Finding a Wife

Aroma of Words

2009-01-06T00:40:00.000-08:00

As I lay on my bed in the cold, lifeless "call room", the beep of the pager wakes me up from the sleep that never was. The elusive sleep. Something from within me pushes me to put my thoughts in words. Words. I was just thinking how some words just get to you. Especially, sometimes, some words from your mother tongue will rustle your soul in such myriad ways. For instance, the Punjabi word "Santaap". To me, the word has such a visceral feel that I can't find an equivalent in the Queen's language. Purgatory comes to mind but that means more of something external, something imposed on you while "Santaap" would capture the sense of burning from within. The aroma of words.

I have been listening to Shiv Batalvi a lot in recent times. Actually, saw a video of him singing on Youtube. Awesome experience. Wish I could purge out my emotions in words that well. The past one year has been a testing time for me. It has tested me on a lot of different aspects. But I have learnt a lot of valuable lessons as well. I wish those lessons never have to be put to use again but I really doubt that. The following words from Maachis aptly describe my feelings about this:

ek nanha sa lamha hai,
jo khatam nahi hota,
mein lakh jalata hoon,
yeh bhasam nahi hota.

It is a little momemt,
That will not get over,
I burn it countless times,
But it won't turn to ashes.

Hopefully, will write more.

Another blog

2008-03-21T13:32:00.000-07:00

Please check out my new blog. Sikhhacks. http://sikhhacks.blogspot.com/

One of our own

2007-08-13T22:29:00.000-07:00

What motivated me to write again on this blog was a recent experience of a my close friend. My friend is a bachelor, like I was and has been looking for a wife. Recently, he went to California to meet a girl, that his parents had found for him. The girl in question is a highly educated individual who recently migrated from India. My friend had been talking with this lass over the past few weeks in order to get to know her better.

Now comes the interesting parts. My friend recounted to me that invariably all their conversations ended up revolving around the issue of hair. The lady obviously cuts her hair and she wanted to make certain that her freedom to do so would never be curbed. All fine and dandy. Well, kind of. But no, she wanted more. She wanted her hubby to trim his beard and better still, cut his hair, if he could. "Tussi dekhoge, tussi change disso ge" (You will see, you will look better). My buddy humored and decided to play along just to see where this discussion would go. And sure enough, the gentle diva did not want her kids to have long hair either. My friend felt disgusted and I felt bile rising in my throat as well when I heard this. All of this was completely unprovoked. Her marriage was conditional on the above mentioned terms. My friend was obligated to visit her in California because of his parents commitment but of course, the short lasting affair ended with a curt No.

Another beautiful instance of the state of affairs in our society. I have friends hailing from many different cultures. Nowhere do I see that people are so willing to disown their own culture and religion. This makes me really insecure about the future of my religion. If you look at it carefully, this young lady was keen to not only influence her husband's choices but also her kids. The way I look at it, there is an internal genocide going right inside our own homes. I hate to be the alarmist but I see only red flags.

I have had bad experiences finding women who will appreciate me for who I am. Luckily, I was able to find women who did just that. C belonged to a different culture completely and yet she accepted me for who I am. It is another matter that we did not end up together but like I said, I would always be grateful for her to accept me for who I was. WTB (wife to be) is again very receptive of my viewpoints and sees me for who I am and not everybody else wants me to be. But I am afraid, that overall, the pressure building up will erode away the dam and then there will be a point of no return. For some time, I had put these issues to the back-burner but listening to my friend's experience has brought back all the memories and anguish that I have felt for these issues.

It hurts....hurts like a SOB.

"I believe I can fly"....... and I did

2007-08-13T19:36:00.000-07:00

First of all, I must thank those of you who have expressed interest in my other blog "Arranged Marriage". While I thought that I will like to share my experiences of this ride, lately I have started to believe that I would like to keep it a little more private for now. Everybody in this world commits mistakes. Our mistakes remind us of our frail humanity. There are some mistakes that one can rectify while there are other instances when one cannot go back and fix things despite how much one wants to. I am no different. However, for now, I believe that for the sake of other people's well-being, my experiences are better restricted to a few I trust. However, I will try to write every now and then on this blog. I know I have been going back and forth between commiting this blog to the ashes and reviving it, but some recent events have rekindled my interest in the matter and here I am.

Last month, I had an opportunity to visit the great country of Kanaieda (Canada). For the ignorant, a few facts about this country. Canada is home to a large population of Sikhs. Some sources have stated that Canada hosts perhaps the greatest population of Sikhs as a percentage of its population than any other country including Bharat (India). So, naturally, I was all excited to check out the veracity of these facts.

I landed at Vancouver airport one sunny Saturday morning and lo and behold, I was greeted by welcome signs in Punjabi. A wave of excitement rushed through my veins and I felt proud. After usual formalities, I met up with my friend and off we went to his beautiful house. I have not travelled much in my life but I could easily appreciate the fact that Vancouver was one of the prettiest cities in North America. Beautiful meandering roads, snow covered mountains in the distance and beautiful people on the street. I took a deep breath and let out all the stale pollution laden air of Houston that had filled my lungs for so long.

Over the next two days, another of my friends joined us and we roamed about in Vancouver like wilder beasts in the Serengeti. For some reason, I decided to do something adventurous in life. So, we hiked up Grouse Moutain, the tallest peak in Vancouver. Once up there, we were lured by the sight of a paraglider in flight over the lush green vales. This was too much to miss. So, casting away all fears, I decided to take the plunge.

At a height of about 1100 feet, I stood at the edge of the precipice, waiting for my turn. The air was clear and there was a weird tranquility around me. My pilot asked me to take my turban off so that I could put the helmet on. I felt embarrased for a minute as there were other people around. But there was no escaping the rationale of the move and so I bit the bullet. "Don't worry, it will travel with us." said the Pilot, matter-of-factly, as he stuffed it in his backpack.

A few feet in front of me was a hollow ready to swallow me. My pilot stood behind me, waiting for the wind to pick up. A few months ago, I would have never imagined myself doing what I was about to do. Jumping off a cliff with a piece of cloth to save my life would have appeared insane. Yet, today, I knew no fear. As I was lost in my reverie, my pilot shouted from behind me, "Run". And without a second thought, exhorted by his shrill voice, my legs started wheeling. I ran and dragged the pilot and the chute behind me. Suddenly, I was not looking down below but I was just fixated at the azure horizon. It was as surreal as it could be. And the next instant, my legs were moving in mid-air. I looked below and saw the majestic pine trees waving hello. I greeted them with a silent smile. "You are flying", yelled the pilot as the howling wind tried to strip the skin off my face.

I guess I should have felt fear. But I did not. What I did in the aloofness of the stratosphere was ponder. Yea, I am messed up. Images from the past few months flashed before my eyes. My confused mind was struggling to clear away the cobwebs of convoluted thoughts. Higher up in the sky, I hoped that celestial wisdom would be more likely to descend upon me. But as I was lost in my thoughts while absorbing the sheer beauty around me, the pilot screamed," Do you like roller-costers?". As I began to wonder the sheer timing of his question, I reflexively said,"Yes". And suddenly, we were circling around in a steep spiral, descending eerily into the valley. I realized what he had meant and I shouted,"I was joking."Too late", he replied but then quickly arrested our descent. "Good man", I complimented him and thereafter, it was smooth sailing to the football filed below. Throughout the flight, the pilot had managed to take pictures which in retrospect revealed some facial expressions I never thought my facial muscles were capable of producing. To sum up, it was fun ride.

The symbolicsm of the whole situation, however, did not escape me. I am about to get married shortly. An arranged marriage, whereby I will be commiting to spend my life with someone I have not known long enough. Don't get me wrong. She is fabulous but still, it is a leap in blind faith. Kind of like, jumping off a mountain, hoping that a piece of synthetic cloth and a few thin strings will keep you afloat. But hey, it works. I did not die. On the contrary, I had a ride of a lifetime. May be that was the celestial wisdom that descended upon me.

I believed I could fly......and I did.

From End to Beginning

2007-05-12T22:57:00.000-07:00

This blog has come to its natural end. This blog was intended to describe my experiences as a turbaned guy trying to find a soul mate. Complex issues that spanned across the dogmas of male-female relationships, racist attitudes and our own sometimes irrational fears. At any rate, this blog later morphed into my personal ode to a woman I knew as C. The mystery of C.

With passage of time, people change and things change.The winds of time carve out different things out of people and things. What remains sometimes are some dregs of emotions. Something similar happened to me. With time, C and I drifted apart. To be honest. there was a lot of drama involved here that should beat any day spa on tv any time of the day but in the interest of time and dignity, suffice it to say that the severance was not a smooth process. There was blood, there was grime and finally the cord was cut.

To condense these events over time, C went on to find another man and is happily dating and enjoying the joys of life. On my side, well, I am not doing too bad either. I am finally engaged. You heard it right, Harry Singh finally laid down his arms and held his arms up in surrender, only to be touched by an angel, clad in white, with a smile that can send sunshine down the deepest crevices of netherlands (not mine,but in general). So, yeah, I am engaged and am going to marry her in the next few months.

As I lay the final stone on this blog, I am also laying the foundation of a new blog, " The Arranged Marriage". I will describe the experiences of a guy who was vehemently opposed to the idea of arranged marriage and now will learn the ways of the new world. So, those of you, who are interested, please stay tuned in.

One last word. This blog has C written all over it. It is sort of my Taj Mahal, where memories of the past are interred. The bricks of this edifice are glued together with my feelings and emotions. The echos of her laughter will bounce off the walls of this structure. It will be a monument dedicated to the year 2006 when two strangers met and had wierd but sometimes funny interactions. However, we must move on and old things must die so that new ones may live.

In the next few days, I will start my new blog with pictures of my self and fiancee and a brief description of the twist in the time-space-continuum that brought us together.

Stream of Time

2006-10-20T12:25:00.000-07:00

July, 1745
Bhai Taru Singh who would rather have his scalp removed than cut his hair.

October,2006

A barber proudly displays the kesh of a young Sikh boy in Punjab, who is trying to catch up with times.

From a recent story published in Outlook. http://outlookindia.com

According to Outlook, about 80 per cent of the Sikh youth in rural Punjab have cut their hair and discarded their headgear.

Nothing more to say.

One Houston year later....

2006-10-20T07:48:00.000-07:00

It's almost been a year since I started writing this blog. Almost. I think I have matured somewhat. I do not feel as lonely as I used to. These days, when I get off work, I don't say," WTF" because I will have to go home and stare at my walls and lose myself in a spiral of introspection leading into an abyss with no bottom. So, that is probably a good thing.

I have new insights into who I am and what I am expected to be. My sense of belonging to a community keeps taking a beating every now and then. But my resolve holds on. I still quite haven't changed my mind about Sikh women. The more I think about it, the more I find myself not wanting to marry one. The thought of finding out six months into my marriage that it was all under pressure just scares the daylight out of me. Somehow, I find myself getting distanced from who everybody wants me to be. Some people would think that is not a bad thing. My parents, I am sure, will differ. I feel myself, morphing into someone different. I don't know if that is just normal growth or if it is the effect of the stream of life flowing by me and carving out a newer different me.

For some weird reason, I sometimes still feel that something is missing. I can't quite put a finger on it. But there is this spooky abscence of something in my life. I haven't been able to meditate for some time now and thus not able to search for that elusive entity. But hopefully, I will be able to do that in the near future.

I am in a pensive mood today, thinking about life and stuff. Hopefully, I will write something a little more shinier next time. Here's a little something the Bard wrote that I haven't been able to shake off my mind for the last few days:

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale'
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing...

Ah,Wilderness!

2006-09-14T14:55:00.000-07:00

They say that every blogger gets a blogger's block at some time or the other. I haven't really written in a while. Part of the reason is that I have been immersed neck deep in professional commitments. The other part is that the blog was not doing much in terms of helping me purge out my emotions which was its initial objective in the first place.

Anyways, I am still single but I do have something going on. I have kind of become superstitious about these things lately and will hold off on writing about it for now. In the last few months, I have had a chance to meet with a few other Sikh guys who are in a similar age bracket and in kind of similar situation as I. Most of them do agree that the story about Sikh women and turbans is not an urban legend but a tangible reality and they have related to me real life incidents to prove the point. The good thing is these guys have had a better luck with non-Indian non-Sikh women who seem to be more understanding and more adapting. One of my new friends summed it well:" I am not going to waste my life trying to convince Sikh women to love me. I am going to find love wherever I can. And if I find a woman who loves me, I am not going to care who she is. And if Sikh women don't want me, too bad for them."

I mostly agree with his thoughts even though I think such a thought process does not do a didly squat about the real problem but I think there is only so much one can do.

Anyways, another anniversary of 9/11 sneaked past us. The day that changed the world and showed us all the grim realities of life. Five thousand innocent lives destroyed in a matter of hours. It was also the anniversary of the murder of Balbir Sodhi as part of a brutal hate crime. If nothing else, this day should serve as a reminder to all of us to work towards increasing awareness about Sikhs in the world. I know a few people are diligently working towards that goal but clearly a lot more grime and blood needs to be put in.

One thing that has been bugging me for the past few months has been the fact that turbaned Sikhs are not allowed to serve in the US Army. We, as Sikhs, strive to live upto the stature of Saint Soldiers. I am sure there are those among us, who would like to fight against the evil of terror by enlisting in the armed forces. Yet, it is unfortunate that such a thing is not possible. I think it is important for Sikh leaders to work towards the goal of a change in laws that would allow young turbaned Sikhs to join the US Armed forces. This would help to improve the visibility of Sikhs and exponentially increase awareness about Sikhs.

I know I broke away from the tradition of my blog and talked about something other than my search for a wife. But variety is the spice of life and my blog is no exception. Anyways, to revert to the hopeless romantic that I am, I will end this post with following words of Omar Khayyam:

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse - and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness -
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

Suffice it to say, that my wilderness may not be too far from Paradise.

Beyond Enemy lines

2006-07-23T16:23:00.000-07:00

To squeeze the last drops of juice out of the "war" metaphor, let me say that I am trapped deep in the enemy territory of singlehood, waiting for a rescue. I can't say for sure that singlehood is entirely a hostile thing but I think I am bored of it. Anyways. I am now into the next stage of training of the perpetual learning process that Medicine is. I am back to working 90-100 hrs a week and I am enjoying it a lot. I am finally focussing on what I wanted to do and that is indeed a gratifying feeling. When I am at work, I am so preoccupied with things that I hardly have time to feel anything. The real problem starts when I get back home. Wouldn't it be nice if I were to come home, tired and flagged and there were a sweet little angel welcoming me back home with a smile that could send sunshine in the depths of the underworld?. Wouldn't it be nice if she were to put her arms around me and tell me that she was proud of me? And of course, wouldn't it be nice if she had rajma-chawal or chicken tikka masala all ready on the dinning table for us to enjoy a romantic dinner? Fool's paradise, you might say. But that is what keeps me going.

I know that my story is kind of stale and boring now. Heck, I am tired of thinking about it myself. But the problem is that there is this vacuum around me that I am sick and tired of. At times, there is this incredble urge that rises up inside of me to hold somebody's hand or to hug somebody. Especially, at times when I think of not so old times when I could actually do that.
I am trying to put this emotional fortress around me so that things and thoughts like these don't bother me. I know I will suceed coz there is just no other way around it.

Anyways, the quest for a wife goes on. My friends and family keep sending me pictures but I am not sure if I can ever fall in love with a picture. Time, distance and parental regulations make it difficult for me to actually know a person before I can say "yes". I really don't know how its all going to work. But I have faith in God and hopefully He will send my rescure soon.

Prisoner of my dreams

2006-06-24T16:24:00.001-07:00

I am back to my domain of singlehood. Feels just like home. The air smells great here too. There is a bad taste in my mouth but that is fading away slowly. I have realized that it is all the more difficult for me because I am held a prisoner by my dreams. Dreams of finding someone to love and who will love me back. Someone who will be like a Pulsar radiating love to me and not someone like a Blackhole who will absorb all the love I send her without an atom of affection coming back. Dreams of walking on the curvy path down the valley of years, holding each other's hands. Dreams of blue skies, blue oceans, white beaches, green eyes and ruddy cheeks that become even more red when I kiss her. And above all, dreams of making babies and dreams of her taking care of the babies and cooking food for me and cleaning the house and ironing my clothes. Ok. maybe not the last one. But yeah, dreams of this and dreams of that.

All of us dream of different things when we are young. Some of us believe in those dreams and shed the sweat of their brow and the blood of their hearts to chase those dreams. At the same time, I think one can do a lot of service to oneself if one does not allow oneself to be held a prisoner by those dreams. Chasing dreams is all fine and dandy but to make it a matter of life or death is in nobody's interest.

So, I am giving myself a break. My old friend Tanhai is back on my side. She teases me occasionally at night but she has been an old friend and that is ok between friends.

I have decided that I am not going to actively look for a wife anymore. You may say ki bhaiya, aangoor khate hain( that this is a slam dunk case of sour grapes!) and you won't be completely wrong but whatever. "Free your mind", Morpheus told Neo and I am going to follow his advise too. To use the old cliche, I am going to be patient and let the butterfly of marital happiness come and sit on me. That is not to say, that others who care about me have stopped looking. I am going to let everything takes its own course and hope for the best. In the meantime, I have so many other things to take care of. In a nutshell, I am going to defocus the marriage stuff for now.

I recently met another Sardar friend. We discussed a number of issues and as expected the issue of the Sikh identity cane up. He agreed with me that most professional Sikhs who come to the US give up their identity within a few months of landing in the US. He also related the story of an acquaintance of his who happens to be a Sikh woman. The parents of this lady had a lot of trouble finding a turbaned Sikh guy for her and after a long time of a futile search, they gave up and she ended up marrying a cut Surd from California. He also told me that most Delhi girls that he knew preferred non-turbaned Sikhs.

