Tva Prasaad - By Thy Grace

The Morning After

2011-12-26T01:36:00.051+08:00

It is the morning after the end of the Malaysian Samelan 2011.

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Here I sit, perfectly clean, with my sun-dried hair, heels scrubbed to baby pinkness, bits of grass stuck between my toes, clothes sorted into neat laundry piles, a mountain of fruit consumed, and without much to do, except wonder at where the last week went.

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A Samelan (Sikh Camp) is made up of so many things, over such a long period, that it is difficult to comprehend how quickly it is over. First we review the past Samelans, and then we start to plan. And we plan, plan, and plan. And if that isn't enough, then we have meetings, and plan again, and meet and revisit and plan some more. We *cough* respectfully disagree several times during this phase. Then we put together all the things we need logistically, from materials to food to utensils to stationery to bedding. Hopefully by this time we have a location, if not that gets added on too. Then come the people – participants, visitors, more Sevadars (thankfully!). Add, add, add, mix ‘em all up, and voila! A Samelan is created.

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7 days later, just like that, it ends. Too fast, much to fast.

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How does one fully honour the past week?

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I choose to honour Moments.

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The ingredients of a Samelan are fairly standard. What really makes a Samelan a Samelan are the unexpected and random Moments that appear and disappear without warning. In a state of sleep-deprivation it is easy to miss them, and no doubt I have missed many, but here are the ones I noticed, and remember.

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Day 0 minus 1

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The Moment of Panic. I walk into the grounds on Saturday, see that too little has been done in the Darbar. Head-scratch with Amrit and Ajeet S on how to speed things up. Leave it in their capable hands to witness a 360-degree transformation the next day. Team, you are amazing.

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The Moment of Innocent Joy. Amrit announces that we have a new seva: watering plants! The gentleman from the nursery tells us that we need to water the flowers in front of Guru Ji twice a day to keep them fresh and alive :)

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Day 0

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The Moment of But, I’m a Girl. Ajeet S tries to educate me on the electricals in the Darbar. I learn about distribution boxes, plugs, switches and lights. Start to pray furiously that nothing will come up while he is not around!

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The Moment of Tickled Insides. Overhear some girls in the dorm: “This Samelan is amazing! It’s the first Samelan I’ve been to where the bathrooms have doors!”

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The Moment of Fullness. After all the madness of many weeks, I watch as Guru Ji arrives in the Darbar. Tears fill up in the water tank of my heart. This room was empty and soulless before. Now He is here, and we are complete. All systems go!

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Day 1

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The Moment of Beauty. Amrit leads Japji on Day 1. How I wish I had recorded it so that she could accompany me every day.

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The Moment of Amusement. During our station game, the punishment is a fictional prison sentence. Team X remains unfazed by their ever-increasing prison sentence and refuses to confess. I plead with the girls and remind them that the bathrooms in prison would be pretty awful. The reply comes, “Phenji, prison is like Samelan. We’ve been to Samelan, we’ll be fine! Imagine going to Samelan for 30 years – AWESOME!!” The whole Team cheers :p

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The Moment of Invisibility. I watch as the team of Burmese helpers heads to the dorms. They are helping us keep the washrooms clean this week. They work in the background, quietly moving in and out, without recognition or acknowledgement, while we are busy in our sessions. The bathrooms are squeaky clean. There is no dust on the floor of my dorm. I have never been this comfortable in a Samelan.

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The Moment of Relief. Ajeet S and Baljit spotted in the Darbar after a day's absence due to work commitments. Oh how thankful Amrit, Premdeep and I are. Not having them around is a near-death experience :p

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The Moment of Exhaustion. Arrive at the dorms at night, remember that I STILL have not picked up my mattress. Too tired to worry about it now, the sleeping bag will just have to do. Not like there is enough sleep time for my back to get sore, anyway :)

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The Moment of Celebration, O Yea! The opening of SoulNation, to be experienced 3 times over the week. Each one soul-stirring! I love how we are evolving our choice of instruments and still living, and loving our Sikhi. As Hargobind said on Day 2, it's not where the instrument comes from, it's where it takes you. Start quoting! :)

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Day 2

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The Moment of Fragrance. Premdeep walks into the Darbar with the Parshaad. Inhale, sigh.

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The Moment of Annoyance. Forced to skip lunch, only to realise later in the day that tauhu sambal had been on the menu. Naturally, there is none left over. Geram!!!

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The Moment of Pure Happiness. Hargobind arrives at the Samelan, having answered my pleas to please, pretty please, bring along a fruit basket as I was wilting without fruit. My hero went to the grocery store and picked out a bag full of goodies. Legend!

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The Moment of Love. Pa Tony relates a story about a girl, around 12 years of age, carrying her little brother up the mountain to Hemkunt. When asked how it is that she can carry so much weight being so young herself, she replies, “Eh paar nahi, eh pyaar hai (It is not Weight that I carry, it is Love).” I’m not sure if Hargobind looked at the fruit basket in the same way :p

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The Moment of Annoyance (part II). Forced to skip dinner, only to realise later that some other tauhu dish had been on the menu. Miss tauhu twice in the same day. Geram (part II)!!!

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The Moment of Family. Sing Sagal Dwaar with my ANHAD brothers at SoulNation. Feel the presence of my beautiful Manji with us. The family is spread around the world, but at this moment, we share group tears, group hug.

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Day 3

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The Moment of (un)Pinkness. On Tropic Thunder morning, I try to convince participant after participant that my suit was peach, NOT pink (a clue for one of the Checkpoints). Those ‘ankhon key ishaarey’ are not going to get you anywhere. Shoo! Go look for a real Gatekeeper to the Song of the Soul Checkpoint!

