This Is Why Sikhs are Hot (from the Sikh Coalition)

I just found this irresistible and wanted to share it.

Meetings

From Nairobi

To Seattle

We have met the invaders...and they are very nice people.

It was like this.

Those who know me well know I rarely go out in public because of my health problems. But this was unavoidable. So I said a prayer and hoped for the best.

I was very nervous about their coming. What would they think of me? I am, after all, the outsider in the family. What if I said the wrong thing. What if I broke some obscure Kikuyu taboo? And what if they didn't like me? I had the good sense to start japping naam - that is not a racial slur, it is the meaningful repetition of God's name - and a bolt of lightening hit me! Me, me, me...It was all me! These people were just getting off 17 hours on airplanes. They were leaving everything they had known all their lives. They had left the tropics and were arriving in the middle of winter. Why, they even had to get used to people driving on the wrong side of the street. And I was a totally unknown quantity to them. You'd think at my age I would have matured to the point that thinking of others would come nasturally. No wonder EGO is one of the five big thieves.

My nerves immediately calmed down and I started thinking about how to make them feel welcome. All went well after that.

To begin, the flight from Amsterdam was half an hour EARLY. Who ever heard of an international flight being early? I had the foresight to check that out on the KLM Website. If I weren't a Sikh and were even slightly superstitious, I would have thought that a good omen.

Simon dropped me off at the arrival gate and went to park the car. I asked the guy at the KLM counter where I should wait and he gave me instructions, saying the flight had already arrived but it would take half an hour up to two hours for our passengers to clear customs. So I waited. And waited. And waited. How long could it take to park a car? And where was Simon's other son. And his ex, who also lives in this area?

People started coming up the escalator and still I was alone.

I started toying with the idea that I might be the only one there to greet them. I would be able to recognise them with no trouble at all. A family group of eight Kikuyus on a flight from Amsterdam would be pretty conspicuous. On the other hand, they would have no way to know who I was.

So what should I do? Go up to them waving my hands, calling, 'Daniel? Wayne? Jane? Mary?' And them thinking , 'Who is this crazy lady who seems to know all our names?'

Of course, like most projections that didn't happen..Simon showed up. Someone had directed him to the baggage carousel instead of the area they'd be arriving at from customs. So we waited a bit. Eventually his ex and her sister showed up, but the family still hadn't come up the escalator. We were getting concerned. Had we somehow missed them? Were they having problems with the government officials? Surely, they weren't the very last in line!

Surely they were! They said everyone else was in such a hurry pushing and shoving and they decided just to be civilised and hold back and wait. (They'll learn quickly enough that such courtesy is rare - and rarely appreciated - in America.)

They finally came and there were hugs and kisses - I'm Indian enough to feel a little uncomfortable with all this kissing in public, I admit, but I got through it - and lots of pictures. I can't wait to see them. No one will have trouble picking me out; I'm the one with the long - relatively speaking - hair. Oh, yeah, and the fair skin. Everybody was really nice and they felt like family to me. The only exception was the sole girl child in the group, Young Njeri. I guess she's about 9 or 10, and she kept giving me this 'and who the hell do you think you are!' look. She has enormous eyes, incredibly expressive. Oh, well, I'm sure she was tired and I hope she'll warm up to me in time.

Eventually, Simon's youngest son showed up and all were packed into cars and went off. Simon went to get our tiny car, leaving me again alone in the terminal. I looked up and saw a 'visible' Sikh happening by. Very visible. Punjabi pajama, kirpan at the side, beautifully tied turban (I notice such things). Rather handsome, too. (Yes, I notice that, too. I'm in my midfifties and married, but I haven't yet gone blind.) As he approached, I said, 'Sat sri akaal.'

He stopped and returned my greeting, looking at me curiously for a moment, then spotting my kara, said, 'You're Sikh?' in that unbelieving tone I've heard most of my life.

'Yeah.'

'Waheguru ji ka khalsa! Waheguru ji ki fateh!'

Testing me, I guess. This time I returned his greeting.

He grinned and extended his hand, 'Harinder.'

I grinned and extended my hand, 'Harinder.' I rarely use that name, but it was too good to pass up. 'But they usually call me Mai.'

He stopped and stared. And started singing, ' "There once was a Khalsa maid," that Mai?'

For my own reasons, I do not like people identifying me in the flesh with the author of this blog, but I didn't want to lie. I don't think it would have worked anyway.

'Yeah.' I was embarrassed.

'Well, why is your hair down and open and exposed like that. And I've never seen a kanga stuck in the hair quite like that.'

Who did he think he was, anyway!? 'I can do most things one handed, but I haven't figured that out yet.'

"I have a daughter.' Before I could react, my hair was in a neat bun. I wasn't sure whether to thank him or slap him. Instead I burst out laughing.

'Do you usually go around grabbing strange women's kesh like that?'

'I don't know what got into me. I've never done anything like that before. Shall I apologise?'