None of this was news to me. But sometimes it helps when one's view is vindicated by others in the similar situation.

Sikhs and the Gas prices

2006-06-10T16:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I went out with a few friends. We all had good times and I felt better. As I was walking out, an elderly gentleman stopped me and queried me:" Are you the one raising up the gas prices? Are you the Prince of Hezbollah?". His question was full of sincerity. He was perhaps a little drunk but there was no mailce. I smiled and said:" Sir, I wish I were that powerful but I am not." And then I went on explain "A brief history of Sikhs" to a drunk man. I am sure it was a wasted effort but whatever. I am sure he was confusing me with the Iranian Ayotollahs and clearly his knowledge of current affairs was at the very least, imperfect.. One of my non Sikh friend said that he wanted to kick that guy's butt but I don't think ignorance necessarily warrants rebuke.

I have noticed that some of us have resorted to the use of unparliamentary language in their comments. While I occasionally curse in my daily routine, I think it is mostly unbecoming of us. Not just because we are Sikhs. I think it is unbecoming regardless, if it offends others. I check my blog occasionally and I will delete those comments which I percieve are in poor taste.

My friends have been asking me to try the online matrimonial sites again in a bid to find myself a nice Sikh girl. I am a little sceptical about the whole idea. The whole time my profile was on those sites, I did recieve a fair number of responses. The only problem is that when I started to write back to them and mentioned that I was a turbaned Sikh, for some mysterious reasons, the conversations stopped. Mind it, this was before they had seen my picture. The mere fact that I wore a turban was enough to scare them away. I am not sure that it is going to be any different this time.

My friends have also suggested that maybe I should post my profile on this blog. Clearly, that would terminate my anonymity for good. But who knows, maybe it will also help me find somebody who will be stupid enough to marry me. I am still toying with that idea. Otherwise, I am prepared to go to India later this year and marrying the woman my parents think should be my wife.

I think some of our dreams should remain unfullfilled in life. If all the sugar from a sugar water solution were to crystallize out, the water would not remain sweet anymore. It is a twisted analogy from chemistry but it kinda makes the point.

The chess of relationships

2006-06-03T23:18:00.000-07:00

Years ago, I used to spend hours playing chess. I also read some poems by Keats etc as well as read some more recent books on relationships. I have also had the chance to learn about the popular culture of dating and the dynamics of relationships. My take on the whole issue was that most modern relationships are like a game of chess. People mull over their moves, they brainstorm about the other person's plans and then they make their moves all the time worrying about what the other person is going to do next. You can give these things the labels of "element of mystery", "my dignity" and "your dignity" but in the end, it is essentially reduced to a game of chess. I was well aware of the element of chess in modern day relationships before I started my last relationship. That does not mean, I fully agreed with it.

To me, liking somebody does not need to be guised under a mist of stoicism. If I like something or somebody, I am not going to be afraid or embarrassed to say that. If I like something enough, I think I will get it. If I don't, then it was never meant to be. But I am not going to waste my time thinking about when and how I am going to say what. I also don't think relationship need to be like a game of poker where God forbid, the other person should never see my cards.

I do understand that perhaps my notion of relationships is too idealistic. I mean, why should relationships be devoid of all the guile and ambiguity that surrounds us in other walks of life? I am no expert on relationships, but I think it is plausible that they are nothing but a game of cut-throat chess where one party is trying to win against the others. Gone are the days when a suitor will serenade his lover by singing a love song under her window. Sad but true.

I am just sad that when God finally sent somebody my way, He also sent a bunch of irreconcilable issues. I just wish that I had fallen in love with some nice Indian Sikh girl and had married her.

I do agree with some of you who think that this blog has kind of been beating around the bush. I had felt that several weeks ago. I think the blog has served its purpose of raising some awareness about the discrimination of turbaned Sikh men. Clearly, I can't think of changing anybody's minds. That was not my intent anyway.

In two months, I will turn 28. I have decided that I am never going to date again. My objective of dating was to find a wife and not for fun. Clearly, this process is more painful than the arranged marriage route.

I am now working on a blog related to Medicine and will be spending most of my time on that blog. Perhaps, it will keep me occupied in a more fruitful way.

Old sparks, new fire

2006-06-01T21:37:00.000-07:00

C and I remain good freinds. It is clear to her that I like her a lot and I can make an educated guess that she just might have an iota of liking for me too. We both understand that there are lot of issues that we need to resolve but hey that should not prevent us from being good friends. I enjoy her company and if I use the expression,"She has grown under my skin", it would not be an overstatement. Anyways, I am just glad that she is still around to listen to my stupid jokes and chide me from time to time. Harry needs a little straightening from time to time.

I also must thank one of my mentors and friends who told me of this lovely song by the Eagles: "Try and Love again". He tells me that no matter how hard it was, it is a bliss to love just for its own sake.

The comments to my previous posts have provided me insights into many issues. First of all, I am glad to note that more or less, we as a community are not averse to debating and I think that is a healthy thing. Sure, we have our differences and every once a while, one of us forgets rules of civil debate but in general, the discussion is based on logic and evidence. Second of all, I do see some people coming forth with their stories of Sikh women choosing non turbaned guys. There was an article by a Gurteg Singh which is kind of alarmist but I don't think it is entirely unreasonable. I certainly don't agree with the antagonist tone against Sikh women. I am a firm believer in equality of sexes and liberation of women and all that good stuff but I don't think it is fair that the shaft of the flag of Sikh women's liberation necessarily needs to slice through the hearts of guys like me.

Right now, I am just waiting and watching. The "Finding a Wife for Harry Singh" machine is eager to start whirring again. By that I mean, my friends and well-wishers are keen to spread the word for a wife for me. We will see how it works out.

There goes my baby

2006-05-24T22:31:00.000-07:00

My good ole' days were a week ago. There were times when somebody would just lovingly wrap her arms around me. There were times when I would carry someone up the stairs in my arms. There were times when someone would lovingly admonish me for driving slow and I would continue to do so just to tease her. There were times when someone would use my back as a pillow while studying. There were times when I did this and that but alas,those times are over.

C came over tonight. Or should I say, I convinced her to come over and study at my place since we are still friends. I thought maybe maybe there was still something salvageable. To use medical lingo, I was hoping that it was still a Full Code situation. I was prepared to throw the sink at it if I had to. Hell, I was not even opposed to a little mouth to mouth breathing if that would have made a difference. But to my dismay, it turned out to be a Do Not Resuscitate situation. I tried feeble attempts to revive the conversation about "us" but she remained steadfast and stubborn in her stance. I don't blame her. She is probably right in her own way but tell that to my heart.

She stayed for a few hours. We had some ice-cream for old times sake. But even the damn ice-cream tasted nasty. And then, it was time for her to leave. As a gentleman that I am, I walked with her to the door. We stood there for a few minutes making small talk nervously. I wanted to hold her hand and beg her to stay. I tried to read her mind by looking at her face. But her face did not betray any of her emotions. Nor did those green eyes. The same green eyes, which not in the very distant past, had been my best friends. I lifted my hand but stopped midway. It was too late. She had turned her back and had started to walk away.

I stood at the door watching her walk away. Every step that she took, I prayed that she would stop. I prayed that she would atleast turn around and exchange a final look, the look that would tell me some sort of indication that she still felt anything for me. The look, by which I would be able to spend the rest of my life with. "woh nazar jiske sahare mein baki ki jindagi goojar doonga".

But she didn't. She kept walking (some would say, briskly) and kept walking. And then she turned the corner and with that last step, she walked out of my sight and I am afraid, out of my life. The passage was brightly lit with pretty lights, the air was still and musty and I stood there wondering how things could change so fast. No answers came to mind. Like they say, American appliances don't work in Europe and I guess, Indian men don't work in America. You know, it is all about the "connection".

As I started to turn around and drag myself in, I noticed something on the floor. I bent down to take a closer look. It seemed familiar. "I'll be damned", I told myself. It was my darn heart. God bless my soul. The poor bugger was badly mangled but it was still beating. The rascal just won't quit. C had very skillfully dropped it on the ground as she was leaving, severing the final ties and sealing the deal. I picked it up and put in the refrigerator where it would lay healing, only for the next angel to come and break it.

Rest in Peace

2006-05-21T21:49:00.000-07:00

It was a busy weekend for me. I cooked, I ran and I did some other things. But most importantly, I dug out a grave. A grave for my dreams and some fascinating memories. Yeah, yeah. C broke up with me. I had been expecting it for two weeks now. It was clear (to both of us but mostly to her) that despite our best efforts, we did not have that chemistry( or "connect" , as she put it) between us that could sustain a happy longterm relationship. We just happen to belong to two very different worlds. As Mary Bilge put it:"Chemistry was crazy from the get-go".

O boy! I had thought that having been through almost two break-ups before, this one would be a little easier on me. But it feels the same. It feels like someone just slapped two electrodes on my scalp, thrust a piece of cloth in my mouth so that I couldn't scream and pushed the lever down making 1000 volts of electricity run through me. Sure, I didn't scream and there was no surface damage but somewhere deep inside my heart, a lot of fragile emotions and feelings melted and died a painful death.

No,overall it was a cordial thing. There was no screaming or pulling of hair. We both kind of knew it was coming.

We have agreed to remain friends and we will have to see how it goes.

C gave me a lot in these last three months. She was an answer to my prayers. I don't know how true or untrue her affections were but she touched my life in more ways than she could imagine. There are a lot of happy memories. Memories of her kicking my ass in miniature golf, memories of her bringing that bowl of CTM, memories of the smiley face that she drew on her every note. Little things that were peculiar to her and little things she did for me. I will miss holding her in my arms as much as I will miss her dulcous voice saying my name. I will cherish the memories of her saying her first Namaste and Sat Shri Akal. The memories of these three months will forever be safe in a corner of my left atrial appendage. Every now and then, my heart will fibrillate and small emboli of those memories will travel from my heart to my brain sending shivers down my mortal body and causing intense pain. But that is my fate.

The epitaph shall read this:"Here in rest the memories of the best three months of Harry Singh's life. Memories that were God's gift to him for good deeds done in a past life. Times will change and Harry will grow old. But the thought of these memories will continue to give him a gleam in his eye and a smile on his wrinkled face."

C, you are a special person and I hope you know that. To me, you will remain, forever precious.

What's cookin',Good lookin'?

2006-05-16T15:50:00.000-07:00

The simple answer to that question is:"A Lot".Literally. I am finally dabbling in the art and science of cooking. Over the last few days, we have cooked things like pasta, stir fry veggies and chicken of different types. Sure enough, it does not supplant restaurant food yet but I think I am getting there. There have been a few bumps. Like the other day, C had a little upset stomach. But you know, in big endeavours such as this, little drawbacks are ok. She is doing better now. Thanks.

While cooking, I reminsce about the days when I used to see my lady love in the kitchen cooking CTM for me. The other day, as C was working on the sandwiches, I sneaked behind her and held her in my arms. It was more or less exactly like I had thought. The only difference being there was no CTM in the picture. But that is ok.

The other thing that I have been doing is giving C lessons in "Life of a Sikh guy-101". So, C has been given demonstrations of how Sikh guys wear a turban, how they can wrap up their relatively long beards into a small knot. The first time she saw me wearing a piece of linen around my beard, she was astonished. She thought I had a tooth-ache or something. I gave her insights into the science of tying a beard. At the end, she told me that I still look like someone with a toothache. And then she kissed me in an attempt to cure my tooth ache.

I am glad a few of the sisters have finally accepted that what I have been yapping about is not entirely baseless. I stand vindicated. We are all but specks in this universe engaged in a quest for God as well as the one that God has created for us. One way or the other, we will all find that one. But sometimes, the quest is protracted and desperation sets in. I was and still am hurt by the open rejection of turbaned Sikh guys by Sikh women. I don't think it is a celebration of personal freedom. To me, it still reeks of discrimination.

My compliments and best wishes to those who have defeated the odds and found the partner of their dreams. As we all wallow in our luxuries, let us still not close our eyes to the world around us.

Mission Impossible

2006-05-07T15:32:00.000-07:00

The juice of this blog ultimately lies in the turban debate. The relevance of the turban in the new world and the changing attitude of the Sikh youth towards it. I understand that we have had a lively debate going on these issues. A lot of times,however, this debate seems to have an unlikely resemblance to the Pak-India talks where people will talk about everything except the crux of the issue. There is a thin line between impassioned debating and bickering and it seems like that we occasionally cross that line very easily. First of all, this blog is not against women, least of all Sikh women. I have had the utmost respect for women. Men spend half of their lives pinning for women and the other half complaining about them. Their lives revolve around the fairer sex. I and a lot of other people are not any different. I think any efforts to educate me regarding the importance of women in our society and our lives are redundant because I already have profound appreciation for women. I also celebrate women' right to equality and freedom of speech although I do feel sometimes in an overzealous bid to exercise those rights, some people forget about decency and common courtesies, which are equally important.

To continue on this rhetorical note, I will also like to point out that this blog is not about race either. I think the debate about white vs non-white women is futile too and perhaps belongs to another blog.

I appreciate those women readers who have professed a personal fondness for the turban or at least stated that turbans don't turn them off. What I don't completely understand is the utter denial that is coming across. None of the women readers have acknowledged that a lot of their sahelis are not cool with turbaned Sikhs. As far as I am concerned, that attitude is rampant among Sikh women. It seems like a mission impossible to get people to admit that. I will change my opinion when I see a change. Again, I would urge people to not behave like dinosaurs who remained oblivious to the changing climate around them and when they figured out what was going on, they were already extinct! Also, to those of you who are in the Social Sciences, may I suggest for you to do a study looking at the scope of the changing attitudes among Sikh women towards turbaned Sikh men using both the data from online matrimonial sites as well as population based surveys. I think that would establish scientifically what we already know is true anecdotally. "Hath kangan ko aarsi kya, padhe likhe ko farsi kya"

Maybe I am taking this too far. Maybe I should just shut up and let things take their own course. After all, I am no longer personally affected by all this. Maybe I should join the hordes of fellow Punjabis who shrug their shoulders and say "Mainu ki" and "Sanu ki" everytime they are asked tough questions about religion and their personal preferences. But for some reason, I can't. I am not going to change my opinion to earn brownie points or to look good. My opinions are based on my life experiences and are my version of reality. It may not appear to be accurate to you but nonetheless it does to me.

On a differnt note, I can't believe that I have written over fifty posts for this blog. What started out on a whim has turned out to be a very interesting journey. I thank all of you for your coments and for keeping the discussion lively.

Et tu (a) Freud

2006-04-30T18:33:00.000-07:00

Blogging is supposed to work like an emotional cathartic. At least, I have always felt like that. But I had no idea that blogging will also save me money that I would have otherwise spent on a shrink. Thanks to this blog, I have had the pleasure of my personality dissected inside out by amateur and wannabe Freuds. Don't get me wrong. I appreciate the expenditure of mental energies on me. It is always a good idea to learn about myself from others. You could say that that might be one of the reasons I write a blog and present myself for such analysis. But also remember, what you might think you see in me may partly be your own reflection. A process that psychiatrisits describe as "Projection". Anywho. Thanks for all your comments. I could not help make this observation though. Inherent in most arguments is the admission that turbans are indeed considered by women to be a negative accesory. My row is against that matter and that matter alone. Rest is coincidental.

It seems like it has been my sad duty to play the Devil's Advocate throughout. Maybe the turban is just incidental here. Maybe the truth behind my woes is elsewhere. Unfortunately, I have not been able to determine any other factor. But it is kind of a mute point now. They say the darkest hour of the night is right before dawn. I am getting the feeling that my dawn may be close.

The other day I went with C to watch this new movie "Inside Man". It is a Spike Lee movie with an abundance of usual Spike Lee style racial allusions and metaphors. What was interesting was the appearance of a young Sikh guy who works in the bank. It is amazing how the movie devotes 10 seconds for the guy to vent against the daily problems that a turbaned Sikh guy experiences. He mentions the selective frisking at the airports, the usual mistaken identity with Arabs so on and so forth. Sitting in the theatre, I felt like Waris Ahluwalia was giving life to my thoughts. As he was speaking on the screen, C kept squeezing my hand as a gesture of silent acknowledgement. Touche, Spike. Interestingly, the movie also opens with a score from Chaiya Chaiya. Overall, I feel happy that there has been a good platform for the concerns of the Sikh community to be voiced.

First Steps

2006-04-26T11:29:00.000-07:00

I have good news and bad news. The good news is that my baby has taken her first steps. Well, kind of. C has made her first attempts to make the best of Indian cuisine namely Chicken Tikka Masala. The bad news is that I will have to now make her Chicken Parmesan. Anywho, focussing on the good news. Can you imagine my joy when she brought a bowl full of juicy tender pieces of CTM that she had cooked herself ? My joy was kind of similar to the joy of a parent at the sight of his baby uttering the first word or walking the first step. Ok, not really like that of a parent but you get the idea. And even though C did not think she did a good job, I think it was all worth it. I mean there is always room for improvement but I really really respect the sentiment. I hope I can reciprocate although I think being a guy and a MCP, I should be given more chances to cheat (like getting half cooked CP and heating it at home etc). We will see about that. Hopefully, C will continue to hone her cuilinary skills and I will continue to exercise my palate.

Other things. I am rather disappointed by some of the comments made to last post. First of all, I must make it clear that I value my privacy a lot. I had never wanted to reveal what I do for a living as it is immaterial. But that particular experience was so emotionally overwhelming and so germane to the theme of this blog, I felt I had to share it. People can put on any style of malice-goggles and twist things around to make whatever point that they want to make. It does not matter.