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The Moment of Betrayal. I have to taste 6 cups of tea in one morning during Tropic Thunder (tea-making is one of the challenges at our Checkpoint). Tea is usually a huge no-no for me, but how can I say no when a group of boys comes and says, ‘Phenji, this is the best cha you will ever have!” They carry the one cup all the way from the Langgar Hall to present to us for tasting. By the way, boys, our fictional Giani Ji did not survive all the sugar you added in the cha!

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The Moment of Buckling Knees. Lack of sleep and food, starts to catch up with me now.

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The Moment of Thankfulness. Keeping hydrated is a challenge when you are always on your feet. I am so thankful to the Sevadars manning the Water Stations all around the grounds. And to my sister Manmeet for filling up our water bottle every night! One gulp and I am back to life.

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The Moment of Banana-lovin'. I make 3 people extremely happy with the simple act of banana distribution from my fruit basket. That little girl from the Mighties has such a precious smile. Pearljeet elevates me to Goddess-hood. Ashvin looks blissfully through me, for she is in banana-la-la-land and will not be disturbed :p

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The Moment of Shared Laughs. A friend relates an exchange with a Mighty Khalsa Singh. Mr Singh: Phenji, married already ah? Phenji: No, not yet. Mr Singh: Find boy already or not? Phenji: *what the h*** this kid is like 10 years old!!!* So cute :)

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The Moment of Anger. Come out of the Darbar, to realise that someone has nicked my flip-flops. By this point I am so tired anything will bring on a meltdown. Why me? Why my flip-flops? Don’t they see how much I am doing here? What more do they want from me argh!!!

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The Moment of Pointless and Misdirected Revenge. Oh look. Someone’s flip-flops hidden here under the bushes. Everyone is in bed. Can’t belong to anyone. Just take ‘em.

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Day 4

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The Moment of Poetic Justice. The flip-flops I stole were stolen from me! The Samelan is a cruel, cruel, place.

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The Moment of The-World-Makes-Sense-Again. Oh, but look here! Original flip-flops found. YES.

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The Moment of Squealing. My sister Trishvin arrives from Auckland! Scream squeal jump jump! Why not in a public place so that any suspicions of my sanity are quelled.

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The Moment of Pain. Being at the receiving end of a wonderful shoulder massage. Painful, but effective. Identity of the masseuse is kept a secret to spare him the queue of people that may line up in future Samelans :) I am seriously considering recommending this as an actual seva next year!

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The Moment of Almost-Weakness. I just about crawl to the Langgar Hall and sit down with my cup of Milo, when the Team on duty starts to usher everyone out. As a participant approaches to get us to move again, I am oh-so tempted to flash my pink Sevadar name tag and say, “Do you know who I am?” Thankfully the moment passes and remains as a joke between friends. And yes, we dutifully leave the Langgar Hall, as instructed. The same rules apply to all :)

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The Moment of Disbelief. It is the end of the 5th day and I have yet to see a single cockroach. Miracle of miracles.

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Day 5

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The Moment of Being Somewhere Else. Uncle Dya Singh leads Asa Ki Vaar. I am no longer at the Samelan. Instead, I sit in Box 28 at my beloved Golden Temple, wrapped in my shawl, listening to the Raagis sing, as I gaze at GT through the December smog. I am home.

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The Moment of Falling down the Rabbit Hole. We run out of envelopes and I need to dash to the store. I leave the Samelan grounds and walk into Jaya Jusco. It is unnerving to be a part of this strange, outside, consumer world. All I want to do is hang on to my name tag and guard my flip-flops (the two most important things at a Samelan). As I am about to pay, I realise I’ve left my bag in the car and have no money on me. You see, in the world I just came from, money is of no use. You get much, much further with just a pink name tag (Sevadar) and an extra pair of flip-flops (then everyone will be your friend). Take me back to the Samelan grounds, where things make sense!

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The Moment of Weightlessness. When challenges crop up, we talk to Ajeet K. And then we stop worrying about them, because they are in good, capable hands.

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The Moment of Unexpected Melody. It’s evening shower time, and from another stall I hear a voice slowly picking up volume, singing Thakur, Gaiey, Gaiey, Gaiey, Atam Rangg. She sings alone for a few lines, and is then joined by another voice. I can’t help myself, and join in too. Before long, anyone walking in and out of the bathroom is singing with us. In the end there are two voices left, mine and the original singer’s. We bump into each other on the way out, and share a sheepish smile. Maybe this is what He meant by Angg Sangg.

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The Moment of Stillness. WOW Night. Standing before my Guru, pledge in hand, making my commitment for 2012. Guru Ram Das, protect and keep me.

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The Moment of Confusion. Seconds before the Panj Pyarey arrive at the Darbar, escorting the new Amritdharis, a girl is thrust towards me, and there she is to stay, sobbing uncontrollably, into my hip bone, wailing, “I don’t want to go home!” I look up, the Panj are coming closer. I look down, the sobbing is getting louder. Oh dear. “Phenji, I don’t want to go home today! I haven’t said goodbye to my friends.” Sigh. There seem to be enough people taking care of the Panj and their needs. Let me look after this little broken heart instead.

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The Moment of Abuse. While explaining to the Team on duty the clean-up required in the Darbar, a broom slips from my hand, falls forward, and knocks a young participant squarely on the head. I am accused of all sorts of horrible things :p

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Day 6

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The Moment of Vah. It’s the last morning of Samelan, and I see this young participant, arrived early in the Darbar, sitting quietly, making notes from a Gutka. At the end of the divaan, he approaches Guru Ji, stands slightly to the left, and reads from his book. Later I ask him how he is, if there is anything we can help him with. No, he says, all is well. We talk some more. This is his 9th Samelan. Why do you keep coming back? Because sometimes in the year, I don’t get a chance to do my paath and pray to God. But this one week in the Samelan, I can make the most of it and spend as much time with Guru Ji as I like. That is why I come to Samelan.

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The Moment of Gratitude. I think of the amazing seva performed by the Logistics, Utilities, Langgar, Security, Secretariat and Medical Bay teams. They work behind the scenes, but round the clock. I could not do what they do. Thank you.