I shook my head, no, hardly able to keep from bursting out laughing.

'But you're no stranger to me. I feel like I know you better than I know my own mother or sisters.'

[Is this blog really that revealing?]

I saw Simon drive up outside. I left, wondering what he would say about my hair, wondering what I would say about my hair. But he was so wrapped up in himself and his sons arrival that he didn't even notice.

So that was the meeting. An altogether interesting day. And I made it almost home without any mishaps.

RALLY IN TORONTO - SATURDAY 26 January

A Rally in support of Laibar Singh will be held as follows:


OUTRAGE AT SANCTUARY VIOLATION OF PARALYZED PUNJABI MAN SPREADS ACROSS THE COUNTRY
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
WHAT: Community Rally At Greater Toronto Enforcement Centre (GTEC)

WHEN: Saturday, January 26 – Meet at 10am – The rally will start at 10:30am

WHERE: 6900 Airport Road, GTEC (International Centre

TORONTO - Supporters of Mr. Laibar Singh, a paralyzed Punjabi man will be gathering at the Greater Toronto Enforcement Centre (GTEC) to voice their objection to the continuing attempts to deport Mr. Singh. The latest attempt to deport Mr. Singh took place the morning of Wednesday, January 9, at 4:30am, when enforcement officers from the Canada Border Services Agency (CBSA) made an unprecedented effort to breach the sanctuary of the Surrey Guru Nanak Gurudwara (Sikh Spiritual Centre) to arrest Mr. Singh.

Alarmed by the actions of CBSA, approximately 300 supporters gathered at the Gurdwara to bear witness to this gross violation of their sacred place of worship. The deportation was unsuccessful and a stay was once again granted.


Communities across the Greater Toronto Area will be gathering at GTEC to demonstrate their solidarity with the BC community and their struggle to keep Laibar Singh in Canada. They will also express their indignation to the Government's violation of Sikh sanctuary.

For more information visit.http://toronto.nooneisillegal.org/

email: sikhactivist@gmail.com

I got this information from the blog of Mississauga Gurdwara Gurmat School

The photograph is from the successful support of Laibar Singh Ji on 9 January 2008 when CBSA was prepared to violate Gurdwara Guru Nanak in Surrey, British Columbia to kidnap and deport him.

Laibar Singh - Vancouver Sun - Letters To The Editor

Let's start with two letters to the editor from the Vancouver Sun. There were several more, but these two will give you an idea of some of the thoughts expressed. And this link will take you to the rest of the letters.

Singh deportation case sparks a polarization of attitudes within the community

Published: Thursday, January 17, 2008

First letter:

If our politicians were not so concerned about the votes of the Sikh community, would Laibar Singh still be here? Of course not. And the Sikh mob knows it.

Singh makes a mockery of immigration and law, medical opinions about his condition differ, and he has no prospects of gainful employment. The only reason he is here is because he wants to live free off our system.

His supporters' rationale that he will not get the medical attention he needs in India is hogwash. India has a booming economy and among the best medical systems in the world. Patients from many countries travel to India for their medical treatments because of both the high quality and the low cost.

Canada has a history of appeasing groups and special interests in the name of humanity -- but it has little to do with humanity and everything to do with garnering votes. What a joke democracy has become in Canada! And Singh will have the last laugh.

Dorian Rayn

Vancouver

Second letter:

The media's failure to question Canada's unjust refugee system is what's the true "contempt for the law."

The Guru Nanek temple is only one of a number of religious communities across Canada to provide sanctuary to men and women whom Canada's refugee system has failed. Currently, there is no other way to hold refugee boards accountable for decisions they make.

Laibar Singh's supporters show the highest respect for the rule of law by resisting an unjust system. In their time, newspapers and others condemned Martin Luther King Jr. and Mohandas Gandhi for their "contempt for the law." If we fail to resist unjust laws, we accept tyranny. I commend Singh's supporters for their commitment to a just society.


Justin Berger

Vancouver


© The Vancouver Sun 2008

In addition, there is a new blog, Support Laibar Singh. Please go there and vote your support for Laibar Ji. (Except, of course, Frank and Tariq. Hey, it's a free country, sort of, and you can vote however you want!) Also see how much happier he looks with the pretty green blanket.

The home page concludes:
It is unfortunate that some are declaring that he must leave because he does not “belong” any longer, despite the fact that his newly found family and community are here. Certainly his physical state of paralysis, the hardship he will face if deported, and the widespread community support he has received are all crucial factors and realities for Mr. Singh and form the very basis of existing humanitarian and compassionate considerations in Canadian law. He, like anyone else, should be entitled to live a healthy and dignified life.

We must challenge the idea that some are more worthy than others to decide their right to mobility and their fate; instead we should accept these as universal values of humanity. Therefore the supporters of Laibar Singh are demanding that the Immigration Minister allow Laibar Singh to remain in Canada on humanitarian and compassionate grounds.