Even more disturbing is the confession of a young Sikh guy who feels disenchanted with the turban to the point of thinking of getting rid of it. The blog was started to celebrate the Sikhi swaroop and to let people know how some of the things they say or do can hurt others. I know I can sometime sound pathetic but trust me I am not. I might be self-effacing but I do not indulge in self-pity. "Bahut Janam bichre re Madho, eh janam tumhare lekhe" (I have wasted many a lives, my Father, this one I surrender at your feet) is my guiding principle. While it hurts me how the thinking of Sikh youth is changing, I think turbaned Sikhs are strong enough to endure the change. In an earlier post, I had alluded to Robert Frost's poem A Road less taken. The path is ardous and there are bristles and thorns on the way but serving one's Father is worth it. And usually these efforts don't go waste. Believe it or not, there is still Natural justice out there.

And trust me, it is probably not that hard to find "a" wife with or without a turban. Had it been upto my parents, I would have been married at age 2 years. But I am a hopless romantic and just wanted to fall in love with somebody. Unfortunately, in my profession. there is not enough time to roam around and find someone. And there are not enough young single Sikh women in the medical field. Anyways, my story is mine alone. Regardless, my position on the loss of respect of the turban is unchanged. It will be really sad if one more brother gives in to the pressure rather than taking it as a man. Turban stands for resilience against tyranny whether it comes from Mughals or from within us.

A Glass half full

2006-04-24T15:26:00.000-07:00

Here is a rare opportunity for you guys to witness the rare utterance of positive words from a guy who is usually fixated at the empty half of the glass. I am a physican. I work with people all day long and hence I deal with their preconceptions, their judgements and their notions about somebody who looks so different than them. The other day, one of my patients told me this. She told me that the first time she ever saw me in the hospital, she told her mom that she hoped that I would not be her doctor. She did not tell me why she thought so but I and most of you can guess why. However, as fate would have it, I was assigned to take care of her. Now, after I have been taking care of her for the past six months, she told me that I was the best thing that ever happened to her. She told me other nice things about me and basically made my day.

The objective of this side-story is not for me to blow my trumpet or to tell you how special I am. That is already a well known fact. Just kidding. The point I am trying to make is when people judge other people merely on the basis of their looks or other superficial attributes, there is scope for much errror. I don't blame her for prejudging me. I mean look at me. Here I am, a guy with a beard and a turban in a post 9/11 world. I don't look anything like she had ever seen in her life and she was put in a situation where she was asked to put her life in the hands of a guy that looked wierd( to her). So, even though I am partly hurt (as I don't know how many other of my patients have thought like that about me), yet I can't complain because in the end she recognized the fact that I cared about her. Compare this to the other scenario. One of my non-Indian friends asked me almost in disbelief that how it was possible for me to find a non-Sikh non Indian girl to be by my side when Sikh girls (well, a whole lot of them) had even refused to me. It was hard for me to explain to him because even I don't understand it. True, my efforts had mostly utilized online matrimonial services but whatever. It is amply clear that Sikh women have similar or even worse preconceptions and prejudgements about turbaned guys as non Sikhs.

I am proud of my religion. Every weekend, I look forward to going to the Gurudwara because sitting there listening to the kirtan gives me the same pleasure i had when I lay in my mother's lap as a kid. Every time I bow before my Guru, I feel the loving hand of my Father tap me on my back. I meet other Sikh people and they all seem nice and friendly. I feel accepted and at home. But the moment I step out, everything changes. There is this dichotomy that I don't understand. Sikh women and Sikh guys who not only proudly choose to give up on their identities but ridicule those who don't. "Only clean-shaven JSM respond" is the predominant requirement. Everything else is secondary. The above story however is ample proof that if only people would take the time out to know somebody before dismissing them, they would know that most of their pre-conceived notions were so wrong. If only Sikh women would put in that effort, would they find out that guys they were dismissing as trash might actually be a piece of uncut diamond. Topaz can mimick trash sometimes.

Anyways, I have harped on this tune forever. I have cried myself hoarse but I don't know if it really matters. It is an eternal fight. People will always prejudge people like me and at every step of life, we have to fight against those opinions. The only thing that bugs me is: " Why do we have to do that with the people that are our own and who should have understood us better?"

Apples and Oranges

2006-04-22T12:28:00.000-07:00

Years ago when I was a young boy, I had the dubious distinction of accompanying my mom to the sabzi mandi (Indian fruit and vegetable market). I remember how she would do this elaborate routine of choosing the best of the apples and oranges. She would pick the best looking orange up, turn it all around inspecting its contours in 3D. She would smell it and sometimes she would put it back with a frown on her face while at other times she would happily put it in her basket. The whole process intrigued me. Back home, nine times out of ten, she would be right. The apples and oranges she picked up would be really juicy and ripe. But then there would be that one bad apple that escaped her experienced eyes and would end up in the trash bin.

Finding a wife, by the arranged route, is kind of similar to the process of buying fruits and vegetables. Most of the times, you have 15-20 minutes to decide if the person you want to spend the rest of your life with is a bad apple or good. Unlike fruits, you cannot turn her all around or smell her. That would be weird. But if you are smart, you may ask her her a few soul-searching questions and hope that she would answer them honestly. Even so, there is so much you can do in 20 minutes. But like fruits and vegetables, nine times out of ten, you would be right. The person that you end up marrying would not be a nagging obsessive pyscho but really a cute little princess who would stroll around in the garden of your heart. However, there would be that one time when the whole marriage would be one big rotten apple with worms crawling out and gross stuff like that. So, generally the odds are in your favor. The question is: are you happy with those odds because if you are wrong, it is not the damn apple who is going to the trash bin, it is you and your life. To borrow a term from economics, I am a risk-averse individual. Especially when the stakes are as high as my life. Hence, I thought of trying to see if I could meet someone on my own and get to know her before taking the leap of blind faith.

On the other hand, the other route is not that rosy either. Because the first few months, people just can't help but pretend to be somebody that they are not. They are at their best behavior, they put on their best clothes and lazy suckers like me clean up their apartment or walk other people's dogs with a broad grin on their face. You know how it is. It is the natural way of things. C tells me that she would never marry anybody till she has been with him for a year and half. While that is a tall order, but I can see the logic behind it. It is only with time, that the initial euphoria dies and the true you comes in the forefront. And then when you really really know the other person, you can decide whether he or she is the one who you want to share your life, in sickness and health, in poverty and opulence and other sweet stuff like that. To sum up, in this method, you could literally touch, smell, even Xray the goddamn oranges and apples before you decide which ones you wanna take home to mama. You can still go wrong but then you don't have your parents you can put the blame on because the decision was yours and yours alone.

Anyways, my ramblings on love and ladies go on. The other day somebody wrote that we should strive to be better humans rather than focusing on disparaging others. I agree with that completely. Gandhi wrote: "You must be the change you want to see in this world." It is true that when you are an accomplished individual, you will invariably get the admiration and affection (of ladies) that you seek. The ladies will flock to a bigger better you. I have heard that story for about three years now. And it is my sad duty to report that it is not always true. More so, when your chief modality of finding a wife are online services like you know the names. Women make it amply clear there that they don't want turbaned guys and hence your proposal will be rejected no matter who you are or what you stand for. Call it bad luck or being at the wrong place at the wrong time or any other excuse, but that is the truth. I am all for self-improvement but unfortunately, life is not as rigidly governed by the laws of physics as the pendulum in the Science lab.

Last but not least, C categorically denies that she thinks I am cute when she is in a happy mood. She says that she thinks I am cute even when she is in a bad mood. Only that she does not say it. Also, she did not go to that party because she hates Asian hangouts but because she had other stuff to do. Give the poor girl a break. She is going through enough being with me. Be easy on my sweetie.

Disclaimer: There has been this idea floating around in the comments of an organization to help "crying Harrys" find a wife. Let me make it clear. The idea is that of the anonymous person and his alone. I am neither for nor against such an endeavor. I have known a lot of Sikh organizations way too well to know that most of them end up being either the personal kingdoms of a chosen few or get entangled in a quagmire of personal avarice. Anyways, this blog is my story and I have taken the liberty to extrapolate from my experiences to deduce that other Sikh guys have probably experienced similar things. I have said before that each of us is unique in our own way. You might have had a better luck with Sikh women that I have but do remember that if you are in a room with a giant Gorilla, there is little chance that you would miss it. That Gorilla, ladies and gents, is the dynamic change in our religion. Good or bad, who knows. But it is happening and it is difficult to ignore it.

Born to Cry

2006-04-19T16:48:00.000-07:00

I was born crying. It is in my genes. What can I do?. The only time a woman called me cute was the nurse( who helped pull the curtains and introduced me to the world) who told my mom that I was a cute boy. Even that is hearsay. I know it only because my mom told me so. Until now. C, when she is in a good mood, tells me that I am cute. I hope she means it. Anyways, this is all in response to my friend's comment that maybe I should shut my trap now that I am with somebody. I wish it were that simple. I have had plenty of reasons not to stop crying. Now, I have found a special lady but until I find a wife (or she becomes one), the blog shall live.

One of the people in the comments section proclaims that I am a "stupid idiot" because I write about the ladies and love. Well, that is only partly accurate. I write about ladies who don't give a fair chance to guys like me. Whatever. I have been down this route so many times that I am flagged and tired of talking about it. I love to write. I have written short stories all my life and now I write a blog!. What can I do? And I write about what I see. Sikh kids smoking cigarettes even as the tattoo of a khanda glistens on their backs, Sikh ladies who are too haughty and too cool to look at a turbaned guy as they sip on their margaritas and Sikh lads who don the turban when they accompany their parents to the Gurudwara yet are only too quick to take it off and show off their neat crew-cut in da club. What are you talking about? That is hot stuff to write about. It is the story of our lifetimes which is unfolding before our own eyes. Makes you wonder about a lot of things.

The other thing that caught my attention was a young missy talking about how she feels discriminated by turbaned guys because she cuts her hair. I must admit that this is the first of its kind. I am sorry if it is really true. I am sorry for the brazen uncivilized attitude of my brethren. But I am sure one of them will come forward and ask you out. Lately, I have noticed people do exactly that on my blog. I will be happy if some other brothers are able to find wives here. And thanks for your wishes. I do hope that it works out for me.

The Statistics of Love

2006-04-16T18:39:00.000-07:00

Lately, there has been a fascinating discussion in the comments section on the application of statistical methods to the age old question of finding a wife for Hairy Harries of this world. While some of the mathematical theories that have propounded appear simplistic, the message is clear and grim. Some people have proposed that other attributes like intellect and handsomeness might be able to compensate for the turban and put people like me at par with their non-hairy peers. Others have drawn comparisons with other religions like Islam to justify the fascination of Sikh women with the non-hairy subspecies of Sikhs.

I do agree with some of the statements while differing with others. First of all, the non-turbaned Sikhs are not a sect of Sikhism like Shias and Sunnis are of Islam. They believe in the same fundamental beliefs of Sikhism but for their own special reasons have chosen to ignore a few rules. Most Sikhs would look upon them as renegade Sikhs if nothing else. I do agree with "Givelove"( a very interesting moniker) that the percentage of Sikh women who dig turban is astonishingly small.

All these statistical mambo-jambo was at work in a desi party this weekend in downtown Houston. It was a bhangra party and needless to say, a lot of people who boast of being Punjabis showed up in full force. Of course, they were sans the turban and other outward signs of their religion. Yours truly, on the other hand, was the solo turbaned person in the crowd. This is a not a matter of pride or embarrassment but just a statement. I am not afraid of standing out even though I am not outstanding (Well, C says I am). Anyways, it was a dark smoky atmosphere with the smoke emanating from all the cigarettes that were smoldering at the luscious lips of the bevy of Sikh ladies. Don't get me wrong. A lot of young Sikh lads were partaking in sucking the joystick as well. There was loud music and there were people gyrating to the tunes of bhangra and hip-hop.

Unfortunately, C did not accompany me to the party because of other stuff. I was in the company of my male friends who went in the hope of meeting somebody. The edifice of their hopes has crumbled several times in the past and this time was no different. A friend of mine wears a stubble of a beard and wears a baseball hat. The poor guy tried but failed. As did other of my friends. Most of them carried the burden of atleast one of the lethal trinity: fobs, bearded or partly bearded Sikhs and nice guys. The party was a window into changing times and the future Sikh generations. There was perhaps sampling bias but I would still confer some degree of validity to it.

To cut the long story short, I think turbaned Sikh men are an endangered species. Peer pressure and other things are just not in favor of the perpetuation of this species. I don't mean to sound nihilistic but I think I can read the writing on the wall. This, only reminds me of the Dodo bird. An indigenous species of Mauritius, the Dodo bird was wiped to extinction by the swift blow of changing times because the stupid bird just would not run away at seeing the hunter approach.

I might be a member of an endangered species but I don't want to be another Dodo.

Write No Evil

2006-04-09T08:35:00.000-07:00

In this era of blogging, I think it is about time that the three monkeys signifying "Hear no evil, See no evil, Say no evil" get a new friend. A new monkey depicting "Write No evil". Over the past few months of writing this blog, I have had a few "slings and arrows" of nasty comments hurled at me. However, none of those have offended me as the ones posted recently. I almost can't believe them. Most of them are not even directed at me and yet I feel offended.

I am a proud Sikh. I love my religion but that does not mean that people can automatically assume that I hate other religions. I respect other religions and cultures, be it Hinduism, Christianity or any other. I am only too aware of the excesses against Sikhs but hate and diffuse malice are no answers. I and this blog are against fundamentalism, bigotry and intolerance of any kind, in any shape and form. So, if my tolerant views make you throw up or indulge in any other offensive biological action, please find another place in the open pastures.

And C, sweetie, I am missing you.

I miss you with every breath I take,
Every moment that I am awake,
With every cake that I bake,
I miss you, for God's sake.

Hope springs eternal

2006-04-05T09:46:00.000-07:00

To all my hairy brothers, read this and read this good. For every modern Sikh woman who rejects you for who you are and who you have chosen to believe, there is someone out there who will blow a puff of gentle breeze, parting midway your long flowing beard and reveal your tender loving heart. She will place a gentle wet kiss on your broken heart and as you writhe in pleasure, she will make you fall in love with her. I know she may be hard to find but hope, my brethren from turbanland, springs eternal in the human breast and trust me, that is for a reason.

This is in response to a comment made by a Sikh brother to one of my posts. I hear thy howl, brother. Keep faith. If Sikh women don't want you, there is no reason for you to want them either. Keep your faith and your dignity.

Years ago, I had read that Khuswant Singh had predicted that Sikhism would be extinct by the end of last century. That scared me at the time. Of course, he has been proven wrong many times over. But now sometimes, I tend to worry more. I know people would argue that it is a mistake to equate the whole philosophy of a religion with some dermatological appendage. Maybe so. But take a look at the 17 th comment to my post Kissed by a Rose and you would understand what I mean. Increasingly, more and more of us are showing our fingers to the outward symbols. But what is troubling is more and more of us don't care about the philosophy either: "I know Guru Gobind Singh's children died for their faith) who were cut into pieces because they wouldn't abandon the "path" but hey, that's what they wanted to do; it was their choice. It is not my choice so stop imposing it on me."

I understand religion is an intensely personal issue. It is a matter of belief and faith which should spring from within you and not be thrust down your throat. Sure. But are we doing a good job of teaching our kids about what our religion actually stands for? Do they think of us as a relic of an ancient past, clinging to a history that they don't care about or are they aware of the vivacious lively aspects of Sikh philosophy as well?

Whatever. It troubles my heart. Not that I care about how one random individual thinks. I don't consider it blasphemy either. But sitting on the sidelines, I take a sigh and utter a silent prayer that God give us wisdom.

On the personal front, things are going well. C has discovered that I don't snore although she hasn't fallen in love with me yet (although I have risen to the level of "sweetheart"). She tells me it is too soon. I agree. I tell her I may be hairy but I am still cute. She agrees to that. So, we are kind of even steven for the moment. Oh, BTW. She cooked something the other day and to my surprise, it was edible. Just kidding. It was actually sumptuous. Take it easy, babe.

Also, thanks TM for your nice comment. I have been telling people that for years but they wouldn't believe me.

Color of Music

2006-03-31T15:02:00.000-08:00

Of all the art forms, music is one which leaves the most to imagination. If you are reading a poem, you pretty much end up thinking what the poet wants you to think. If you see a painting, you might interpret it slightly differently from the artist but I don't think there is too much room for imagination. Music on the other hand is a whole different ball game. Two people might be listening to the same score and yet they will conjure up completely different sets of images. This is what happened last night.

C bought a CD of a rendition of Holst's Planets. We sat in the car listening to it. She told me that the music made her think of colors. A crazy splash of colors and hues in a rapidly changing progression following the sleigh of the conductor's hand. I, on the other hand, had different thoughts. She lay in my arms, listening to the music as well as the beating of my heart. After a few minutes, she drifted into sleep. I looked around. It was a clear sky and yet there were no stars in the sky. There was not another soul around. Nature stood still for a few minutes as my heart tried to beat in unison with the staccato and self-echoing theme of Jupitor. I closed my eyes and saw C's face when I had seen her for the first time. I opened my eyes and saw her in my lap, sipping the honey-heavy dew of slumber. I doodled my name on her arm with he childish hope that that simple act would make her mine. Emotions raged inside me only to fizzle out once the theme changed. She woke up and we parted with heavy hearts. Blissful eternity.

Anyways, back to other issues. Some of the people have commented that I lack confidence and that would explain my previous fiasco with women. They have tried to tell me that turbans and beards are no issues. I can only thank Amrit for illustrating the point that I have been trying to make. He is a quintessential example of young Sikh men who try to twist religion to suit their theories. But that is fine. All of us do that to some degree. The only thing that worries me is the amount of spite laden in his words. People who have chosen to wear a turban certainly don't deserve ridicule and least of all, be labelled "cultish"

Is White right?

2006-03-31T14:14:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer: The following should not let anybody to believe that C and I have anything else besides dating going on between us. For the lack of a better word, we are in the "trial phase" with long ways to go before anything else. The following is just the flight of an imaginative mind which cannot help thinking aloud.

