Every mother loves her child, but Mani was the kind of son everyone wishes they had, but not many really have. He was so wonderful, loving, strong, good to everyone and funny, he always made us laugh. I didn't understand how anyone could kill him. And Mai was as close to me as any daughter could be; growing up her own mother was usually gone and useless when she showed up - I'm sorry to say that, Mai, but you said to tell the truth - and when her father needed a woman to deal with her, I was her second mother. My grandson was pure joy, full of life and laughter - how could they be dead?

I will tell what I have never told anyone ever. I cursed life, I cursed the Gurus and I even cursed Waheguru. Not the way a Khalsa woman is supposed to react to the shaheedi of her family.

Mai was in a coma for 24 days, as I recall. During this time, Suni gave birth to a healthy baby girl, but refused to let her be named. She said Mai would name her when she woke up. We were all afraid that the baby would never have a name.

Then, one day, we were in her hospital room, where we spent most of our time and we heard a loud voice cry out,"What the fuck am I doing here?" (That really is exactly her first words.) We all jumped out of our skins, but we were overjoyed. "Where are Mani and Sandy?" We all fell silent. Someone had to tell her, but we all hesitated. Then she said that she knew they were dead, why wasn't she with them? Alain looked her square in the eye and said," I guess you weren't found worthy of martyrdom." They glared at each other for a time. Then she started laughing. Mai usually laughs like that when she doesn't know what to do.

We all gathered around her, not knowing what to expect next. Then the baby started crying. Suni held her out to Mai, who touched her wet little cheek. Suni said at once, "Mai, she needs a name." Mai said, "I'm not Guruji. But it seems we all need a little hope." So she became our little Hope, and she has always lived up to her name. She is now a lovely young lady of 22, just ready to graduate from the university. (She asks us to also include her name Harjinder, even if it's rarely used since it wouldn't do for her to have only a Western name.)

I remember all this vividly, but it all happened through a thick fog. It cleared a little with Mai's survival and I realised that I could not go through life filled with hatred and bitterness. The words of the Mool Mantar washed over me like a cool, healing stream,... nirbhao, nirvair... and I began to recover my senses. I have never recovered completely. As I have heard, you don't recover, you don't get used to it, you just learn to live with it. Or you don't.

Mai left us in 1985 to deal with her loss in her own way. Unknown to her until recently, I always made sure that I knew where she was, always, always hoping that some day she'd come back to us. It took twenty years of her searching for peace and healing and nearly dying again, but now we have become a family again. Although I am visiting now from India, we still live half a world apart in distance, but we are united as a family. Suni stayed with the family, went to the university and earned her doctoral degree in clinical psychology, while raising her daughter. She has specialised in helping people deal with and overcome Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Neither of the girls has ever returned to India.
(We two add: Or ever intend to.)

In 1986 my husband died of a heart attack, a broken heart. He hardly spoke ten words from November 1984 until he died. I am not ready to discuss this part.

Since the bitterness and hatred, with the gracious help of Waheguru and the very Gurus I had cursed, had left me, I felt the need to take Amrit again, which I did.

After my husband's death, I moved to Amritsar, where I have lived since with his family. I shouldn't say this, but I went in hopes of helping to build our Khalistan by any means necessary, so this could never happen again. I still hope there is some way we can have our country, our sacred homeland, but now without killing and bitterness. The people of the Punjab, Sikh, Hindu and Muslim have been through too much. I pray we find a way to establish our Khalistan without causing more pain.

I have started talking and it seems I can't stop. I'm afraid that I am bleeding all over the computer. I hope someone will read this and then be willing to tell their own story. It is difficult, especially after being silent about it all for so long, but it is also a relief. We are Sikhs and we are strong and we are truthful, and this is a truth that needs to be told. It was not only those who were there whose lives have been devastated. Each of us who lived through that time has a story to tell. For me, this has become my time to tell.