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The Moment of Emptiness. The Samelan comes to a close. Guru Ji leaves, taking many tears with him. This last week, my existence has been defined by serving this one space, the throne room of my Guru. Now the magic is gone. The Darbar is nothing but a room with walls and windows. It is hollow in here; it is hollow in our hearts.

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Until Samelan 2012, that is.

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Only 360 days to go. Sigh.

He loves me, he loves me not

2011-08-20T09:08:00.017+08:00

Zafar is sulking.

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In all the years that he has been a part of our lives, I have seen him:

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- happy (when people, any people, are in sight);

- dazed (in the early morning or after durians);

- bored (when the cats/ squirrels/ other dogs/ any neighbourhood creatures come by to eat his food);

- stubborn (when you say don’t run out of the gate, and he runs faster);

- in panic (when there is a thunderstorm, or fireworks during the festive season)

- apprehensive (when he sees bags lying around and boots being opened, because he knows someone is going away); and

- skinny as a bean (when someone does go away and the poor fella stops eating because he misses them).

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I am ignored.

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But he has never sulked. In fact the word I would really like to use is merajuk. Sulking doesn’t seem to translate well enough.

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Yet here he is, at the ripe old age of 11-going-on-12, and he is merajuk-ing. Even more worryingly, he seems to be only behaving that way towards me. With everyone else, it is business as usual. But he won’t even raise an eyebrow in my direction. My comings and goings are unmonitored. When I call his name, I am ignored.

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Me, of all people! Me, who has spoilt him rotten and still talks to him in baby sounds to this day (he is 80 years old in human years). Me, who sneaks bits of food off the dining table for him to snack on while we’re having dinner (papaya is a favourite). Me, who threatened to go on a hunger strike when initially Pitaji wouldn’t allow him to come sit with us on the deck (but he eventually relented). Yes, that me.

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He came close enough to sniff my trousers one day, and then turned away, disinterested. That was a happy day indeed. Other than that, complete blank. Mega merajuk.

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The good days of lazing on the grass.

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I look back to more joyful memories. There was a time when he absolutely adored me. Like absolutely. All I had to do was walk past, and he would run forward in search of a cuddle. I was Numero Uno for feeding him fruit. The sound of my car up the hill and he would be waiting at the gate. Tail-wagging at record-breaking velocities should I call his name.

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It has taken me a few days to realise that something is off.

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First reaction: Errr what am I missing? Where is Zafar and why have I not seen him in 4 days?

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Second reaction: Come here little puppy! Here little puppy… hello? ZAFAR, WHERE ARE YOU!

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Third reaction: Aww man… why does he not love me anymore?

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Fourth reaction: Gawd what an ungrateful little thing! All I’ve done is love him and be good to him and now he is completely blanking me out.

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Fifth reaction: Zafar, this is not funny anymore. You come over here and I’m going to sort you out!

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Sixth reaction: Depressed. Even our own dog won’t look at me. AND I don’t have enough shoes to make me happy. Hit rock bottom.

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And now, there is light. Maybe he is not the problem, but I am?

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It dawns on me that everything about Zafar is constant. His love for us (and ALL other living things) is pure and unsuspecting. He really does love wholly and without judgement.

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But just like every other relationship, even this one needs two to hold the balance. And I have neglected him for days – rushing off in the mornings, returning home late, disappearing to do other things in my free time. My Zafar-time has been reduced to nothingness. But I didn’t dwell on it because you know… he’s Zafar! He has always been there; surely he would always continue to be there regardless of whether I spent any time with him or not.

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But Zafar had decided to take a stand. When you were moving between London and KL, fine, you were forgiven. So much to do, so little time at home. But now that you’re fully here? What is your excuse now? You can’t just take me for granted and expect me to follow you around like a lost puppy (pun intended :p).

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Our home works around Zafar's preferences. Carpets are moved to make way for nap time.

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And there it is. My lesson in taking things for granted. The things that fall into that list are obviously many, but this time I’m really just focussing on the amazing people (and dog!) in my life.

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Funnily enough I thought I was getting better at this. At one time I even made a list of people without which my life would turn grey, and made a point of letting them know that my rainbow exists because of the wonder they bring to it. Of course the words used/ approach varied depending on the relationship (e.g. my lovely grandparents vs. the big tree in Phuaji’s neighbour’s garden) but essentially I grew conscious of the fact that we all need some form of recognition in our lives, and it is simply wonderful to know, really know, because someone has told you, how valuable you are to them. Not even a handful of words, but said rightly, and they are enough to plaster a big silly droopy smile on someone’s face.

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But words don’t always work. Believe me, I tried them with Zafar. When I first realised that we had a problem, I tried the shortcuts to cheat him into loving me again.

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Sweet talk:

Ooo Zafar, how is my little bubbloo this morning?? Little schweetums you’re cho beautful!

Failed.

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Bribery:

Look Zafar, I have some papaya here! You want some? Come here then!

Failed.

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Force:

Ajaa (come here)! Bayth (sit)! Chall (let’s go)!

Failed.

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Guilt:

Ziffy… all these years I've fed you and lookd after you and this is what I get in return?

Failed.

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Which goes to show that sometimes, in some relationships, it’s not enough to just say it. There is no end to heart-warming expressions we have access to these days (as demonstrated above). The ultimate clinch, however, comes from backing them up with the act of making time. Maybe with some relationships there is this unwritten and undeclared expectation that words need to be backed up by being accessible to each other, both when we plan to make time, and more so we don’t. When I know that you will put aside your drama to make time for mine, then we’re home.

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No doubt, in this respect, I have failed miserably. As highlighted to me by our perfect-in-every-way Zafar.

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Bliss after a ball game.

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So. In conclusion. I have some damage control to think about with regards to my relationship with Zafar. I could have just about survived knowing that I was Number Four on his list, but right now I think I’ve been bumped off completely.