C is neither Sikh nor Indian. . In her own words, she is as white as they come. She also thinks she is a prude. However, she seems all right. A lot of people seem to think that we are the wrongest (if that is a word) people to be together. We come from completely different worlds. I was raised in a traditional Indian household where religion and family values were the predominant theme. She was raised in a conservative American Catholic household where I think religion and family values were celebrated with equal fervor. There are commonalities and yet there are differences.

Indian culture has traditionally delegated the role of home-maker to women. Indian men take great pride when their wives cook for them, take care of the house and raise the kids. This is irrespective of whether the wives work as hard as their hubbies to put bread on the table or not. I admit it. Indian men are lazy, chauvinistic pigs. We may pretend to be ok with our wives working or whatever. But we still like them to pamper us as spoilt kids. Many of my friends have warned me that an American woman would never be able to do that. They paint grim scenarios of me slugging in the dungeons of my kitchen with sweat oozing out of every pore of my body. They pick up the crystal ball and show me, lost in the meandering alleys of a grocery store trying to figure out which dressing to choose for the salad. And then they advise me to give up on my porcine love for Indian food coz she will never cook and all we will ever eat is salads and wine.

Implied in all these words of wisdom, is the supposition that I am trying to find a slave rather than a wife. Sure, I don't like to cook and sure I want to make more out of my life than figuring out which salad dressing to choose. I have big dreams and I will be damned if I am going to give up on those because I have to do grocery shopping. But little things in life are important and over time, they make the difference between a happy marriage and divorce. My problem is that I seek someone who will love me and for whom I can open up the reservoirs of love in my heart.If two people love each other and there is free and open communications, I think they can surpass any hurdle. I don't know. I am a hopeless romantic. Pragmatism is not one of my forte as yet. But for the love of God, I can't imagine not being with somebody because I will not get chicken tikka masala twice a week. And who knows. Maybe she will learn how to make chicken tikka masala and maybe I will learn how to make chicken Parmesan. Who knows?

The other big thing. Will our families accept us? When we make a decision to be somebody, it just doesn't affect us because there are so may other lives intertwined with our own. I can't speak for her parents but I know my parents will have a tough time in the beginning. There are going to be huge communication issues springing mostly from the diveristy of language and culture. But I know my parents. I can never see their hearts broken and I know they can't see mine either. If we work hard and try to love our elders, I think ,since they are much more wiser than we are, they usually give in to love and sincerity. Anyways, this is much further down the road.

C and I have been making a checklist of these commonalities and differences. Of course, this is being done without letting the other person know about it. Maybe I am just imagining things. Maybe I am an idiot and this is just another dream. But I sure don't want it to end.

Scalded from within

2006-03-27T10:09:00.000-08:00

First of all, I am very happy to report that I have officially completed my first cooking exercise successfully. One of my friends (thanks L) had suggested that it would be a great idea if I were to bake a cake for C. You know it has that touch of personal effort that would hopefully make her feel special. And she assured me that it was not that hard a thing. So, I took her advice and went to the grocery story and brought generous supplies. I also enlisted the help of two of my other friends who were kind enough to render it. We drew up a few diagrams( from the best shape of the cake to the coordinates of the letters of her name), brain-stormed the whole idea and we argued passionately about the color of frosting and the font of the letters. We then came up with a plan.The plan was to bake two cakes sequentially-one as the primary weapon and the other as the backup. So there we were. Three clueless guys (some more than others) tryong to raise the dough so that one of us would fall in love. Brothers in aprons. With remarkable stealth, I was able to sneak in a few drops of love potion extracted straight from the oil fields of moi heart. Suffice it to say, everything went perfectly (to our surprise). C says she loved it and I blushed when she said it. Of course, she would not share her cake and so I had to go back and split the backup cake with my buddies. No complaints. It is all good.

Now, to other issues. Last time I mentioned one of my friends who had a bad experience in his love life. The poor guy had been married for a year and a half. An arranged marriage. Just what the book says. Two Sikh youth tied in Holy matrimony. Except that it was not a happy marriage. For whatever reasons, it did not work out. And during one of the arguments, she told him that she had actually never wanted to marry him because she never wanted to be with somebody with a turban and a beard and the only reason she did so was because her parents forced her to do it. My friend had a knife slice through his heart and his soul. He did not say another word and left the house. They have now been seperated for a year with a divorce in the works.

My friend is a strong guy and he has endured everything well. That is such a crappy way to end a marriage. I know when people fight, they say nasty things to each other to hurt the other even though they may not mean to do it. But then again, it was something that had been brewing inside of her for a long time and then when it came out, it did so with an explosion.

His story has only increased my disenchantment with arranged marriages. How can I be sure that the sweet looking girl that I will be marrying after knowing her for 30 seconds is not going to tell me two years into a marriage that she married me under pressure? There is no way to know that and that send shivers down my spine.

Marriage and religion, for Sikhs are intertwined in a complex nexus. More and more of us are rejecting others because of turbans and pagris blah blah blah with utter disregard to the real person within us. We are too caught up in issues that should not be given too much importance.
The whole thing makes me want to puke but I know that is not going to help anybody.

When I was baking the cake, we kept poking a knife through the cake to see if it was baked or not. I wish we could do the same thing with our religion coz although the cake was not scalded from within but I am afraid that we, are getting charred from inside out.

Kissed by a Rose

2006-03-20T21:52:00.000-08:00

Years ago I had heard a song sung by Seal in a Batman movie. It goes something like:" Kissed by a Rose on the grey". Every now and then, the song would haunt me and I would hum it. It sounded nice but I never actually knew what it really felt like. Until now. Suddenly the words have acquired a larger than life form. They have floated out from the screen and seem to be flying out in 3 dimensions ever changing their colors. That is all I am going to say. The other thing I thought I would mention is the Spanish dictum:" A kiss without a moustache is like eating an egg without salt." And you know I have a really generous supply of sodium chloride. Enough said. But there is hope for us, Brothers. I also did some research on the art of kissing when you have a rather bushy moustache. There is not much stuff out there. My training in Science forces me to treat this as any other skill. I hope to master it soon and propose new techniques. "What a nerd!", she keeps telling me. Yup, that is right.

Anyways, I took C for a lunch with a few friends. There were friends, there were wives and there were kids. Overall, it was a good experience and I thought she liked it too. I am suprised that she thinks that the kids didn't like her too much. To my amazement, she thinks they like me a lot. Well, the reason is simple. To kids, I look like the Santa (Singh) in his teens. Kids are smart. They have
a better sense about people than adults.

For the past few posts, I have been focusing on my amorous affections. It is a fun thing and I am enjoying it. However, my religion and its issues are never far from my heart. The truth is that even though I am dating somebody now, I still have remnants of bitterness about the rejection of the turbaned Sikhs by majority of Sikh women. One of my very close friend related a personal poignant story which, I am afraid, I cannot tell until I have his permission. My own story is not that different. I will elaborate on this in the next post.

Love, Actually

2006-03-18T18:53:00.000-08:00

People have written tomes about what Love and such related feelings are. As naive as I am in these matters, I thought it might be a good idea to document my current feelings now and maybe revisit these a few months later. Frankly, I do not fully understand the artificial compartmentalization of these feelings. Sure, I have had infinite "crushes" in my lifetime and most of those are ephemeral feelings based on isolated attributes of a person like attractiveness or personality but that dissipate in due time without getting the fodder of effort and thought. Then, there have been times when I thought I am in Love without really understanding what that meant. Most of those cases were really "unrequited Love" which also faded away after being diluted with the tincture of time. I have never really ventured beyond those and hence I think I am on uncharted territory now.

People have put the fear of God in me regarding uttering the L word. God forbid that this word should come out of my mouth till about 6 months have elapsed into a relationship. But what really is this L word? What is so forbidden about this apple that I can't have it now?. Surely, it is not defined by the degree of hurt that one feels after being forsaken coz surely enough I was hurt like crazy even though it was too soon for me to be in "Love".

This is what I feel these days. When I am with C, I feel good about myself. She makes me feel special. I don't think she makes any extra effort to do that but for some reason it works for me. I understand that this is a very selfish reason to be with somebody. I mean, does it always have to be about me?. The other day she asked me if that was because this is my first time being close to somebody. I think that has a lot to do with it. And that actually reminds me of Shiv Batalwi, a renowned Punjabi poet, who wrote:"Mein kandayli thor ve sajna, oogi vich ujara"( I am but a thorny cactus in the desert of Agony). Maybe I was like that cactus who suddenly got a few drops of Ambrosia and is now trying to bloom flowers of myriad colors. That is indeed a very reasonable explanation. When I am with her, I feel "accepted" and "cared for". And hence I wish to do things that would make her feel special too. I already think that she is special. I only have to show her that.

Overall, this is actually also a scary notion. Because what that means is that with time this initial euphoria will settle down. I started out having a crush on her and then someway down the road, this transitioned into a mix of ecstasy and gratitude because I never thought that this crush, unlike many others, would ever see the light of the day. Now, lies ahead the daunting task of falling in Love. Actually, I hope that I rise in Love rather than fall. But truly, I don't know how that will feel. People tell me that with time both of us will start to see each other's flaws. With time, the fine print will become magnified and we would know the knitty-gritty and the quirks of each other's personalities. She will find out if I snore at night or not and if so, how loudly.(BTW,for the record, I don't) and I will find out if she can take care of me or not. And then one fine day, if we decide that we are ready to accept each other's flaws, we would have fallen in love. And of course, after that we will have to deal with the "M" word. However, if for some reason, it is not working out we would know that too and we would say that it was never meant to be. I don't know how that will all go but I hope to experience a whole panorama of feelings and emotions.

I do not know what her reasons were when she decided to go out with me. She wouldn't tell me but that is ok. I do not know how she feels about the whole thing either but that is the enigma that I have to break. Either way, it has been a good ride so far and that is what matters.

Box of choclates

2006-03-17T18:00:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, somebody commented that break-ups teach people more about themselves than anything else. I think that is really the case. The past few days I have been reflecting on my life (if you don't know it by now,that happens to be my favorite hobby) and I have discovered so many new things about myself. Growing up on James Bonds movies, I, like many other young guys, dreamt of being a smooth player with the ladies. I too hoped that one day I will just walk into a room and then whisper something in a pretty girl's ears and the next moment,we will be smooching and making out. It is another story that my life went in a different direction and I did become a sleuth but of a different kind.

I had heard too much about this dating game but never had actually played it until now. And I found out that I was no player. More than that, I found out, some might say to my chagrin, that I no longer want to be a player. I found out that I am a regular Joe who just wants to share his life and his dreams with a special lady. I had the honor and pleasure of spending a magical week with somebody I consider special. But when she told me that she was going to leave me, I really did not know what I was going to do. I was at my wit's end and thank God, I have good friends who helped me recover. Anyways, it dawned upon me,that after spending just ten days with a person if I can get so hurt, what were to happen if this would have been a year or a two year affair? I am really surprised now when I hear about people who break-up after four or five years of marriage. I admire their fortitude and their courage. I understand that after a while, people do get bored of each other but still I can't imagine the pain and agony. I have made up my mind that this dating game is certainly not my cup of chai. If I am going to make the effort and expend the energy of making a relationship work then it rather be my marriage than a relationship that is so frail as to break apart by the faintest gust of wind. I just don't have the emotional strength to withstand these emotional tornadoes. I just can't put together a nest for myself and then see it plundered. Nope, that is just not me.

Anyways, it was a unique experience and taught me a lot about myself.Somewhere in my heart I knew I would get over "it" even though I would never be able to get over her.

Also, some people advised me that sometimes one need not volunteer too much information about oneself, which in turn means that it is ok to lie. I was kind of mad at myself because telling the truth had made me lose her. But when sanity came back, I realized that I could not build the castle of my relationship with the mortar of falsehood. I was honest to her and if I had to pay for that such a hefty price then so be it.

As I write this post, I remember the words of Forrest Gump:"Life is a box of choclates. You never know what you will get." . The good thing is that I apologised to C and I explained my position to her and like the special lady that she is, she actually forgave me. So, we are friends again and hopefully we will know each other better to know if this could turn into something magical. I know this sounds like dating and this kind of appears contradictory to what I said above but for C, I am willing to give it a try. I hope in the next few weeks we will both know which way we are heading. If this works out (and I pray to God that it does), great. If not, then I am going to wait a month and purge myself of all emotional baggage and start my life afresh.

See, Harry is growing up. I am kind of sounding mature to myself. I know my friends would be proud of me.

Lessons Learnt

2006-03-09T14:48:00.000-08:00

Getting dumped is not a good thing. If not anything else, it is certainly not good for your heart. I wish they had come up with a good painkiller to take the pain of a broken heart away. Till they do that, I will have to keep enduring it. Anyways, it is not that bad. I think C has been right all along. I was seeing smoke where there was no fire. In a rush to discover "chemistry", I was pouring forth chemicals left, right and center. It was only a matter of time that I had to be burnt. The other mistake was the "honesty" angle. It seems like I never learnt from Jerry McGuire. Like him, I think I ate a bad sandwich and voila, I developed scruples. When she told me that she hated liars, that statement stuck in my heart like a flag-pole. Everybody has a few skeletons in their closet. When girls ask you about those, it is never a good idea to open the closet door. They will never like it. I am not proud of everything I have done. But certainly, I do not deserve to become an "untouchable" for it. Anyways, it is a lost cause now. When two people are struggling to have a conversation, the writing on the wall is loud and clear:" It ain't gonna work out". At the end, I would still like to thank her for giving me so many happy memories. I extend warm wishes to her and hopefully when our paths cross next, both of us are with our partners. Now the lessons:

1. Companionship and affection are worth the pain they engender. The last few days had turned my life upside down. An eternal bachelor that I am, I actually started thinking about responsibilities and working to make somebody else happy. I am not a morning person. But it made me happy to wake up an hour earlier so that I could give her a ride to work. She never asked me for it. I just felt like doing it and I enjoyed doing it. There were other small things here and there which I thought would probably make her happy. It is as if we have it hardwired into our psyche. When you care about somebody, you start thinking about that person more than you think about yourself. This is not peculiar to C but I know I will have probably done the same for anybody else too. It was indeed a satisfying experience. So, I know that I probably should not be afraid to give up my freedom. The shackles of marriage are cast in velvet and not in steel.

2. Dating is a tough cookie. I was fed up with the whole arranged marriage fiasco and thought it was probably a better idea to fall in love with somebody before actually marrying her. Well, I don't know if that is kosher either. Dating does involve a fair degree of emotional investment and when somebody is reckless like me, that investment is actually substantial. No doubt one could recover from it. But I don't know if I have the stomach for this ride. One day you are at the top of the world and the next moment you can taste the sand in your mouth. It would be nice if people could express their feelings upfront. But usually they save all the bile for the last minute and then it is not as much fun. So, I am reconsidering my decisions. My friends tell me that this is the least conducive moment to decide that but I think maybe it is the most propitious. Maybe now I can make a decision that otherwise would take me for ever. I am thinking strongly about going back home and marrying the next girl my parents want me to marry. We will see how that goes.

3. Honesty is not the best policy.

4. It hurts too much. I hope the balm of time starts working quickly. I wish I could take a strong laxative and purge myself of all the crap I had loaded unto myself. Sometimes I think I should call her. But I know that it is a lost cause. I think it is best to do what I have always done. Study, work and pray. I know I will climb out of the hole. Hopefully, it is sooner rather than later.

And then there was the Titanic

2006-03-08T17:53:00.000-08:00

For the last few days, I was actually surprised. It had seemed like my luck was actually changing. But hey, I know me better than anybody else. A few minutes after writing my last post, it all fell apart. God finally pulled a Titanic on me. It was not totally unexpected (or that is what I am going to tell myself). I was trying too hard anyways. Sweet are the fruits of labor. Well, not always. The lady expressed her inability to continue to have anything to do with me. And when I asked,"Why?", she responded by saying,"Why do guys always want to know that?". Well, it is kinda important. We take "no" personally and would like to know the reasoning behind that. Nobody in this world is perfect. We all have flaws. Some are ashamed of those. I wear mine proudly like a badge of honor. And by the way, when girls tell you they want you to tell the truth, they are lying. Trust me on that.

Right now, I am kind of adjusting to the whole thing. I think I will be in a shell for the next few days. Hopefully, when the weekend arrives, I will be in better shape to go out and party. "Take it like a man, boy", I hear my brain telling me. Somewhere on my heart, however, there will be a crater called "The C depression". A crater that I will cherish for ever.

Sleepless in Houston

2006-03-08T15:27:00.000-08:00

I have not been able to get any good sleep for the past one week. Ok,this is not a whine. This past week was one of the best times in my life. Of this time, I have spent a small fraction with C. The rest is spent in waiting for the next moment that I will see her. Each second of this wait feels like the fangs of a monster immersed deeply into my heart and I can feel them sinking deeper and deeper with each tic of the clock. A few weeks ago, I had never dreamt anything like this would ever happen to me.

I am a grown-up man (or so they say). I am supposed to exercise sufficient restraint over my emotions so that I could appear to be in control. But somehow, I find that a harder and harder proposition. I just can't stop her images from invading every crevice of my cerebral repository. Her smile, the sight of her bouncing hair as she walks on those flighty steps, her whispers and the feel of her hand in mine. Good God!. Have mercy on thy servant.

I know,I know. I have heard of infatuation and passing fantasies. But clearly, my illiterate heart has not heard of these scholarly terms. That poor thing can't tell the difference between what is transient and what is supposed to last longer. Ordinarily, affection and love derive their strength from long term familiarity between people. Over time, people become acquainted with each other's innards ( or so they think) and then one fine day, they fall in love. The initial physical attraction withers away and out emerges from the cocoon, the monarch butterfly people call "love". I am all too familiar with those concepts and I do believe that they must be true. However, my parched mind does not respect those delineations. Maybe it will cool down after a while. Maybe I will become saner and grow out of it and then will have the smoother more pacified color of "love" over my heart instead of the cacophony of colors that it currently has. Maybe so but right now I am loving the chaos.