FOR MORE INFORMATION, contact Communities for Laibar Singh at 604 779 7430.

Another item of interest is the open letter of support for him at No One Is Illegal. Check it out.

Now a note from me, Mai. Tomorrow afternoon, we expect eight members of my husband's family will be immigrating from Nairobi. This will have a great impact on my life. I have no idea how much time I will have on line. I hope to be able to keep up as I have. I can't promise, though.

Another note. Suni is going to have a baby. Yes, I know she's 55 and hasn't had one since she was 19. But she is newly married and if Vaheguru sees fit to so bless her and Amrit, her new husband, who are we to dissent?

The Khalsa Maid

The post from a few days ago got quite a bit of favourable comment in my e-mail and on facebook and orkut, so here's another, this time about the lady who graciously lets me use her name, or rather, nickname. The melody, assuming you are an affectionato of neither Woodie Guthrie (I love his music myself) nor Union Songs, the melody can be found in the credits link just before my lyrics.

My dear son, who is baffled and thinks he errs much more than he actually does, sent me this link to YouTube. I do not support Edwards for US President, I favour Kucinich, for what it's worth. He won't win, but I think he's the best person standing or rather running. Edwards isn't too bad, though. But it makes no difference. Since I'm Canadian, they'd throw me in prison if I voted! Be sure and listen to the third verse here. We women need to be 'at the front of every fight.' Oh, yeah!









A Song About Mai Bhago - And Us

(After The Union Maid by Woodie Guthrie)
(tune, traditional: adapted by Woodie Guthrie)

There once was a Khalsa maid,
She never was afraid,
Of the Mughul might,
She'd always fight
She'd never give up, she'd draw her blade

She'd ride to the battle front
Of wounds she'd take the brunt
And when the cowards ran away

She'd round them up and say:




















Oh, you can't leave me, I'm a fighting Khalsa,
And you're fighting Khalsa,
We're the Guru's Khalsa,
Oh, you can't back down, we're all Guru's Khalsa,
We'll be Guru's Khalsa
Till the day we die

Mata Bhag Kaur was wise
Forty cowards to despise
She led their way
Into the fray
She made them open up their eyes

She led them in the ring
Like a hawk that's on the wing
Bole so nihal
And sat sri akaal
For Guru Gobind Singh!
























Oh, you can't leave me, I'm a fighting Khalsa,
And you're fighting Khalsa,
We're the Guru's Khalsa,
Oh, you can't back down, we're all Guru's Khalsa,
We'll be Guru's Khalsa
Today you'll bravely die.


Now open up the door
For every Khalsa Kaur
To do her best
With all the rest
Her seva ever value more



Today's Khalsa maid is bold
As she was in days of old
Her voice soars on
Singing the kirtan
At Harimandir Sahib gold. (Well, soon...)

Oh, you can't stop us, we're fighting Khalsa,
The women Khalsa , we're the bold Kaur Khalsa
Oh, you can't stop us, we're Guru's Khalsa
We'll be Kaur Khalsa
And that's how we'll die.

Photograph of hawk (from ABOVE!) by solarider

Photograph of women from Panthic Weekly

A Love Letter To Kenya

While in the Sikh corner of Maya, our fight for our Uncle/Brother/Friend Laibar Singh Ji continues, the rest of the world goes on.

The violence in Kenya has abated for the moment, but nothing has been settled there; it could spring up again at any moment. I came across this blogpost containing the poem and have received permission from the author to re publish them. The poem is sad, but I think you'll appreciate the beauty of the writing.

From: Blog That Rock

Mukoma Wa Ngugi, a Kenyan poet, author of Hurling Words at Consciousness and co-editor of Pambazuka News , heard about Split This Rock from the Africa Poets Yahoo Group. Mukoma is sharing with us a poem commissioned by the BBC World Service on the ongoing crisis in Kenya.

Kenya – A Love Letter
Mukoma Wa Ngugi

Inside looking out, snow is falling and I am thinking
how happy we once were, when promises and dreams
came easy and how when we, lovers covered only

by a warm Eldoret night, you waved a prophecy
at a shooting star and said, "when the time comes
we shall name our first child, Kenya" and how I

laughed and said "yes our child then shall be country
and human" and we held hands, rough and toughened
by shelling castor seeds. My dear, when did our

clasped hands become heavy chains and anchors holding
us to the mines and diamond and oil fields? Our hands
calloused by love and play, these same hands – when

did they learn to grip a machete or a gun to spit hate?
And this earth that drinks our blood like a hungry child
this earth that we have scorched to cinders - when we

are done eating it, how much of it will be left for Kenya?
My dear, our child is born, is dying. Tomorrow the child
will be dead.

Top photo: Mt. Kenya, sacred to the Kikuyus

Tiny little picture at the bottom: My grandbaby Ethan at one day old

Poem reprinted with author's permission

Crossposted to Sometimes - 2