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How do I fix this? He gives me so much love, and I think the two pats on the head he is getting from me these days just aren’t cutting it.

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I need to find a way to take him for walks on some mornings. When I have dinner at home, we will sit together again, as we used to (I still have faith in his love for papayas!). And I think it’s time to bring back the ball games and Jacob’s crackers.

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Thank you, Zafar, for being my chum, my great love, and my teacher. Big kiss and I looooovve you!!! xx

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Ok gtg. The weather is just right for a ball game. Zafar, aaja!

Just cardboard?

2011-05-14T00:40:00.008+08:00

My boxes have arrived from London.

Zafar has to share his territory for a few days

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I thought that this moment would bring me Sadness; now that the last pieces of my life in London have left and come to join me here. Everything of mine would be at this end of the world, and London would become a stranger’s land (although the weekly ‘Planned Engineering Works’ emails from TfL do keep me updated on disruptions to the Central Line – no service between Newbury Park and Grange Hill this weekend!).

Luckily for me, a love-connection is not so easily lost, or broken. You do not love a place because your belongings are there; you love it because it holds people and experiences that are dear to you (and maybe because you miss the walking and the food – Malaysia is neither walker- nor vegetarian-friendly).

Thankfully, memories and moments I have plenty of. Of course there is also my other reality: that I am happy, grateful and oh-so blessed to be in my family’s home too (my favourite part of the day is when we all crowd around the breakfast table in the evening, Zafar included!) – therefore the emotion of sadness would be misplaced.

Maybe I should feel Relief? That my boxes survived their 2-month journey across seas, canals, oceans and straits, left the Suez unscathed, were ignored by pirates, and passed customs officers without hassle (or pilferage). I am of course highly envious of their expedition – I’ve only made the trip by air, but a voyage by sea, how thrilling (let’s add it to the list)! I have yet to check for damage, but the boxes were taped at every angle and I have a feeling that when I open them I will be greeted by the scent of my old flat.

Or Disappointment, that it took only 4 boxes to pack up a life and move it. How could everything I own have fit into them and why-oh-why did I not shop more before I left (thinking especially of the amber Portsmouth shoes, new edition of The Prophet, and ILoveLondon kitsch that was left to tease me from shop windows)? God knows when I will be reunited with Amazon or Daunt’s or Monsoon or Paperchase (although Accessorize has been spotted, all cheer!). This thought is short-lived, though – my room is already filled to the brim with KL-junk, and many an evening has been spent by Pitaji and me standing at the doorway to my room, thinking: where are we going to put the rest of it?!?! We are forced to embark on a mission of installing new shelves.

Restlessness. I have had 12 homes in my short life (now moving back to #9) and have come to love my nomadic existence. In my childhood the moves were further apart, but lately I seem to be living out of a suitcase, what with the trips to KL (3 in 2010 alone!), sleepovers at a friend’s in the Far East (Stratford), and a life in audit (there is no place like Burton-on-Trent, really). Moving can be frustrating (what, another box!), but in exchange it is detoxifying. Another opportunity to clear out things I don’t need (usually very few), get things I do (usually very many), reconsider my perspective on which items are important and where they should be placed (feng shui of the soul), rearrange my possessions just for the kick of it (yay!), and practice detachment (although admittedly this one is progressing rather slowly given that I now have more stuff than I ever did). Given all this, having everything back in one place is too (physically) grounding. (I think I have root-phobia).

(I have suddenly realised that my love for exclamation marks is surpassed only by my love for parentheses!). I make joke, I am tickled pink.

I love that phrase: tickled pink.

And there is no denying it: the feeling of Resignation looms as well. I have been home for a month now and have been living in sin (read: (1) my table is a frightful mess of files, cables, bags, and whatever-else-is-under-that-pink-scarf; (2) the lounge chair is covered in clothes to be mended/ sorted/ ironed; and (3) the suitcase is still on the floor, unemptied). This is shocking because (1) I like things in order and am an obsessive scrubaholic; (2) Mataji likes things in order and is an obsessive tidyupaholic; and (3) at one (tiny) point in time my brother’s room looked neater than mine. The excuse so far has been that let everything get here, it will be easier to sort it all in one go once I (1) have an estimate of how much in each category I have; (2) figure out what belongs where; and (3) catalogue all my books (Hargobind, it has been noted that Three Cups of Tea and the God Delusion are not on my shelves). And now that the boxes are here, the amnesty period is over.

But for now, let me rest with Wonder. I turn to the far reaches of my memory to look for what could be in the boxes, but because I packed everything away so quickly it’s all a blur. Bar a few well-used things, a large part of me cannot remember what is in there. I keep trying to picture my old room to recall what would have been packed away, but nothing stands out, except for my bright yellow Argentinean sun (that stayed with me through all my London years), The Lacuna (which apart from the customary open-the-book-and-give-it-a-sniff routine is yet to be read), the 3 beads from Portobello (why 3?), the red carnation worn at Manmeet’s wedding (ironically flown in from Malaysia), the Amalfi teardrop ring(purchased solely for reminding me of boats and the sea), and (how could I possibly forget!) my IFRS bible, complete with multi-coloured tabs for quick access to all my favourite standards (I am currently torn between IAS 16 and IAS 18).

These boxes may just be piles of cardboard to you. But to me, they are a reminder of a wonderful life lived in the past, an opportunity to ramble about them in the present, and exciting days of colour-coding and alphabetising (and maybe some root-growing?) in the future.

Right, better get unpacking then. Chop, chop, all hands on deck, look lively now, etc etc.

By Thy Grace

2010-10-02T02:14:00.020+08:00

Harimandir.

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That I may be the bird, flying against the wind, my tussled feathers guiding me towards you, for one more glimpse.

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That I may be the sikka, exchanged for dust-covered shoes, travelling in the pockets of pilgrims, or tied to their chunnis, and carried into your vibration.