But truly, I have never felt this way about anybody else. I don't know what norms or what protocols of behavior I am supposed to follow. Even if I knew them, I would have turned a blind eye to them.

I am sleepless in Houston and I am loving it.

Analyze this

2006-03-05T14:24:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there lived a boy called Harry. Harry was a dreamer, lost in reverie about one thing or the other. With God in his heart, Harry embarked upon a journey to find the philosopher's stone that will turn his dreams into reality. On the way, he saw a few sirens. He walked upto them and carved his heart out of his bosom and presented it to them. But to no avail. He was snobbed away and Harry became bitter and bitter. In his anguish, he let out a howl steeped in yearning and pining. And then something happened. The desert suddenly changed into a land of purple flowers. Harry looked around and from yonder, he saw an angel walking towards him. Harry was surprised. He wondered if this was another siren. She came close and Harry was mesmerized. Harry could not believe what was happening to him. Unknown to him, years of struggle and solitude had erected walls around his soul. The endothelium of his heart had undergone metaplasia to a thick layer of squamous cells, all in an effort to lessen the hurt that he had become so used to. And now, when she was right there, he was bemused.

He saw her dance under flickering lights. Sheer magic, he quipped to himself. Her sinewy movements were like the motion of a poet's pen on paper composing poetry.

He held her hand. He whispered words into her ears. She squeezed his hand in silent acknowledgement but never said anything back. Trivial gestures that would probably escape the eye but which were drilling holes into the cuticle around his heart. Wild emotions raged through his heart much like the charioteers of Rome. His heart was under assault from both within and outside. He struggled to keep it all hidden away lest he should appear too vulnerable. All futile attempts because he is such a miserable actor.

She quizzed him:"Why are you so quiet today?". To which he had no good answer for he had the vaguest idea himself. But his situation was kind of like the mountain climber who had scaled a 14,000 feet peak. He wants to scream in joy yet the low oxygen concentration in the thin mountain air prevents him from expanding his lungs. Turmoil within but no way to vent it out. He tries to let it all out but he just can't. Helplessness at its glorious best.

Harry worries about his future. He had been a perfect loner. Will he be a perfect partner as well?. Carpe diem, he tells himself. "Live in the present, boy" and "For God's sake, stop thinking", he keeps telling himself. He promises to try to do it. All he knows is that God is with him and there is nothing else he shall want.

For a man with 27 years under his belt, I am afraid I just have too much growing up to do. I wish Life were simpler.

An evening to remember

2006-03-02T21:58:00.000-08:00

There are times in one's life when one feels the need to close one's eyes and thank God. Yesterday was one of those days. Inspired by all the comments and by other people, I had finally mustered up enough courage to ask a very special lady out. It was an awkward question and I found myself fumbling for words (I was surprised too. Usually, I don't have to look for words), but I took the plunge. I could almost hear her say "nah" but she didn't. She , very graciously, accepted the invitation.

So, yesterday was my date with her. Yup, you read that right. It was a date with a capital D. For reasons of confidentiality and because I am kind of superstitious, I cannot divulge any more details. Suffice it to say, it was real life better than fiction. But the best part is the after-thoughts. Hours later, when I opened my car door, her fragrance was still lingering inside. The fragrance that split the atoms of my soul into a million rainbows. My heart went into fibrillation briefly but luckily it came back. A slide show of the images, from earlier that day, began in rapid progression in my mind. Random snap shots that had engraved themselves on my heart forever. The image of her walking towards my car from an acute angle. Kind of like a lethal projectile homing in on its target. Except that its payload was what Wordsworth could not possibly crytallize in words. Then an image of her looking out the window into a dark street and of I trying to drive and struggling to steal a few glances. No wonder I lost my way a couple of times. And then the image of her smile as she left.

I had read about "depersonalization". It is a phenomenon when one feels like one is floating outside of one's body and observing one's own self from the outside. Never before yesterday, had I ever thought that it really existed.

I was going to tell her all these things in person. I still am going to tell her a lot more. But of course, there is that initial hesitation. The fear of uncertainity and of the unknown. I am sure it will all melt away. Anyways, I know she is going to read all this. I hope she doesn't chide me but even if she does, I won't mind.

But any way, it was an evening to remember for ever. Thank you, C.

Mardi Gras!

2006-02-26T18:33:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, the bunch of us went to a neighboring town to witness the Mardi Gras celebrations. What a pah-tay. The parade was a visual delight. The rest of the party was a spectacular spectacle of debauchery that we expected it would be. Not surprisingly, I was the only guy with a turban on. Most of the crowd was friendly or neutral and overall it was a nice not easily forgettable experience. Only twice did a few jerks call me Osama. I met a few other Sikhs there too. They were all monas and hence were deprived of the attention that I received.

On the way back home, in the car, my non-Indian friends were sympathetic and curious. They told me that one cannot do anything about other people's ignorance. And I told them what I have said several times before. I am really neither scared of nor bothered by any of that. In order to maintain my reputation of a "whiner", I added that what bugs me is when I get these damn rejections from Sikh girls coz I am too hairy. They all made me shut-up and told me to use my charms to win them over. Easier said than done. But watch out ladies, Hairy Harry is coming to steal your heart away. "In your dreams", I heard somebody say. Later on, the rest of us also whined about the fact that we were all still singles and had to go back to our humble lonely abodes. The brotherhood of bachelors. And the usual crap.

Anyways, all this is meant to take some heat away from the fierce battle that is going on in the "comments" section. Chill guys.

BTW, it seems like my sister, Puneet2 is trying to turn the tables on me. Well, it so happens that I started this whole blog just to tell people how young Sikh women are rejecting Sikh guys because of "hair" issues. I am sure you might have experienced some discrimination at the hands of some fundamentalists or whatever but surely I don't see that in my local Gurdwara. Mona Sikhs seem to be as much a part of the fractious management committees as any other kind of Sikh. At any rate, like I said I am not in favor of labeling monas as lesser Sikhs unless they feel that way in their own hearts. I can't argue about what is written where simply because I have neither the knowledge nor the erudition to prove that. I certainly believe Sikhi is more than just hair and other outward symbols but so far all I have experienced is more and more of younger Sikhs labeling those who do keep their hair as hyperreligious, orthodox or fundamentalist. I admit that my experiences are limited but so far I have only seen the turbaned Sikhs to be subjected to a bad attitude, both from outside the community and from within.

I am the last person to be hung up about the hair issue, even though it might not appear that way. It is a personal decision and although I can try to educate others about my thoughts, I do not believe in imposing my thoughts on others. My marriage is not going to be a tug-of-war between who should and who shouldn't keep their hair. Please. I care more about people than their hair or their castes or whatever. I expect my wife to accept me the way I am and she can expect no less from me. I have my personal belief system that I intend to nurture and follow for my lifetime. She is entitled to do the same. I am going to love her for who she is, which is a multitude of small things and not just for one isolated aspect. All I am saying is people should not judge people on whether they have facial hair or not and whether they tie a turban or not.

Neither hair nor there

2006-02-24T16:11:00.000-08:00

I am amazed by how well educated some of my peers are about Sikhism. It is indeed heartening to know that young Sikhs are so well acquainted with Gurbani and Sikh principles. Compared to you guys, I am so naive.

Hair or no hair is indeed the million dollar question. I have already expressed my personal views on this issue. I am trained to analyze evidence and form opinions based on the merit of evidence. However, I have chosen to reserve my analytic faculties for my professional life. I study religion and spirituality to be closer to God. I have chosen to be a servant to God rather than a brat son. That might appear childish to some of you but that is how I have felt since my younger years and it is hard for me to divorce myself from that thought process.

I am not smart enough to quote Gurbani to support or refute one view or the other. Some of you are erudite enough to argue one way or the other and I am jealous of you for being so well conversant with Gurbani. I do not know whether Gursikhs are better Sikhs than monas or not. Thinking casually and perhaps selfishly, I would imagine that monas have taken the easy way out. Like I mentioned before, it is a matter of how comfortable one is with the "rules". Who knows if the "rules" themselves are valid or not? Who knows that whether "rules" should change with the changing times? All these are valid questions and the answers to these will determine the future of Sikhism. I do blame the so called Sikh leadership for failing to address these issues especially with the younger people.

More and more of us have become oblivious to our history. I am no expert in the field but I do realize that kesh did represent one's grit and determination to resist tyranny. Our times are certainly different from those centuries ago and a growing number of young Sikhs have questioned the relevance of such symbols in modern times. What is disturbing is the animosity between the two groups. I know of some Sikh families who would not even talk to a mona Sikh. The other way round is rampant too and all of you know that I know that personally. I personally am not a big fan of this rift and I certainly resent the implication that Gursikhs are fundamentalist. I value my relationship with God and follow the path that I think He chose for me. But I do not criticize others for following a different path.

Anyways, I am learning from all the debate. Thank you all for your comments.

Me, myself and I

2006-02-24T15:50:00.000-08:00

Each one of us is a unique aberration of the time-space continuum. I am no exception to this rule. Who I am is a confluence of the multitude of influences of my genes and my experiences. I am a Sikh but I think it is unfair to say that one could make statements about Sikhs from who I am. I have never feigned to be a perfect Sikh. On the other hand, I consider myself merely a naive student of Sikhism. I am also a young guy. I also grew up in the backyard of Punjabi culture where often one's importance among one's buddies is based on the basis of how successful one is with women. Indeed, that is not unique to Punjabi culture. That is solely a guy thing. Some would argue that it is so superficial and so ridiculous but hey, it is out there.

It might be hard to believe but I am not desperate for women. I am just desperate to take the next step in my life. I am also impatient by nature and do not like to wait. In my younger years, I was often told:" Puttr, padai kar la. Life da kuch bana lai. Baki galan bad vich."( Son, study hard and make a life for yourself. Other things can wait). Well, I did exactly that. I deprived myself of worldly pleasures so that I could carve out a life for myself. At this point in my life, I need to focus on the other things. But surprise, surprise. The other things don't come easily either. It is a whole goddamn saga in itself. Hence, the so called desperation.

All I am saying to the non-Sikh readers is that please don't form opinions about Sikhs from my views about women. The vice-versa, however, may not be true.

Waiting for Magic

2006-02-22T21:31:00.000-08:00

It was a gloomy day in Houston. The sky was overcast with splashes of grey and black. After the drizzle in the morning, there was the aroma of wet earth in the air. The scent of native earth that fills my nostrils and evokes strong memories of back home. I tried to look outside the window but it was dark outside and all I could see in the window was a reflection of myself. My eyes met the eyes of my reflection and incited a million thoughts in my mind. Introspection inside out.

It is amazing how our priorities change with time. There was a time where all I wanted was to complete my education and establish a career. There was a time where all other things did not influence me. There was also a time when I was deeply immersed in spiritual pursuits. Most of my time was occupied by reflection and comprehension of the world around us. Trying to make sense of who I was. God, family, friends and career have been my priorities throughout. But now, more and more of my time is being spent in something I never thought would be so hard.

Yesterday, I received my usual quota of rejections from various matrimonial sites. Interestingly enough, some of the people were gracious enough to mention their reasons. One lady said:" Um Hun, sorry I am not that religious". Very interesting indeed. I never thought being religious would be am impediment to me being a good husband. Maybe it was another way to say that she did not want a turbaned guy. Good for her.

Some of the people have commented in the last post that perhaps it is best for me to quit my quest and let God, my Father, take control of my affairs. Well, as far as I am concerned, He was in charge every second of the way. I am not going to lie that tiny molecules of bitterness have started to deposit themselves over my psyche. It is not that I am dying to get married or something. It is just that this process has been so inefficient and so tedious that it has started to get boring and prosaic. I wish marriage was like an exam. One could study for it, work hard and had a good chance of doing well. Unfortunately, this is so random, so arbitrary and has a million different variables that are almost impossible to predict.

Anyways, as it is, I am not actively doing anything. I get a few offers from family and friends here and there which I must evaluate. Other than that, I am lying pretty low. Hopefully, the clouds will scatter away and a ray of light will shine through.

Sins?

2006-02-21T09:03:00.000-08:00

It turns out that people have often asked me if I have not met anybody at the local Gurudwara. It is true that for the Sikh diaspora like myself, the local Gurudwara is the only place one could meet and interact with other Sikhs. I go to my local Gurdwara every time I am not working on the weekends. I do meet other Sikh people.

However, the thought of meeting women at the Gurdwara is too revolting for me. I go to the Gurdwara to pay my respects to God and hopefully listen to some keertan and learn something new. It is true that I do not need to go there to pay my respects. I could do it anywhere anytime. But I do enjoy listening to the keertan and the langar is no less of an attraction. On the other hand, when I think about checking out women at the Gurdwara, guilt and remorse overwhelm me. My upbringing in a traditional Indian household means that the negative association between religion and amorous feelings is hardwired into me. I know God does not want me to be single( I hope He doesn't) but I can't bear the thought of ogling at women in His presence. I admit that sometimes inadvertently I have found myself indulging in the same process but every time I have realized that, I choke and I start reciting Japji Sahib hoping that God will forgive me. I figured that I am going to save my suitor skills for other places.

It is true that I could meet people who might be looking for grooms for their daughter's and maybe they will like me and something could work out. Well, here is the problem and now I am going to replay the blame game. Most of the people I have met are neck deep in the caste or turban stuff. Period. Nothing else matters to them. And so, I feel I don't have a fair chance.

Anyways, I did not mean to insult Khatri Sikhs in my other post. Part of the reason is that I was born into a Khatri Sikh family myself. The other part is that I don't believe in castes and care more about people than their surnames.

Mi amour

2006-02-20T20:15:00.000-08:00

I have often thought about who I would like as my wife. I have been questioned about this several times as well. All the folks who are helping me in my quest have all asked me about this. But to tell you the truth, I am not sure I can give a precise description of the woman that I think will rock my world. After reading Percy Shelley,Keats et al, my vision of my woman is all a mist.

As a person, I conceptualize better in abstract terms. I think about God in abstract ways. A lot of times, we think about our partners based on their resumes. People want to marry a doctor or an engineer or whatever. There is logic behind it and I understand it. Maybe I would prefer somebody from my own field as well. If I think in conventional terms, I would think I would be attracted to someone intelligent, professionally qualified and someone who has ambition and some dreams to crystallize. Somebody told me that we seek our own image in our partners. I concur with that thought. I am an intense person myself and I think I like people with passion.

It is when I think about the personal attributes of my princess that it becomes vague. I like it when I smell love on sniffing the air after entering my home. I like it when there is a gentle breeze of romance flowing through the relationship. Some people believe that couples shouldn't have to express their love all the time. I don't share their belief. I like communication and giving free rein to once's feelings. I don't like it when people have to suppress their emotions because they are afraid of what others will think about it. I am not saying that one should roam naked in one's house but one should be able to vent out one's feelings on a regular basis. I love it when people do small things to make the other person feel special. At the same time, a random kiss on the go, breakfast in bed blah blah should be allowed. Some cynics have told me that after two years into a marriage, I will be too jaded to provide or expect such tokens of love. That is a distinct possibility and something that sends shivers down my spine. The last thing I would want is a lifeless killjoy marriage where people are together for the sake of maintaing the semblance of marriage that once was. Maybe I will grow old and my thoughts will change but right now, the thought scares me.

Sometimes I think that part of the reason it has been tough is because I don't know who I want. At least that is what my parents tell me. Every two weeks, they call me to tell me that they think they have found the "one". And then something or the other just doesn't gel and it all falls apart. My friends accuse me of being too picky. I don't think I am. I just want to be sure that I am going to make the right decision. I don't want to say to myself two months into a marriage:" Harry, what were you thinking?'

I admit I have only vague ideas of who I want to spend the rest of my life with. Maybe it doesn't have to be a hard thing. Maybe I can just marry the next person that I meet (provided she agrees). If I were to use my brains, I would have married the first girl my parents wanted me to marry. The problem is that it is my heart and not my brain in the driver's seat. Sometimes I think I am behaving like a pubescent teen on a heavy dose of Mills and Boon (although my puberty was aeons ago). Whatever.

Talking of Shelley, here is a piece from Indian Serenade. If only I could see her face in my dreams.

I arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright;
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet Hath led me - who knows how?
To thy chamber-window, sweet!

Two to Tango

2006-02-16T16:24:00.000-08:00

It has been my endeavour to alternate the themes of my posts between my quest for a wife and the larger issues affecting Sikhism that I think are important. My love life (or the lack of it) is presented for the consumption of cynical eyes in the hope that a few people will start thinking about those issues as well. It is ok if some people derive amusement from my hardships. That is only natural human behaviour. I still appreciate people's unsolicited and sometimes spite-laden words of wisdom. I appreciate their concern to make me a better candidate with the ladies. Keep up the effort.

We, as a people, have inherent divisive tendencies. Our relegion was founded to unite people. We have still managed to etch out artificial lines among ourselves. There are Jats and non-Jats, there are turbaned Sikhs and there are Monas, and there are also FOBs and ABDs. A few people have suggested that these are all my hallucinations. They have postulated the hypothesis that I "blame" these demarcations for the fact that I am wifeless. In the big scheme of things, it does not matter if I remain a bachelor all my life. I hope and I know that that will not be the case. The fragmentation that I see evolving in my religion however does matter. Does it matter what I think about it? Maybe not. I can go on with my life, pretending to ignore everything but I can't.

Some women readers have been candid enough to say that the Sikh swaroop is not a no-no for them. That is consolation to me and perhaps scores of others. I know some of my Sikh buddies do feel more confident to approach a Sardarni knowing now that there might be a good chance that they will not be rejected for their appearance. I mean there are still hordes of Sikh women out there who will scorn a turbaned suitor but it is good to know that there are still a few women who will at least try to look beyond the hair. Whatever...

