More on My Sikhi

My Sikhi does not hold me back. I understand it is my own version of Sikhi. Most other people have their own version as well. It is a futile debate as to whose Sikhi is better than the rest because people will always come up with reasons to justify their own. Our conception of Sikhi is formed as a result of our own experiences and our upbringing. The reason I mentioned my story of my premature birth and all that stuff is not to bore anybody to death but to merely illustrate the point that our thinking about Sikhi is fashioned by the factors I mentioned above. My Sikhi is a visceral feeling. It does not originate from a precise elaborate deliberate analysis of Sikh teachings. It is who I am and where I come from.

Keeping kesh or not is obviously a matter of how comfortable one is with the "rules". There are more and more of us who think that perhaps God does not care about how many hair follicles have sprouted on your face. Perhaps, He doesn't. Perhaps, all He cares about is what you do with the rest of your life. Perhaps, He cares about your sense of charity and truthfulness and all the other goodies that you know as well as I. But having been brought up in a Sikh family, I have been told that keeping kesh is part of His design for me. That in and of itself is good enough for me. Everytime I had thought of cutting my hair, I think of that first morsel of Prasad that my parents put in my toothless mouth. I can still taste it and then reverence and guilt overwhelm me and I forget about it. I think of the countless times I have stood with my hands folded and my head bowed in ardaas and asked for kes-daan. How can I forget all that? I am just not comfortable with shutting my eyes to the relationships I have forged with God in my life. Like I said, it is a matter of comfort.

I never thought what others think of my Sikhi would ever make any difference to me. Although it was tough in the beginning but now I don't really care what other non-Punjabis assume about me. It is understandable that they may misconstrue my thoughts on the world. I can somehow understand their position. What bothers me, however, is what my own people think of me?
Most days, when I am in full control of my sanity, I can withstand a lot of nasty stuff without problem. But then again, I am an ordinary mortal. There are days when I see what more and more of young Sikh people around me perceive about the Sikh swaroop and it bothers me. Even though, I don't think women's opinion is any yardstick to measure one's Sikhi in but as a young guy it does matter when people who should have understood me don't seem to. These feelings do not generate self-doubt in me. Only bitterness and chagrin. I know I have chosen a path in life which is at the very least not commonplace. I know I can reason out composure for myself and be untouched with the fast changing thoughts around me. But sometimes it hurts when people assume things about you and toss your feelings around with utter disregard to the person behind the hair. Anyways, just a thought. Just who I am. An emotional fool.

My litany goes on. Here is what Robert Frost said in "A Road less taken":

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