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That I may be the pool of water, soaking the feet that come towards you, before embarking on the journey within.

That I may be the marble, melted by the tears of those who seek you, as their heads bow in reverence, placing their fears at your door.

That I may be the bucket, lowered into the sarovar, bringing forth the nectar that cleanses your marble floors, and drenches your children with joy.

That I may be the milk, poured from above, cascading down each step, purifying the spirits of your servants.

That I may be the jute mat, worn by the feet that graze my weaves, as they walk around you, around you, around you, towards you.

That I may be the fish, in your sarovar, living within the infinity of your four corners, my body soaked in your nectar.

That I may be the blossom, cut from my stalk, separated from my root, threaded through my petals, drying at your feet.

That I may be the ray of light, shining on your golden surface, causing your reflection to dance on the surface of the water.

That I may be the breeze, coming through your gates, caressing the pages of the gutka that carries your holy name.

That I may be the grain of sugar, liquefied over the flame, molded into a blessing, that your devotees might carry home a sweet reminder of their darshan.

That I may stand in your shadow, once more. Bathe in your light, once more. My palms together, once more. My forehead on your marble, once more.

That I may come home, Guru Ram Das. To your City of Nectar, once more.

Tva Prasaad.

For Oorra, for Sa, and for Ek Oangkaar

2010-06-23T04:13:00.013+08:00

A few months ago, I learnt that one of my teachers left her physical body.

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Guru Raam Das, Rakho Sharanaee.

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Her actual name I did not know then, and I do not know now. We, her students, called her Phenji, and she was known to everyone as Aunty Nikki. To me her actual name does not matter. I have always thought of her as Phenji, and that is enough for me.

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It will be a rare family in Setapak or Gombak that does not know Phenji; most of us and our neighbours studied under Phenji’s guidance. If in search of a Punjabi, Kirtan or Paath teacher, you needed look no further.

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As a teacher, she was firm, gave tonnes of homework which she checked with a stern red pen, loved giving surprise spelling bees, obsessed about neat handwriting, insisted on clear pronunciation, made us practice to perfection, and expected nothing less than best behaviour in class.

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I learnt under her continuously from when I was around 6-9 years old, and then intermittently between 10-12.

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As a child, I remember looking forward to class; not because I was excited about learning, but more because of the other kids I would get to meet and hopefully play with after class (if only Mataji would come a little later to pick me up!).

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As a child, I remember being slightly intimidated by Phenji; I liked her no-nonsense approach, but I also feared her slightly, and I knew she meant business. I guess she reminded me a lot of my Mataji, and even at that age, I knew that she was good. So I listened, I practiced, and I learnt. As did many others under her care. We didn’t have much of a choice. You see, Phenji insisted that we learnt.

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As a child, I remember first the car journeys to class when we lived further away, and later on the bicycle rides my brother and I made through the old Malay settlement to get to her home using the quickest possible route. I remember standing outside her gate to make sure the dog was tied up before we went in. I remember eating pakoriya in her kitchen while we waited for class to start.

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As a child, I remember that she held my hand when I wrote my first ‘Oorra’, and then I went on to write my name. She held my hand as she placed my forefinger on ‘Sa’, and then ‘Re’, and then I went on to sing a shabad. She held my hand as we moved our fingers across the first page of the Panjh Granthi, and then I went on to read the last.

...

I remember being told off as often as being praised, I remember patience, and above all I remember that she never gave up on any of us; no matter how slowly we caught on. ...

...

And then our family moved. We lived further away, and by this time I had learnt the basics so Mataji took over the Paath classes at home. Our contact with Phenji more or less ended, aside from the occasional meets at Gurdwara. ...

...

Now that I look back, I don’t think I met her more than a handful of times between my last class and when I heard the news. This is not to say that our paths did not cross, just that I did not make the effort to go up to her. She became just another person I saw now and then.

...

As an adult, it pains me to think that I never appreciated her while she was still with us. My only real contact with her was during class, which started with Vaheguru Ji Ka Khalsa, Vaheguru Ji Ki Fateh, and ended the same way. And she didn’t expect more. All she asked was for us to be on time, pay attention, and learn. ...

...

As an adult, it pains me to think that after all my years of learning with her, I never went up to her, as an adult, and said Thank You. For my first lesson, right to my last. I owe so much to this wonderful lady, and I never said it. I don’t have any pictures of her in our photo albums. I never visited her in her last days; mainly because I didn’t know that she was unwell, but I cannot help thinking, also because I never took the trouble to find out about how my teacher would be doing, all those years after. ...

...

As an adult, it pains me to think how much of what I am and I know today, I owe to that ‘Oorra’, that ‘Sa’, and that ‘Ek Oangkaar’. In so many ways, she is my Mian Mir; she laid the foundation that I am built on. ...

...

We have many teachers throughout our lives; but it is only a few that leave us with jewels so precious that we cannot repay them; only hold their teachings in gratitude, our heads bowed.

...

As I sit here now, trying to say everything I wish I had said many moons ago, I hope she knows that she is loved, and revered, and missed. I pray that my young cousins have teachers like her, that my nephews and nieces have teachers like her, that my own children one day will have teachers like her. ...

...

You know what the beauty of it is? Phenji is not alone. There are so many more like her out there, we call them our ‘Punjabi school teachers’, teaching our children how to read, write, speak, sing. Unsung Heroes. Gentle women and gentle men, to whom we have entrusted the task of giving our Sikh children the tools that may help them on their way to discovering their identity. ...

...

I hope, that you do not wait as long as I have waited to show your thanks. How I wish I could give her one last hug, and just say it. ...

...

Instead here I am, attempting to now sing to my Unsung Hero. She is no longer here to correct me as I go off-key, but I hope she has been listening nonetheless. ...

...

From all your children, Phenji, thank you. For Oorra, for Sa, and for Ek Oangkaar.