Continuing the blame game, I will now focus on the Jats vs the rest of Sikhs issue. I am anticipating a lot of heat on this issue but that is ok. Hubris was the sin of the Greeks and I am afraid that a big majority of Sikhs is guilty of the same. Speaking of personal experiences, there have been innumerable instances when I have been rejected by women because I am not a Jat. We all know of how Jats are superior than others, how the Khatris(or Bhapas) are a bunch of money-hoarding untrustworthy lot blah blah blah. These notions have travelled down generations and it is sad that neither education nor contact with the Western civilization has done much to alter people's thoughts. If I am not a Jat or if I wear a turban, that automatically makes me a lesser person in the eyes of others. Some of you will again accuse me of making all this up. But honestly, I know this to be a fact and all you have to do is visit chat rooms or your local Gurdwara to witness it.

The reason that I raise these issues in the context of my quest for a wife is because that is the only place where these issues are relevant to me and they affect me directly. My relationship with Sikhism consists mostly of self-study and meditation. Most of my friends are non-Sikhs. My relationship with Sikhs(not Sikhism) is only when I visit the Gurdwara or when I am trying to look for a wife. Both the times, I come face to face with the issue of my caste or my turban or my status as a FOB.

Writing this post, I think I am commiting this blog to its harakiri. That is fine. My quest and my devotion to my religion will go on.

Guilty as charged

2006-02-14T21:15:00.000-08:00

I guess I will have to plead guilty to the charges of "pathetic" and "judgemental" I am accused of. I am indeed a salt and pepper mix of those things but I will have to say that I have other spices as well. Here is a snippet from Sex and the City:" You shouldn't judge anybody till you have walked a mile in their shoes". I urge you to walk a block in mine before making up your mind. But honestly, things are not that bad. I seem to employ the tool of hyperbole a bit in excess to make my points. Perhaps, I should use it more sparingly.

V Day was not that bad. I decided to dress up in the spirit of the day. I put on a neat maroon turban and a red striped shirt to match it. Work was usual but then I ran into this cutie at work for whom I have always had the hearts for (in a shareef way) even though I know she is already dating someone else. She smiled and asked me:" Harry, you are all dressed up in red today. What's up?". I replied:" Miranda(not her real name), it's all for you. I am your rose today. Complete with petals and a stick." This was culminated by the blink of my left eye. She blushed, smiled and bit her lower lip and said" Stupid". Now, my cousins who have been educating me since childhood in female body language would have told me that it was a good sign. Just kidding. Just a funny thing that happened today.

Later, I met up with my friends and spent some time togther listening to romantic hindi songs and fantasising about our honey's.

On a different note, it seems that the FOB vs ABD argument is kinda getting steamy. I apologise if somebody's feelings have been hurt by stuff on this blog.

Days of My Life

2006-02-13T17:43:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is the V Day. No special day for me. The Sun will rise in the east again, my alarm clock will pour molten lead into my ears again and I will run off to work again trying to be on time but will probably be late again. I will, perhaps, see a lot of pink around and perhaps a lot of roses. I will try to ignore them but then silently a crack will appear in my heart. They say there is no noise when the heart breaks. I kinda agree with that. It has happened before and it will happen again. No special day.

I will meet people. I will smile with them. I will hear their stories of how they will be going out with their significant others blah blah blah. I will go out with my single dude friends as well and we will all bitch and moan and laugh it all away. We will find excuses and curse the fairer half of humanity in a feeble attempt to condone our own frailties. And then we will pretend to forget everything over a cup of coffee. Silently inside, a crack will persist in my heart. I will try to put a band-aid on it but I am afraid it will develop into a pus draining sore. Nasty but true and painful.

I know I seem to whine a lot. People think I am trying to put the blame on others for the fact that I have no one to give a stupid rose to. Subconsciously that might be true. Consciously, however I am just narrating what I have experienced. It would be so nice if I were to fall in love with somebody and she were to reciprocate that and we were to get married. I have tried to make that happen but call it luck or whatever but that has not happened. It is not easy to meet single Sikh women with the kind of lifestyle I have. All I have now is the "arranged marriage" route. Sadly enough, when you go this route, you learn how many hurdles there are in this path. You find out, sometimes to your dismay, how many preconceptions and prequalifications one has to satisfy before one becomes "eligible". For instance, H1 tried to get in touch with somebody whose daughter was of a marriageable age. Well, supposedly the girl was not interested for the simple reason that she would not want to be with a FOB( I was told turban was not an issue). That is a ok. Everybody is entitled to their own decisions but when you are in a vulnerable state of mind, sometimes you ponder and reflect over why people made those decisions. I never met that girl and for once, I really don't care why she thinks whatever she thinks about FOBs. To me, it was another instance of people stereotyping people and that is kinda touchy for me.

I apologise for lumping all American-Indians into the category of "confused". For the record, I am very good friends with a number of American born people of Indian origin and my experiences have mostly been pleasant. It is true there are cultural differences between the two but none of those are insurmountable. I also know of FOBs who will stoop to any level to get a visa. Like I said in my last post, I can partly understand the way ABD's think about FOBs. However, I was suprised to find the degree of negativity towards FOBs. Ms Singh's vitriolic comment on my last post is an apt example. QED, madam. But I just wanted to let people know of the new face of FOBs. And personally, I don't care if my princess is from India or the US or from the North Pole. As long as we have magic between us, it is all cool. My well-wishers have "arranged" for proposals from India as well as the US and continue to do so. The process is interesting and I can't help but make observations.

On the whole, I think it is just the nature of the game. There are too many prerequisites to meet. Clean shaven, Jatt, non-FOB . I am none of those. I know I will still find a wife. It's just going to be harder.

On a lighter note, I am suprised it took people so long to realize that I am dashing etc etc etc. BTW, I have tried to approach women directly and have had a few hilarious experiences. That is a story for another day. Today, I have to arrange a bucket for all the tears I am going to shed tomorrow.

Too FOBy

2006-02-12T19:35:00.000-08:00

I was talking to one of my friends the other day and during our conversation, I had a revelation. She was trying to help me in my quest and as part of that effort, she called one of her friends(Person #2) who knew another girl( Girl#1) who was eligible. So, she is talking to Person#2 and I overheard bits and pieces of their conversation. "So, who is this guy again? A FOB?". I know eavesdropping is not cool but that was completely unintentional.

Anyways, that was intriguing. I asked my friend if that was an important consideration for ABCD girls."Of course", she said. Oh Oh. Am I in the wrong neighbourhood or what?. Here I am. A turbaned Sikh and now also a FOB. I mean I was always a FOB but I never knew chicks( no disrespect) will hold that against me. My friend assures me that I am unlike most FOBs she has known. But I wonder why ABCDs care about that anyway

On more thought, I can partly see where they are coming from. True to the epithet given to them, they are confused. They still think people from the motherland are poorly dressed, uncultured uncool money-lusting aliens who are not good enough for displaying to their American friends. Oh Please. I mean most FOB kids I know are so unlike that. Sure, they have a little bit of accent and they can't roll their Rs as well as their American counterparts but most of them are highly educated, ambitious, smart chaps. They like to groom well and they do spend their hard earned money, albeit a bit more thoughtfully. They all are doing extremely well in their careers and do great on the social scene as well. The new crop of FOBs is unlike anything you have seen before. These are not kids who ran away from poverty back home to make a living here but they are the go-getters and are here to make a mark.

So Ladies, don't assume. FOB is not = to Full of Bull. Explore and you shall not be disappointed.

BTW, FOB is an acronym for "Fresh off the Boat", an uncool slang for people who were not born and brought up in the country of their residence.

More on My Sikhi

2006-02-09T14:50:00.000-08:00

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 IÂ
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference

My Sikhi

2006-02-08T15:11:00.000-08:00

Thank you Puneet2 for asking a very important question. I have pondered over that question several times myself. I think the question is just a variation of the self- identity question that Freud said every human being asks himself. We, as humans, have the insatiable curiosity to find out who we are in relation to this Universe and in relation to God. As Sikhs, this question becomes even more pertinent because not only do we ask ourselves that question but the rest of the world seems to inquire about our identification on a daily basis.

Let me address your question in two steps. First, let me explain why I keep my kesh. And in the next post, I shall try to argue if I think Sikhism is a static religion. Unfortunately, both posts are going to be very verbose. They will perhaps be unstructured as well but I assure you it will all be straight from the heart.

For me, this is what Sikhi means.

I was a premature baby. My parents tell me that I was in the ICU for almost a month. After they got me out of the hospital, they took me to the Gurdwara in our city and put the Sacred Jal in my mouth. I smiled, they tell me. They also tell me that after they tried to put some Prasad in my mouth, I seemed to relish it immensely. Since then, my parents have inculcated in me the basic religious values that every Indian parent passes onto their kids. They wanted me to go to the Gurdwara frequently, which I did. They wanted me to memorize the first few Pauris of Japji Saheb ,which I did. I was an obedient kid, you know. Then as I grew up and my mind started to think on its own, I started to find reasons for what my parents were asking me to do. This was a journey of self realization. I started reading about religion, God and spirituality. Like any other confused teen, my mind was in turmoil. Yeah, I would go to the Gurdwara before my exams and ask Babaji to help me score good grades. Yeah, I would bow before Babaji and ask for a good career. But sometime then, I don't know how but I started to see the big picture. I realized that God was indeed my Holy Father and I loved him not because he would help me get good grades or get a bike on my birthday but because I had love for him.

Later on, as I grew up, I found that intellectuals have labeled the above model of religion as the "Paternalistic model", whereby God is looked upon as a fatherly figure and His wishes are deemed as paternal commands. I was kind of hooked onto this model for a long time. It kind of gave me the justification for getting up earlier than my friends every morning and clumsily wrapping seven meters of cloth around my head. There were days when my turban would not be perfect and those days, my mind would be roiled up in a million twists. I would question myself the whole logic of doing something which took so much effort only to make me look weird. But then most days I would be at peace with myself. I continued to go to the Gurdwara and for some strange reason, every time I would bow before SGGS, I would feel inner peace. I would feel something inside me grow stronger and I felt like a better person. I could barely understand the keertan but for some reason, the melodies lingered on in my mind and strengthened what I later realized was my devotion. I found a love for God that seems to spring from the innermost nooks of my soul. I did not understand Him, I did not comprehend Him but I loved Him. One of my cousins had told me:" The more you analyze, the more respect for God you lose". So, I just followed along. I just loved God and did what others told me was His bidding. It was a general love for God rather than precise knowledge of Sikh edicts that made me wear the turban.

For a long time, my knowledge of Sikhism was elementary. To be very honest, even now I am only a student of Sikhi. I am aware of the broad principles that our Gurus have put forth but I do not understand Gurbani fully. And the simple reason is that I don't understand the language. Like most young Sikhs, I feel more comfortable expressing myself and understanding English than archaic Punjabi. Like most Sikh kids, my parents tried to teach me basic principles of Sikhism but were unable to go beyond that. And again, like most Sikh youth, I was so busy trying to make a career that I never devoted time to understand the minutiae of Sikhism. Yeah, I had read Vivekananda and Henry Thoreau but I never read Sahib Singh. Even though I have been brought up in Punjab, that does not mean that by default, I received a good education in Sikhism. And I was by no means alone. Most of my Sikh friends could not tell you the name of our 10 Gurus if you asked them. Since everybody around you was wearing a turban and growing a beard, you had to do it too. Most of us never questioned that. There were a few rebellious brats who would do the unthinkable of cutting their kesh but they were the "bad boys" and hence considered an object of abhorrence. Strangely enough, they were also thought of as "Jatt" sikhs who for some weird reason had the divine right to do as they please with their kesh. Anyways, none of that ever bothered me. I was part of a larger crowd and the cushion of familiarity was good enough to maintain my calm.

9/11 and the tragic murder of some Sikhs following that was the first shock for me. I had always heard how Sikhs were doing so well in UK, Canada and the US. Overnight, that perception changed. Suddenly, Sikhs were targets of "mistaken identity". To my dismay, I learnt that even though Sikhs had done so well abroad but the Sikh swaroop had not enjoyed that prosperity. Most turbaned Sikhs had relegated themselves into small unknown towns where they would good money but never got integrated into the American society. Most of the new FOB's were too afraid to be made mistaken victims of the post 9/11 frenzy and would rather have a hair-cut at Frankfurt than land on the American soil with a turban on their head. I came to USA 1 year after 9/11. I had heard lot of horror-stories and I think people almost expected that I would cut off my hair. But I didn't. I guess the love for God and that association with the Gurdwara that I had formed as a child won over. For my first few days in the US, I felt afraid, very afraid. But then God gave me the strength to go out and carry on with my life and career. The external things keep on changing but for some reason, my inner being refuses to give in.

It is only now that I am in the US and by the grace of God, well settled in my career, that I have rekindled the passion to learn more about my religion. I have started to read English translations of the Sikh texts and I have joined Gurmat classes. I am mature enough that I can understand a lot of things and so far, my love for Sikhism and God in general has only multiplied. I was aware of how Shri Guru Gobind Singh Ji formed the Khalsa and how the tradition of tying the turban became a part and parcel of Sikh life but only now I realize the significance of not giving in to pressure. The turban is a sign of human resilience against tyranny. It is easy for a confused mind to question the relevance of turban in today's life. I don't think that analyzing and over-analyzing Sikh philosophy helps that confusion either. I think it is unconditional love and surrender to God that brings peace to the mind.

I will wrap up this post by saying that I can not give any logical answer why I keep my Sikhi swaroop. But more importantly, I do not need a logical answer. Maybe it is some thing that has been indelibly imprinted on my mind, may be it is my sense of duty to the invisible Parmatama. I don't know but now I know that I don't need any logic.

Is Cupid listening?

2006-02-05T21:46:00.000-08:00

It was my day off today. I languished in bed till late morning. With great effort, I dragged myself out of my bed and made myself some coffee. As I stood in the balcony sipping my cup of lukewarm coffee and listening to the wind rustle my wind-chimes, it hit me. It is February. The month of St. Valentines and for someone like me, the month that brings bile to mouth. Shit, I told myself. Last year I had promised myself that this year would be my last year as a bachelor. It would be the last year when I would utter profanities on seeing a couple walk hand in hand oblivious to the world around them. Of course, the profanities being directed at myself rather than at the couple. That goes without saying.

I live in a country where overt expression of affection is the rule rather than exception. Even in India, things are changing rapidly and it is so common to see young clueless noveau amores ( I think that is a word but read new lovers) walk around with the girl chuckling and blushing ,carrying a teddy or a red rose in her hand and the guy, content with his conquest and thinking of all the steamy stories he is going to tell his buddy. Anyways, it is kind of hard to be surrounded by this sea of love, if all you have is yourself and an imaginative mind. If only I were dumb enough not to be affected by things around me.

Anyways, sometimes I think Cupid has been unfair to me. I have been the object of his target practice for too long. I wish he were kind enough to turn his bow towards a femme fatale ,shoot an arrow with my name written on it and make me happy.

Cupid Bhaji, are you listening?

Tanhai

2006-02-02T18:39:00.000-08:00

It is funny how sometimes there is just one unique word which alone can capture your emotions. For example, what I feel these days, words like loneliness, solitude etc fail to express it fully. "Tanhai" on the other hand clearly expresses the full strength of the emotion. The word has strong undercurrents of personal anguish which other terms are clearly devoid of.

I am lucky to have a rather wide circle of friends. I work almost 70 hrs a week and there is a lot of interactions with colleagues and people in general. My life is hectic and there is litlle time to feel anything. And then I also like to go out. There are parties, get togthers, conferences and what not. People and more people. I talk to people, I dance with people and I listen or sometimes pretend to listen. There are female friends too who are mostly married, or going steady or too good for me. It is all fun. I believe it was Francis Bacon who wrote:"The bigger the crowd, the lonelier you are". Only now I realized how right he was.

I then get back home and then it hits me. There she is ,the biatch. Tanhai.(Forgive my French, but again Profanity alone can do full justice to my emotions). I move around and she follows me.I try to study but as I am flipping through the pages of my books, I hear her giggle. She taunts me with images of the mystery girl. Fleeting images of a pearly ankle, of a killer smile and of a nervous kiss. She drives me crazy and then I flip open my laptop and start writing.

Later, as I try to sleep and battle against insomnia, right then ,in the twilight zone before sleep, my princess comes back again and whispers sweet nothings in my ear. I struggle to see her but all efforts are futile. I give up and Tanhai pushes me into La-La land.

The other time I see her is when I am in the kitchen. I can't and choose not to cook. As I am ransacking the refrigerator trying to put togther a joke of a meal, I see her standing near the kitchen counter munching a succulent piece of chicken tikka masala. I curse her and as I am trying to crush the cold hard piece of bread, the third eye of my mind wanders off and I see my princess. There she is, standing in the kitchen. Cooking for me. I come from behind and embrace her. I try to kiss her but she stuffs a piece of food in my mouth. Not bad, I say and then she vanishes away. BTW, I am not the kind of man who thinks that women's place is the kitchen. It is just my hungry stomach playing tricks on my nutty mind.

I have considered the possibility that I might be going crazy. I have even considered self medicating myself with Prozac. But my friends tell me I am not crazy. They tell me I am not a pervert either. They tell me that I am just ready. Ready to end my bachelorhood.

So, those are the two women in my life. Tanhai and Tamanna. I hope Tanhai leaves me soon and my princess walks into my life.

So kyon manda Akhyia....

2006-02-02T16:06:00.000-08:00

Friends, sisters and Blog readers, I am lovin' it. It is so interesting to know what my peers think about the issues I consider very important. I respect everybody's opnion. I understand that this blog might have acquired a slightly sexist tone but I assure you that I respect women. Even those who have and continue to break my heart. The title of this post is what Shri Guru Nanak Devji has enjoined upon all of us to do. And certainly, I am a zealous follower of that. For those of you who might not be familiar with Gurbani, here is a simple paraphrase: "Why should be slander the women for they are those who have borne the kings?"

I think it is really a chicken and egg problem. And it is impossible to ferret out a cause and effect relationship. Do Sikh men want to change their appearance because they feel that Sikh women would rather prefer them shorn of what their religion has bestowed upon them? Or is it the other way round? Do Sikh women want clean shaven guys because there is a paucity of Gursikhs? The longer I ponder over these questions, the more the former appears to be closer to the truth. I am certainly biased, given an ordinary mortal that I am. Some of you have rightly observed that the both the sexes are responsible for the corruption that has almost become rampant in our faith. I also don't think it is a lost battle. It is a battle worth fighting for and I am all for picking up the arms.

Ok. I also think that in all this hubbub, the object of my mission is perhaps getting lost, which is, if I may remind you, my wife. You guys can fight out among yourself but please be cognizant of the fact that I am still sleeping with my mistress (aka loneliness) and I am sick of her. I need to move on. Like the surface of the moon, my heart also has a lot of craters. I have now started to name some of those lest I should forget who caused which one. In my next few posts, I shall describe the anatomical features of those craters. So, why don't we all hang up our swords for a while and focus on what is also very important to me: the extermination of my bachelorhood.

Last but not least, for the brother who wants me to be more confident, I appreciate your advise but this is what I learnt in school:"Fools walk in where angels fear to tread". I am all for confidence and I know girls liks confident dudes. I have tried that and trust me that has landed me in some very awkward situations. More on this later...

Spare me the wrath

2006-02-01T14:51:00.000-08:00

Boy, did I get myself into trouble or what? It seems like I have touched some people's Achilles heel. Ladies, give me a break. I had said from the outset that I am no expert on these matters. I expressed my opinion on some very pertinent questions based on information gathered through personal experience as well as conversations with friends. It is indeed sad how the counter-arguments have utilized personal attacks to make a point while they could have easily done without those. Just because I have the guts to say my mind aloud does not mean that I am a fat (non-atheltic), inconfident looser who can't get a date. I don't think personal slandering like that will serve anyone's purpose. That should not blind us to the fact of the day that the Sikh swaroop is loosing its acceptance among young Sikh women.

First of all, let me get one thing out of the way because it has been grating against my soul. I do not wear a turban to please or displease others. I do not care if my thoughts on issues I feel strongly about turns anybody off or on. I have strong beliefs in my religion and in God. I have profound respect for my culture and my decision to wear the Sikhi swaroop springs from that. If I had an iota of discomfort with that, I would have changed it a long time ago. We can pretend to shut eyes and believe that there is not a persistent erosion of Sikh values among the newer generation. Log into any matrimonial site and make the effort to read the last line of most profiles:"I want a clean shaven man". Those words may mean nothing to a lot of you but to somebody like me who cares about his relegion and his culture, those are harbingers of doom.Look at Sikh men around you where an increasing number of them have trimmed beards and perhaps trimmed souls. I agree that there are a lot of Sikh women out there who would love to marry a full Sardar but unfortunately, their number is ebbing. "Finding a Wife" is not a looser's tale of finding a suitable girl; it is my effort to bring to fore the strong cultural metamorphosis that we as a people are undergoing. I am pretty sure I will find a nice wife. God has been extremely merciful to me and I know He will take care of me. But this is not just about me. My experiences have unraveled to me the "trials and tribulations" of young Sikh men who feel being the object of rejection because of their attire. Most are too shy or too lazy to let out their feelings. But not me. People have called me nuts because I am letting my personal life being exposed to the scrutiny of the cruel world where people are quick to sling mud, but that is ok. I feel that this should be a matter of debate and I am happy that at least people are talking about it.

For every example that you give me of a smart Sikh guy with a lot of women, I can quote a hundred examples of Sikh women who are dating non-Sikh guys because they think it is uncool to date a Sardar. It is indeed unfortunate that most of the commenters have even failed to acknowledge that truth. Maybe I live on Mars, maybe I am not as bright as others but if I can see beyond the hypocrisy, anybody can. I had mentioned a lot of things under my post:" Judge us Not". I do not wish to repeat myself but generally speaking, if I whine and if I complain, why do people assume that something is wrong with me? I write this blog not for kicks or because I am an idle no good person but because I am hurt by what is going around me and becasue I care. I could have said those things in a matter-of-fact prosaic fashion but I chose to say them colored with crimson humor. Maybe they need to take a closer look around themselves and then start judging me.

Last thing, I can't believe people have issue against my going to a club. But, I should not be surprised. We live in a cynical world(myself included) where color comes in black or white. Where hypocrisy trounces honesty. I think it is high time when people start leaving their holier than thou attitudes and finally start talking about serious issues. I do not think it is appropriate for me to defend my club going or what I did there. I shall leave that to people's obviously fertile imagination.

I am sorry if I seem to have a slightly confrontational attitude. The price of honesty is that people get offended. It has engendered a few very interesting comments and I consider them valuable even though I wish they were less personally directed and had more logic to them.

To Be(ard) or not to be

2006-01-31T16:37:00.000-08:00

One of the commenters to my previous posts had asked the question:" Why do some Sikh women don't like Sikh men with beard?". At the outset, it appears to be a simple question. But maybe not. Unfortunately, as a bearer of XY chromosome, I can only surmise what the other sex thinks about the beard. So, if some of my thoughts tickle people the wrong way, I am sorry.

The simplest explanation is perhaps that the beard has simply grown out of fashion. No pun intended. The new look of the brave new century just does not include a flowing mane. The new look consists of chiselled faces with high cheek bones. In the era of high definition TVs, the girls don't like their significant other's frontal profile fuzzed up with a lot of hair. They would rather want him looking sharp. They would rather have somebody who is abreast of the latest fashions and the newest looks. A lot of this attitude is generated by peer-pressure especially through the mass-media. The image of a choclate faced hero is nowhere close to a man with a beard. This peer-pressure has only been worsened in recent times whereby turban has been associated with a certain group of people and mostly invokes negative emotions from the Western Society. There are umpteen examples of "mistaken identity", hassles at the airports blah blah blah. Young Sikh women would rather avoid all this hassle and take the easy way out which ensures easier merger into the Society around them. The net result of all this pressure is that the image of a turbaned bearded Sikh man connotes a person who is out of touch with times. Unfortunately, we live in a world where the wrapping of the gift is equally,if not more important than what is inside. It takes a lot of courage to open up the package and so most people would rather pick up the box with the most visually appealing wrapping.

At the risk of sounding risque, may I state that beard is perhaps considered an impediment during intimate moments. I promise I am not making this up. I have concrete proof to prove my assertion in terms of candid comments from friends. It is probably easier to be kissed by someone without getting entangled in the woodworks. It is probably going to offend some people but unfortunately, from what I have heard, it is an important consideration for most women. I am not going to shy away from mentioning this because people will mind it. It is part of the reason, as I see it. I might be wrong but I will need arguments to convince me.

Anyways, those are some of the reasons as I see them. I am sure there are people who can do a better analysis than I could and I am keen to listen to their arguments. The interesting thing is some of the above reasons are fixable while others are not. We shall talk about the remedies at another time.

Who's your Daddy now?

2006-01-29T17:07:00.000-08:00

Last weekend, I went out with a couple of friends (some of which happened to belong to the fairer sex) to a local bar. To be exact, it was two guys and three girls. Merely friends hanging out. Nothing I could write Mommy about to tell her that I was making progress towards getting her a D-i-L. Anyways, so this happened to be like a local College hangout with its expected crowd of young drunk College kids trying to have a good time. Of course, I was the only guy with a turban on in that crowd. I know some people would say why do I have to shake the hornet's nest? Why would I want to go to such a place where there is such a high likelihood of inviting comments, jibes and crap like that.

I have asked myself that question. And the answer I have reasoned for myself is this: I am sick of being afraid. I will not hide in a shell anymore merely because I am afraid that some ignorant buffoon will take it the wrong way. If he does that, it is his problem and not mine. And I am not going to prevent myself from having a good time worrying about whether other people will get worried beacuse of me.

Now that I have done the preface, let me complete the story. So, there we were. 2 dudes and 3 dudettes trying to chill, have a few laughs and in general enjoy themselves. The place was jam packed with people thrusting their elbows in other people's flanks in the name of shortage of space. You could smell the lousy deodrant in the next guy's armpits as well as the sweet sickly smell emanating from the pretty lady standing next to you. Gross,huh. But I kid you not.

So, just as we were settling in and people around me had given up staring at me after making countless futile attempts to make me nervous, the white guy next to me whispers something in my ears. I could barely hear his words above the din of the place. He said:" Are these girls your daughters? Would you mind if I take them home?". My normally vigilant central nervous system was taken off guard. By now, I have developed a thin layer of lead over my skin so that off hand remarks like that don't penetrate it any more. I smiled, giving him the glimpse of my pearly teeth through the curtain of my moustaches (here I use hyperbole to exaggerate effect!). I said:"You are mistaken,Sir. I am an Indian Prince and these are my three wives." I,then, turned towards my friends and posed them the question:" Ladies, this gentleman here thinks that I am your Daddy. Is he right?". My friends are extremely good sport and they all replied in unison:" Yeah, Harry is our Daddy, if you know what we mean." One of them added:"Harry is my Winnie-the-Pooh." I then turned towards the intruder and asked him if he was satisfied. The stranger was half convinced but he did the right thing. He told me that I was an extremely lucky guy and he was jealous of me. I hope he is right. Later, we all laughed about it and my friends wished if I could ask him:" Who is your Daddy now?"

I am not hurt anymore when strangers display their ignorance in such obvious ways. I don't blame them because I think the US is still a very fair society. I can't even think what would have happened to minorties in some of the South-east Asian countries if they would have been blamed for something as atrocious as 9/11.

There, I go off rambling again. Anyways, I thought I would mention this incident to make the tone of my blog less sombre. I don't know if it is funny or not but it illustrates a subtle point. Like I have said before, "doosrein ke sitam hum seh lehnge, apno ki bewafai mar dalegi"(I am strong enough to brook the atrocities of others, but the betrayal of my own will kill me).

Mirages

2006-01-27T11:19:00.000-08:00

It seems that the current part of my journey is through a desert. A big dry sea of sand in which I am trudging, carrying the corpse of my dreams. Every now and then, I get taunted with sights of a distant oasis with fresh water and good food but so far it has always turned out to be a dastardly mirage.

In the last two weeks, I have had four leads. Friends and other sources have helped me get in touch with four prospectives. First of all, H1 asked me to email a girl who currently lives down under. I did as instructed and we have been in touch. However, we have kind of figured out that it is not going to work out. It seems like we belong to different times and although we are going to be good friends, it is probably going to end there. Anyways, things may change if and when we meet. The other contact was provided by a colleague at work. It is one of her good friends who is currently single. I have emailed her but so far it has been all zilch. We will see how that turns out. The third one is a friend of a friend who initially was ok to meet a Sardar guy but then changed her mind and decided she did not want anyone with a turban. Cheers to that. The last one was a random blogger whom I should not have attached much importance to. It is funny how after years of discipline, I am still such a kid. I get excited by little things. 27 springs have taught me nothing but to be a grown up kid.

No Ball

2006-01-27T10:56:00.000-08:00

Harry Singh was playing at the crease. It was a hot summer day. Beads of sweat had popped up on his forehead. His palpitations were shaking the whole stadium. His lips were mumbling in a silent prayer. And then came the delivery. The ball rushed towards him. His heart almost burst out of his bosom. He swung his bat, squeezing every ounce of energy he had in that shot. The wood met the leather and the ball leapt towards the boundary. The crowd waited at the precipice of expectation. And then the miracle happened. The ball crossed the boundary. The crowd roared "Chauka, chauka". A smile now lighted Harry's face. His hard work had paid off. It was his first boundary outside of match-fixing. Harry lifted up his bat thanking God and the crowd. But then suddenly, an eerie silence gripped the crowd. Harry was startled. He looked towards the Umpire. The Umpire, a certain lady by the name of a certain Ms Singh aka Ms Cruella, was lifting her hand. Her heart, like her ear rings was crafted out of pure zirconium with a melting temperature far above than any mortal could aim for. Furrows wrinkled his forehead. He prayed for the impossible. Her hand went up but instead of a horizontal sweep, indicated a NO BALL. Harry's heart stopped for a second but then came back out of a stubbornness and resilience he himself did not know he possessed. Silent tears flowed down in small rivulets from the back of his eyes to his heart, the salt in the tears agonising the pain from the gashes on his heart. The chauka was a no ball.

The sad part is that there is no third Umpire to appeal to. For now, the man with balls has been given a No Ball.

I know the above metaphor is messed up. My knowledge of cricket is marginal at best. It is probably not even factually correct but I hope people get the idea. I could not resist the temptation. This ain't no whining. It is prose.

But that is ok. I know there will be other balls and perhaps other chaukas. But tonight is the night of the No Ball.

Did I score or what?

2006-01-25T16:34:00.000-08:00

Notwithstanding the noise being generated by my last post and the few questions that I shall try to answer, the exciting thing is that I might have earned myself a date. Thanks, L babe for accepting my invitation. Indeed, let us go out girl. I hope you are serious. Coz I am hearing violins in the background and I hate for them to go away.

Ok, while I am thinking of vooing her, let us talk about the other issues at hand. Assumptions, I say, is the mother of all follies. I don't think my story is a story of a few young Sikh guys who find themselves on the wrong side of the aisle. I completely and totally understand the side of the Gursikh women who have the courage to follow their religion to the tee. I salute you gals. I am surprised however by the assumption that I would not consider such a girl for a wife. Ok, I am not going to pretend that I am not perfect. Tell me who is. I am not going to pretend that my hormones do not respond physiologically when I see a pretty babe. Of course,they do. Just because I wear a turban does not mean that I have lost my masculunity. However, that does not in any way mean that I shun, reject or deride Sikh girls who do not cut their hair. As a matter of fact, I would expect my wife not to cut her hair. It might be difficult for people to comprehend but I do believe in my principles and am willing to stand by them. Just because I called a girl "foxy" does not mean that I liked her because she had cut her hair. I never said that and I can not be blamed for people's imaginations. If she happened to be a truly beautiful person, then I am going to say so. The reasons I did not choose the other person are not fit for description here just because I don't wish anybody's feelings to be hurt. But suffice it to say that I was not attracted to one girl over the other because one had cut her hair and the other had not or one was wearing a skimpy dress while the other was not. If you can believe it, I try to look beyond the hair.

The assumption that has hurt me most is to say that I am not a religious person. Just beacuse I am overtly descriptive about my feelings for the other sex does not mean that I have commited a sin. I do not wear my turban for cultural reasons. Indeed, I am under no cumpulsion to wear my turban. I do not do it to please my parents or my relatives or the priests. I do it beacuse I feel I have a duty towards something that is much greater than us all. I do it because I feel like doing it. I have always considered myself a very spiritual person but I am not an orthodox person. I attempt to understand and respect mine as well as other religions and love God. I do not think God wanted me to be celebate all my life. If I choose not to hide behind a facade of hypocrisy, that does not make me a sinner or anyless religious than the next guy. I am not a promiscous individual. I do not believe in sleeping around or using women to my advantage. And trust me, that requires a lot of discipline to curb the temptations. I am a young guy who is of marriageable age. My parents are impatient for their daughter-in-law and I am only trying to find them one. If in the process I also try to have a clean, good time, I do not think I deserve to go to hell. It amazes me that writing a blog or calling a spade a spade( or a fox a fox) would lead people to believe that I am bereft of any spiritual depth. Gimme that much credit, please.

I do agree with those who say that looks constitute an important part of the decision process for an arranged marriage. I have admitted that and it only proves the point that this concept is an imperfect one. But to say that western Sikh girls have some sort of divine right to marry clean shaven guys is a bunch of crap. Somebody asked me If I would marry a black girl. That is perhaps one step ahead of asking me if I would marry a Gursikh girl(which I think I have answered above). It smacks of racism and a complete insensitivity to whatever I stand for. If I were to meet a black girl who would steal my heart away, I would marry her. She might steal my heart through her gorgeous looks or through her personality. I don't care. Is this ever going to happen? maybe not and the reason would be that my current contacts are introducing me to Sikh girls they think would be suitable for me. Don't get me wrong. I appreciate their efforts and would encourage them to continue to do that vigorously. I gave this instance merely to make a point.

So, to cut through the crap. I am open to marry a Gursikh girl who does not cut her hair. On the other hand, I am not going to reject a girl because she does cut her hair if I like her otherwise. The trouble is that the Sikh girls are not that flexible. They want no hair.Period. And that is what disturbs me. They associate hair with a sign of backwardness or whatever while that is nothing but falsehood. Keeping an appendage of the body should not b equated with who you are and it certainly does not mean that you can't be romantic, modern or cool. Look at me. I am a Sikh, I am a lover and I am so cool that I blow the crap out of John Travolta. Ok, maybe that was too much.

Anyways, that is enough cerebral acrobatics for one day. Thank you all for your compliments and for your rants. Keep them coming. And, Ms Singh, I shall wait for your phone no. or email or something.

Judge us not

2006-01-24T19:56:00.000-08:00

I thank one of my readers for pointing out a blog of what seems to be a young Sikh girl who is "annoyed" by young Sikh guys lacking "self-confidence". It is always interesting to hear the other side. I myself hate to be a part of a group of "cry babies". But the truth is that it is easy to comment and to criticize. Even easier is to judge people. It is hard, however, to put oneself in the shoes of those we judge.