Walk On By

2010-06-05T13:45:00.000+08:00

Ok so that was one loooong intermission :)

...

Before I jump into Part II, please let me add that I will, to the end, defend your right to eat and enjoy candy. My decision to keep away from it is not the start of a crusade I’ve embarked on to preach the evils of such deliciousness, and steer people away from them! What I was trying to say was how even when I knew that there was something I wanted to give up; I continued to indulge in it because I found ways to justify it to myself. Maybe Marshmallows were a poor example, but hopefully further down I will make more sense.

...

So, to continue where I left off:

...

When I said Things More Serious, maybe you thought I meant Cigarettes, or Drugs, or Alcohol. Yes, those are serious and dangerous addictions indeed. However on that subject my knowledge is extremely limited and I will not pretend to know anything about the challenges of quitting – that is a world I do not comprehend, and I cannot imagine the strength a person must have to make and act on that decision.

...

I will instead stick to a more familiar realm.

...

The concept of giving something up is prevalent in many spiritual paths. The Act of Surrendering is seen as a test of faith, a step to build discipline and an anchor to help focus on the Soul’s Journey.

...

Food, for example. Which can be a Deeply Spiritual Experience if we do not trivialise a fast. I have always liked the concept of Lent – where you give up something you love to eat as an act of gratitude. Or maybe I just like it because it starts with Pancake Day :)

...

Sleep is another one. The idea of surrendering sleep to Meditate On The Beloved is Divinely Beautiful.

...

Money for Charity. Time for Service. Although I like to think of these as ‘giving’, rather than ‘giving up’. That which we are duty bound to do as human beings, regardless of our spiritual paths, and even if we follow none.

...

But beyond the physical, another part of us exists. And for a Truly Spiritual Surrender, that non-physical part of us must also Let Things Go.

...

You know where I’m going with this, don’t you? :)

...

Kaam. Krodh. Lobh. Moh. Hankaar. The Big Five.

...

This is not a sermon, delivered in a preacher-like tone from the Holier-Than-Thou to You-Vice-Ridden-Masses.

...

Dear God, no. Guru knows I have my own Daily Battles with them. Occasionally won, but too frequently lost. It’s a bit of a Catch-22, really. Just when I think I’ve got one under control, it just means my Pride has kicked in, and I’m back at square one! Rather I share these that we may all expand collectively, and guide each other along.

...

They are crafty little things, these Five. Even though we know that they cause us to stray, somehow we’ve handed them the reigns to Rule Our Lives as they see fit.

...

Even when we think we know what they are, how they arise, and where they will come from; even when we lock all the doors, close the windows and seal off the chimney; even when we station a full-time guard, leave all the lights on, and install a motion detector; even then they find a way in.

...

Unfortunately a lot of the time we are in a Sleep So Deep, that even if the burglar alarm does go off (which is rare), we do not hear it, or will convince ourselves that it must be the Neighbour’s Cat, and drift back into sleep.

...

And for the rare moments we do Awaken, once we have seen the Trespassers, we start to relax and shake off our anxiety. You see, The Five are Familiar Faces. We have had them around for so long that we do not know how now to ask them to leave. Not letting a stranger in is one thing; kicking someone you know out is a Whole Different Matter.

...

We being humans after all, what can we do?

...

Many years ago, when I was a much Smaller Speck, I remember a Devotee in the Sanggat asking a Blessed Soul this: How can we prevent The Five from arising at all?

...

He smiled the wise smile that Holy Men have, and said, that you cannot. It is not possible, because they are what make us human. We view each of The Five as evils, but they also play their part in our self-preservation. But we must be aware of them, and behave consciously. They will surface, whether we allow them to or not. So let them come. But do not let them linger. That is our battle. Do not let them linger. Ask them to leave, pray for Guru’s Grace, and Make Them Walk Away.

...

When The Five visit and we let them stay, we make them feel welcome to visit again. Which they will, repeatedly. The more frequently we let them through our door, the more frequently they will knock on it. Before long, we are Leaving the Door Open and Handing Them The Keys. Reign over me, please. It is just so much easier having you around than asking you to leave. Because that will just be uncomfortable, and we don’t like unpleasantness. Why ruffle a relationship that has gone on for Such a Long Time?

...

Every temptation is the same, whether it be to eat a Marshmallow (in my case), to smoke a cigarette, or to react in anger. Even after we’ve given it up, no matter how long we’ve stayed away from it for, the temptation does not go away.

...

So we have to choose. Resist or Give In?

...

Peel the layers of our own Onions, to learn what temptations target our core. Define our own Kauravs, and fight our Mahabharat. Unravel The Five, lay them at Guru’s feet, and pray for Grace.

...

May Guru guide us, and shine our path with Light, that we may see with clean eyes those that come to conquer us.

...

They will keep coming, like unwelcome guests, hoping to be let in, this time, or the next, or maybe the next next?

...

And may we peek through our door, look upon them, smile, and wave them to Walk On By.

...

Let them be on their way, and we on ours.

Bye, Bye, Gummy Bear :(

2010-02-12T03:36:00.007+08:00

...

Marshmallows, Gummy Bears, Sour Tape, Liquorice, Starburst, Rocky Road.

...

Oh My God, Marshmallows.

...

Having always been a vegetarian, I have, however, Never Said No to candy. I know it contains gelatine, but I practiced the Art of Selective Mental Processing, and Refused To Act on that bit of information. I mean, Marshmallows were at stake. And Gummy Bears! And M&S Rocky Road treats! (I really Need To Focus).

...

And we know that the only Purpose Of Their Existence is to be consumed. How could I, in my Hearts of Hearts, deny them the opportunity to Serve Humankind? It would have been Cruel of me to refuse. Evil, and Heartless, and Cruel.

...

Right, enough deception. I like candy, ok? I like it a lot.

...

Oh My God, Marshmallows. Sigh.