It is hard to imagine oneself to stand out among the crowd and thanks to some recent events, do so in a negative manner. It is hard to develop a thick skin to withstand the "slings and arrows" of those around you. And it is not always verbal darts that are slung but it is the penetrating eyes that scan your innards at work, at the Mall and at clubs. And let us not forget that while there might be a small minority of Sikh women who are amenable to "dating" a full Sikh, majority of them would rather not. It is hard to understand all this unless you yourself have been subjected to this.

Is this in our minds? Have people like me become paranoid to the degree of insanity? Why can't people take a look around themselves, in their homes and in their places of worship? I am sure there are plenty of instances there who would support my claim.

Is this truly important? I mean we are only talking about a few desperate young guys who can't find girls. I wish it were this simple. These situations point out the rapid metamorphosis that the Sikh society is undergoing where younger generations are increasingly shunning and relegating the "full Sardar" into obsolence. If young Sikh guys lack confidence , there are tangible forces eroding that confidence. Let me illustrate my point. My own cousin who considers herself a young successful professional in Delhi, took a pledge along with a group of her other Sikh friends that they would not marry a Surdie. Her own father almost proudly informed the family of her decision when she ended up marrying a non-Sikh. Truly, if she would have fallen in love with any person and decided to marry him, I would have shown her a thumbs-up. I would not have (and still don't) care about what relegion or what ethnicity he belonged to. However, to systematically rule out a full Sardar as a life partner in such an ignoble manner boils my blood. To say that she will not marry a guy who has decided to follow the path that God has chosen for him?- is this not sacrilege.

How is a Sikh youth supposed to react to such pledges? Some of us like me will become angry and vent their anger in diverse but mostly ineffectual manner. Others would direct their anger inwardly which would result in a confidence that looks like Swiss cheese. But can you blame them? Can you blame them if people they are supposed to call their own would rather ignore and ridicule them? Is it not surprising that we criticize non-Sikhs who crack Sardar jokes but are completely ok when a "modern" Sikh girl rejects a guy because he proudly donns the appearance of his relegion?

Can you look me in the eye and tell me that all is pink and rosy? Can you tell me that I suffer from a lack of confidence? Maybe you can but I think you will be sadly mistaken.. So, please don't tell us we have no balls. We can live with "mistaken identities" by others but it is hard to put up with "mistaken priorties" of our own.

Anyways, this is not a personal thing. The lady does indeed have a valid point and I apologise for our percieved impotence. I am sure others will joining me in saying that that is certainly not the case.

I realize that I am indeed turning into a whiner while there are so many potential wives waiting for me out there. I have some new leads and will post those here. This post was sort of a knee-jerk reaction to the accusation that we have "no balls". No man could ever take that lying down.

Blue or Pink?

2006-01-19T11:10:00.000-08:00

Before I go on to finish my story from 2 posts ago, a loud shout out to Puneet2. Thank you for your encouraging words. They go a long way in easing the pain. I am relieved that finally, somebody understands. Your hubby is a very lucky man. By the way, if you do actually know any of the women that you describe, please do not hesitate to direct them my way. I am probably the one they have been waiting for.

Anyways, to finish the story, the gentle brother brought back his sister as he had promised. As I was busy paying my respects to the uncle jees and aunti jees by the conventional "pairi pana"(which by the way has degenerated into a hasty half hearted "goda farna(= knee catching)" action), I lifted my eyes to see the veerji walking towards me with the sister at his side. And then in that instant, I felt the sting of a big honey bee on my heart. Tough luck, boy-I told myself. As you might have guessed it, it was the lady in pink, with a nervous smile, on her face walking towards me. As a red blooded punjabi, I would not let myself be deterred by initial defeat. I put on an air of inflated yet hollow confidence, wrung my moustaches into a slim handsome arc, palpated the wrinkles out of my maroon turban and got ready for the moment. As I did that, I felt the third eye of my heart ransacking the room searchig for that speck of blue which seemed so attainable and yet so impossible. Settle down, kid, I found myself telling my ticker.

The duo walked towards us. The brother introduced her sister to me. I extended my hands in a gracious handshake. She responded by folding her hands in a quiet SSA and then took pity on my half extended half embarresed hand and reciprocated the gesture. "Hello",I said," Nice to meet you". The words that came out of her mouth were in a sweet dulcous voice. I was impressed. As I was fumbling for words for the next sentence, I took the whole view into account. Within her, I tried to find the one I was looking for. A wife, a friend and a soul mate.

We then exchanged a few more pleasantries. H1 did the smart move and asked the brother to leave us alone for a few minutes. The ball was now in our court. I think over the past few years, I have become a good conversationalist. I can come up with interesting stuff to talk about. I put all of my newly acquired skills to work and sucessfully established a meaningful conversation. We exchanged tid bits about our demographics, our work and our hobbies. As we kept on talking, my mind was engaged in a frenzy of parallel-processing trying to acquire information from subtle non-verbal cues: her body language, her outfit, etc , forming opinions and making a decision. She asked me a few childish questions which were kind of a turn-off. Her words were occasionally punctuated by a shallow gigle which I could see in distinct contrast with a naughty lady like smile that I have grown to love. At the end of the five minutes, it was clear to me that the light at the end of my tunnel was nowhere in sight. I did not see any sparks that I have been so desperate to ignite. I know she felt it too. But subject to civil norms that we are, the smile never left our faces. We parted with lifeless goodbyes and nods of our heads to join H1 and veerji.
Later on, I met her parents who seemed genuinely pleased to meet. They seemed like very nice people and I could sense the eagerness in their eyes. I stole a few glances at the diva in blue who turned out to be a cousin ,visiting from out of town. I tried very hard at exchaging some messages through my eyes but alas, no sucess. She seemed pretty, aloof and seated on a pedestal too high for me. My heart left out a few howls full of yearning, howls that got lost in the wilderness. After a few customary "chai peeke jana, roti kha ke jana", we found ourselves back in the car driving towards our den. H1 already knew my answer and it was his sad duty to convey that to the family which he did artfully and sincerely. I almost wished that he would ask them to consider me for the "blue" but I knew he could not and so I never asked. However, he did agree with me that "blue" would have been more suitable.

I know you are wondering how did I decide that "pink" was not going to be the color of my life. I thought long and hard about it too. The fact is that within the premise of arranged marriage, such decisions are made on imperfect and incomplete data. A lot of it is based on looks and resume though I do think smaller things like personality matter a lot. Some of the things that I considered in making the decision cannot be revealed here for reasons of respecting privacy and dignity of certain individuals. It is indeed sad, that while I bitch and moan about other people judging me and others, I found myself guilty of indulging in the same dubious process. I try and I try really hard and hopefully will be a saner person.

Needless to say,the woods remain lonely, dark and deep. But I have my loneliness to keep me warm and cozy for the journey that, seems like, will go on for a while.

Time for Reflection

2006-01-13T16:17:00.000-08:00

While it is easy to dismiss my thoughts as shallow, I still think that my feelings are shared by a lot of other Sikh brethren. With each passing day, I see a thin sediment deposit itself over my dreams, dreams which run the risk of being fossilized if I don't act now. I do not want to be a helpless observer. It is true that I could probably devote the time I spend on this blog on other productive things( and believe me, I have plenty of avenues), I choose not to. I am sure that the situations I have encountered have been endured by countless other Sikh youth and hence warrant documentation and analysis. I do not wish to appear melodramtic but trust me on this.

It does not hurt me when a random Red Neck walks up to me and says Saalam-a- Laikum with a snigger. It also does not hurt me when some delirious lady asks me: "Do you kill people?' .No, I can put up with that. What really hurts me is when I am scanning profiles of young Sikh women and I come across the words "looking for a clean shaven man", "only clean shaven JSM respond" blah blah blah. I have asked myself several times:"Why do I care?". I mean why should I care. Other people have as much a right to be so specific about their partners as I do. But the truth is that it bothers me. It bothers me when guys like me are being prejudged on the basis of their principles and their beliefs. It wrenches my soul because as a young man, it matters to me what women think about me and because I do not wish to be subject to a rejection that I don't deserve. It is ok to me if a woman was to reject me because of my personal attributes. But to be discriminated as a group hurts me.

Some people would argue that following the path of Sikhi is a tough job and one must be prepared to face such stuff. As a Sikh, one must value one's faith as above other things. Of course,I do and I am resolved to follow the ardous path I have chosen. But, I shall not allow the hypocrisy of other people to shut me to silence. Just beacuse I am supposed to be the good guy, I shall not suffer discrimination. If I am going down, I am going down with a lot of noise.

The sad part is that this is just not my story. I personally know many friends who have faced similar situations and had their self-esteems blasted because of crap like this. I especially abhor people who preach certain things and are totally comfortable with their kids choosing partners who are "in sync with modern times". It is probably easier to shut up and put up but I don't think that is cool with me.

Anyways, I am thankful to people who think this blog is funny. The truth is that when you squeeze my broken heart, out flows the crimson juice of prose colored with humor. I shall continue to describe my search for a life partner and detail the trials/tribulations as well as the joys of this ride. Bear with me......

A Bag of Bananas

2006-01-05T18:37:00.000-08:00

I wish I had good news to write about. But no luck so far. Last weekend, I went to meet the girl mentioned in my last post. As I had mentioned, the family had a religious function at home. They had a nice big house in the outskirts of Houston. It took almost an hour to get there. I was accompanied by my friend who I shall henceforth refer to a H1( I am sure there will be other H's I will have to mention). Neither of us had seen the girl although H is good friends with her brother. As I drove on the meandering roads of the concrete jungle that my city is, anticipation welled up inside me. Could she be the one?

Involuntarily, my mind kept on conjuring up images of a "dhood nalon chiti" sikhni who will smile and smite me dead. I have disciplined myself not to build up expectations, because invariable when you are burdened with the leaden load of expectations, you fall flat on your face. Anyways, I must admit I was quite excited about the whole thing. So, we reached their house around 11.00 AM and there was a fair crowd already present. I hesitated for a second when I enetered their house but then experience took over and I walked in with my head held high. As I walked down the aisle, I could feel the poking of piercing eyes. I could feel that somewhere hidden among that crowd of devotees was a princess who could be God's gift to me. I took a sneakish glance around the room looking for the one whom I had seen several times in my dreams.

Boom, my visual scan system detected two bogies: one at 2.00 clock and another one at 9.00 clock. The one at 9.00 seemed more lethal and demanded immediate attention. The one at 2.00 clock looked ok from the distance and would require closer observation. However, I could not decide which of the two would blow me off to bits. Both looked eligible young women......God, who is it? who is the one that I have waited so long for?

I came back after paying my respects and took my place among the devout. The melodies of keertan were floating in the air and on an ordinary day, would provide balm to my yearning heart. But today was no ordinary day. I kept looking out of the corner of my eye to check out both the ladies. The one on my left was quite pretty and had a facade of gravity which could not hide the naughtiness within. She was wearning a blue punjabi suit. For a moment, our eyes met and then we looked away. Her eyes did not betray anything. Poets would have described that moment as a blissful eternity but to me,it felt nothing special. A fox in a sheep's clothing, I told myself. Interesting. I then turned my eyes to check out the other lady. She gave the girl next door look, was wearing a pink suit and seemed very studious and devoted. She was sitting at an obtuse angle to me and I could not take a direct look at her. As I was making my observations and taking mental notes, I felt some distant eyes groping at me. There in the corner was an auntie doing her own reconnaissance over my person. The Mother, I guessed.

Suddenly, I felt a flutter on my left lateral T5 dermatome. Gosh, that was my heart. Call me shallow but it was brimming with anticipation. I almost wished that the girl to my left was the one I was supposed to meet. Certainly, I would not marry somene for their mere looks (although my rogue friends tell me that it is not a bad idea) but she could be the one I would be interested in knowing more about. More on this thought later..

To cut the ong story short, I later met her brother. He seemed like a nice guy who I could get along with. We exchanged pleasantries and the the usual questions about each other's demographics. And finally,after a few minutes which did indeed stung like eternity, he offered to brng her sister over. As he went away to bring her sister, H1 snuck upto me and whispered into my ears:"Blue or Pink?who do you think it is". I smiled and shrugged my shoulders in ignorance. And then, the moment of truth.........

I hope you would have guessed the outcome from the title of the post. For the naive, "kela ho gaya" is a colloquial Delhi idiom expressing one's anguish over the death of one's expectations. It is usually in much lighter spirit that I have been able to convey but I hope you get it. I would love to stretch this already long post and finish the story but it is getting late and my loneliness is calling me to bed reminding me "Honey, you have to drag your ass to work tomorrow". Well, she is right. Soon, I will wind up this story as well as describe the protracted retrospection that followed. It has taken me days to recover and start my oddysee again. Soon, you shall know why...

A Ray of Roshni?

2005-12-27T20:07:00.000-08:00

It is my intention to bring all my friends uptodate with the developments so far. I intend to apprise you of all the potential candidates that I have met so far and the reasons why it has not worked out so far. That should be an interesting story to tell and I am trying to find time to narrate it.
In the meantime, I recieved word from one of my local contacts in Houston that there is a girl he would like me to meet. This contact has actually been my mentor in other things as well and I respect him a lot. Anyways, this girl is a software person. She is an ABCD and apparently belongs to a nice Gursikh family. Her brother is some sort of a lawyer and you know what they say about lawyers. Hopefully, the girl does not have the litiginous streak in her. Anyways, here comes the surprising part. She belongs to a Jat family and her family does not have any hangups about the boy being a non-Jat. Well, ordinarily,I would raise my left eyebrow at that but hey "never say never". Anywho, I am supposed to go to their house this weekend as they have the langar at their house for some reason. My friend cum mentor is supposed to accompany me. Earlier, I used to feel somewhat nervous about these things. I mean going to some stranger's house and touching everybody's feet and calling everybody uncleji and auntijii. I know this is all good stuff but I would still feel slightly uncomfortable with all this.

But now I think I am becoming a veteran at this. I pretty much know what is coming. There will be myriads of people with their piercing eyes and calculating looks trying to poke at me to find out what stuff I am made of. And then there will be my potential princess, as nervous and uncomfortable as I was ages ago........anyways, i don't want to jinx anything right now. I will keep my fingers crossed and hopefully you will too. Needless to say, all the minute details shall be recorded while respecting my and their privacy. So, hold your breath.....

Why has this been so hard?

2005-12-25T16:55:00.000-08:00

I never thought this whole process would be so hard. You can guess my chagrin when I refer to marriage as a "process". Growing up on heavy doses of romantic Hindi and English movies, I was as excited about my marriage as the next guy. There were dreams of finding someone amid picturesque hills and valleys. I always thought I might even do some running around the trees of my own. Unfortunately, in the frantic bid to establish a career and standing on my own feet, a lot of my dreams have met the Grim Reaper; and one of those is that of meeting someone who will steal my heart away, right under my nose.

Anyways, years ago, I gave in to the pressure of my parents that I should allow them to find me a wife. At least, that is what I like to tell myself. But the truth is, between an excrutiatingly busy career and a non existent social life, it has been impossible to meet someone. That is not to say, I have not tried the new internet tools like Shaadi.com, JeevanSathi.com or the multitude of other such sites that promise to find you the "one" ; and I have made contact with some eligible femme fatales , but I think most of them are mirages that serve best to keep my hopes of finding a life parter alive but have so far not given me any tangible results.

Earlier, I used to think that this would be an easy thing. Think about it. I am a well educated well settled proud Sikh man in "amreeka". A lot of girls would love to marry me. Well, I was so wrong. Like most FOBs(Fresh off the boat), I had the fatally wrong notion that in the great land of amreeka, I could snap my fingers and get the girl I want . The truth is: women here are so much more demanding than in India. And then,there is the inevitable tag of being a foriegner. And in a post 9/11 world, it certainly does not help if you walk around with a turban and a beard. Now,don't get me wrong. I am very proud of my religion and would not compromise my principles but let us put it this way: looking differently does not help with the ladies.

But,hey what about the ABCDs. Surely, they will understand where I am coming from .Guess what. Most ABCD girls I have met are probably more judgemental than the red necks. And this is true for most Sikh girls as well. Most redblooded ABCD Sikh girls would rather have a nice shining clean shaven man as their knight in shining armour. Men in turban don't tickle their fantasy enough. It does not stop here. One would think that the obnoxious caste system would leave you alone in the great US of A. One would expect that these well educated people would value people over their surnames. But hey,I was wrong again. If you are a non jat, you are on the wrong side of the aisle. No matter, how smart you are or what other merits you have, if you are not a Sidhu or a Sandhu or a Dhaliwal for that matter, boy no jatti is ever gonna look at you. End of story. No ifs,ands or buts sirf jats.

So,my friends,I happen to have a few pluses and a fair share of minuses. And so I decided that it is probably better to let my parents do the hard work. I know it is really tough for them to find me a wife, but hey I tried. What kills me every time I think about it that the whole thing has no spontaniety whatsoever. Dead are the dreams of running into some beautiful and delicate thing and making her my own. Dead alas!

Wake up and smell the chai. So tell me my friends. Grow up and do what your grandfathers and their fathers have done. Get an arranged marriage.

The beginning

2005-12-25T16:45:00.000-08:00

I never thought I will ever have the stomach to do this but i guess "never say never". Ok, here it goes. I am one of the countless young indian professionals who has left the homeland to earn a living. I am also one of the countless young Indian guys who is waiting to be tied to the yoke of an "arranged marriage". My parents and I guess,I have been looking for a wife for me for the past two years. This search for a perfect Indian wife has generated some very interesting experiences for me and well, I thought I needed to record those for myself and my friends. Every time,I return from India, I am swamped with questions mostly centered around the eternal question: "Have you found her?". Rather than regurgitating my stories over and over again, I decided to create this blog. Hopefully, this should provide a means of catharsis for me to clear out my system of those sometimes sweet, sometimes sour but always fascinating experiences as well as serve to quench the curiosity of my friends and cousins.