...

http://www.oswegotea.com/2005/09/marshmallows-revisited.html

So I guess the cat is out of the bag – I have been cheating all this while :)

...

But the weight of all this cheating bore down on me. After all these years of presenting myself as a vegetarian, the Nagging Voice that said ‘yeah, right!’ grew louder and louder In My Head, until sometime in 2009, when I finally decided to own up, stop pretending, and quit gelatine altogether (it still hurts to Say It Out Loud).

...

I know exactly what you’re thinking. Oh My God, Marshmallows.

...

How could I convince myself that Something So Innocent was Something So Naughty? It was Tough. And I didn’t let it go gently. I went Cold Turkey. One day loads, next day None.

...

Yeah, they weren’t too happy about it either, what with me interfering with their Sole Purpose Of Existence and all that. There were some Harsh Words exchanged, Heart-Breaking speeches delivered, and A Lot Of Tears shed.

...

But my mind was made up – I knew it was time to quit. So all the Somethings So Innocent and I parted ways. They continued to Serve Humankind in their own yummy way, while I tread in alleys in search of every Gummy Bears Anonymous support group out there, hoping that The Next One would help me get over Marshmallows.

...

http://images.fanpop.com/images/image_uploads/Gummy-bear-kiss-candy-535414_1280_1024.jpg

...

Still looking, by the way.

...

Do I miss them? Y-E-S. Do I regret it? Y-E-.... NO, of course not.

...

Giving up Something You Love isn’t painless. And I had it easy. You see, I still have Chocolate and Hazelnuts :)

...

But still, candy wasn’t an addiction, it was Pure Love. Completely different category.

...

Did I think I would make it? Not really. Have I been tempted? Too many times.

...

But the most important question is this: Will I eat it again? And here, in spite of all my melodrama above (meant to tease my ex-Love For Candy more than anything else); I will comfortably and contentedly say: NO. Because ultimately it was my choice to give it up and to stop lying to myself :)

...

And this is the perfect place for an Intermission. For after this, we turn to Things More Serious. So here goes.

...

INTERMISSION

Guru Ladho Rey

2009-11-19T10:11:00.021+08:00

I cannot count the number of times I have been told that sakhi about Makhan Syah Lubhana and his ship in troubled waters. The One Where He Finds The Guru.

...

When I was younger, that sakhi was just another one of those feel good stories I heard, about how our beloved Makhan Syah the merchant was losing hope in stormy waters, and turned to the Guru with a prayer and a promise of 500 gold coins, the Guru saved him, and then Makhan Syah went round Baba Bekala dropping gold coins at the feet of holy men until he was caught out by the real Guru, and the story ends with him running to the rooftops, jumping with joy, and singing “I’ve found the Guru! I’ve found the Guru!”

...

And the Sikhs were overjoyed, and we joined him, and we threw a big party. It may not say that in the history books, but I bet you we did – this was as good a cause for celebration as any. If in doubt, keep reading.

...

Back to the point. It used to just be another feel good story. Another one of Guru’s wonderful miracles. We don’t think of it as much more than that.

...

Historical accounts don’t press the point either. When Chapter 8 on Guru Har Krishan ends, with Him being overwhelmed by the disease He took upon Himself to save a city from the clutches of Yama, we just turn the page, and there is Makhan Syah, waiting for us in Chapter 9, so that he can get going on his merchant ship.

...

Just like that. Turn the page, and the story continues.

...

Not for me, not anymore. I heard the story again today, just as I wrote it above. The page turned quickly when he told it too. But today, for some reason today, my heart stopped. I couldn’t bring myself to listen to the next chapter, because my ears were drowned out by the silence my spirit felt.

...

There was a time, one excruciating time, when we didn’t know who our Guru was.

...

Suddenly the strings were cut, and there was nothing to hold on to. Who did we turn to with our hopes and prayers? Who blessed and held us? Whose home did we flock to at all hours of day and night, just to sit in His aura?

...

We were lost, fatherless, guideless, lost, lost.

...

I thought I knew the meaning of loneliness. But then in that one instant I was so alone that the earth vanished and I was alone in an empty galaxy, floating, drifting, unanchored.

...

Where was my Guru? I could not see Him, and I was lost.

...

So rewind. Before the dancing on the rooftops, before the storm settled, before Makhan Syah even set sail. Rewind, rewind.

...

Go back to that place, kneeling by Har Krishan’s side, clutching his tiny robes, helplessly lost as His last breath leaves His lips. Feel that despair. Who do you turn to now? Which way to look? Where to seek solace?

...

Remember. This was a time before our Holy Guru Granth, Light of the Universe. It was a time when the only Guru we knew was in physical form. Today I would have gone to a Gurdwara and crumbled at the feet on my Guru, hands raised, pleading for my Perfect Jyot to carry me home. But on that day, all I could do was to let a wave of loneliness flood into my being.

...

Gu-Ru. My Light in darkness. But I cannot see it anywhere, and no one can guide me to it. I feel the burden of a thousand empty souls, wandering, aimless, directionless, wandering, wandering.

...

And I ask this: Why are there no pages in between Chapters 8 and 9? If I were the author I would leave 5, no 10, no 1 lakh empty pages in between. Blank, without a single word in them. For there is nothing to say when all that exists around you is emptiness.

...

How many days lay in between? How silent was the wind? Did the trees know that on the earth wandered a homeless people? Did the rivers echo the sorrowful murmurs of our hearts? Where was my North Star on those nights?

...

My soul roams, helpless, unanchored. In agony, in anguish, searching for that Light. Where is it? How do I keep my faith without You there to guide me?

...

How many days must I walk, like a lost boy in a children’s fairy tale?

...

A flower does not comfort, a child’s laugh does not comfort, a full harvest does not comfort. Emptiness.

...

Spare me this separation, for it tears at me so unforgivingly.

...

My 1 lakh pages do not seem to end. They stretch on into oblivion. When there is no Light, I cannot see the end of the tunnel. Darkness envelopes me and pulls me into a black hole.

...

Oh, but what is that sweet, sweet sound? Who is that I hear?

...

Guru Ladho Rey, Guru Ladho Rey.

...

I have found Him, I have found our Guru.

...

http://www.flickr.com/photos/papalars/691515009/

...

A hundred glowing moons. A thousand splendid suns. Blinding Light, North Star, Rainbow.

...

And there is the sound of us chaining ourselves to our Guru, never to be unbound again.

...

And there is the sound of our anchor sinking in the Guru’s vast ocean of Light, never to drift again.

...

May that knot never fray. May that anchor never be unmoored.

...

Are you still wondering if we threw a party on that fateful day?

...

I only wish I had been there.

Stratford-upon-Avon

2009-08-21T04:07:00.017+08:00

A friend and I have been planning for a bunch of us randoms to go away for a weekend at a cottage in Stratford-upon-Avon. Even though the idea is to just to relax and not do much, there is still lots of groundwork - like finding the right cottage at the right location, possibly renting a car, sorting out the food and finding ways to keep ourselves occupied (contrary to public belief, girls don't just sit around painting each others nails when they go away)... Over the last few days, we've had tonnes of emails flying back and forth to get all the details sorted.

...

If you thought this post was going to be about how we planned the trip, you are very much mistaken :) Instead, I'm out to prove that this blog is not only a place for me to ponder about life's serious questions, but also to celebrate a jug full of silliness when it presents itself!

...

Some text has been ammended to protect the identity of the other individual (it does get quite silly!), but it's largely all there!

...

This is how it all started:

...

saya guna imaginasi dan saya jumpa ini:

http://www.luxurylifestylelodges.co.uk/index.htm

...

Ade music lagi doh!!!! LOL

Eh cun la... ade sungai, ade itik.. kau nak ape lagi? :D

...

lol saya take dengar music, saya punya pc saya suruh diam jadi kalau ade orang hantar alamat untuk laman yr doji-doji dan bising-bising tak-de la bunyi!

asalkan ade sungai, ade itik, tak payah apa-apa lagi!!

...

siape la kawan u yang hantar alamat ke laman yang doji-doji (seriously woman, doji-doji?? :p)

pc saya pun biasanya diam-diam je.. tapi boleh pasang headphone le... :)

tapi takde monyet la.. u tau la I kalau cuti takde monyet tak sedap tau!

...

eh monyet yang macam mana? 6 kaki, pakai turban dengan skirt orang skot?

kalau nak sembunyi-sembunyi dan seronok-seronok, jangan bising ya!

...

eleh eleh.. cakap aku pulak.. siape yg pegi laman doji tu? bukan i......

Hmm tapi kalau ade orang skot 6 kaki, takkan nak cakap no pulak :) eh die ade kuda dgn crossbow tak? kalau ade, set la aku ni!

...

siapa yang hantar laman doji tu, huh? huh?

eh awak ni, orang bagi enam kaki awak ambik enam kaki tambah kuda tambah anak panah tambah busur panah tambah kuda tambah itik tambah ayam......untuk apa? awak-kan vegetarian?

...

I gelak terkekek-kekek sampai terhikup-hikup!! pakcik sebelah aku pandang semacam pulak haha

Eh keje aku kan suka tambah-tambah - lagi banyak lagi bagus la. U kan tau aku punye retirement plan nak buka satu kebun kat kampung... memang sesuai tau.. nanti pak skot aku (name dia mcdonald la, ape lagi) dgn i nyanyi lagu old mcdonald ade sebuah kebun, iya-iya-yo

u ingat ape.. i merepek je ke? ni semua dah ade dalam aku punye plan tau! kalau tak caya i hantar lagi satu kain-sebar excel bagi kau tengok

glosari: kain sebar = spreadsheet

...

eh ronald takde masa nak nyanyi lagu "iya-iya-yo" di kebun, dia kena pergi jaga kedai gerbang emas

ehhh tak payah hantar kain sebar, saya sudah cukup takut nak bawa awak ke rumah yang ada sungai dan itik nanti itik dan sungai pun dia kodkan dengan warna dan tanda semak!

...

u jgn melebih-lebih ah.... saja je nak tuduh ronald aku buat bukan-bukan kat kedai dia tu... nanti aku cari ibu panah dia, ade spesial baru dalam menu dia nanti: ex-kawan-kawan ronald.

eh by the way i nak tanye.. u guna kamus yg mane ah... jgn nak tipu... i tau bm kau takde la canggih sangat... i guna http://pgoh13.free.fr/english_malay_dictionary.php... takde la bes sangat.. tapi cukupla kalau nak berborak dgn u... kalau cari kamus yg dahsyat nanti kau tak paham pulak!

...

And so on….. But I think I'll cap it here while you still think we have some sense... or have we lost you already? :p

...

As you can imagine, we've have been so busy trying to outdo each others Malay skills that we got a little sidetracked and the details of the trip still need some ironing out!

...

Now if only the actual trip will be as much fun.... :)

The Pi of Life

2009-07-09T07:00:00.025+08:00

A few years ago, a Canadian writer by the name of Yann Martel wrote a book called the Life of Pi. It is a fascinating book that starts off in the former French colony of Pondicherry in India, where a little boy named after a swimming pool has his life thrown out of balance as the Pondicherry Zoo is closed down, and within a few pages he finds himself on a little boat in the Pacific with a hyena, zebra and of course, Richard Parker, the Bengal tiger that accompanies him all the way to... hmm maybe I won't give everything away and let you discover that for yourself. I'm not even sure why I brought it up. After all, this post has nothing to do with that young boy named Pi. Nothing to do with him at all.

...

That Pi might be a stranger to some of us. But the Pi that I'm referring to is one that we all know.

...

A mathematical constant, the value of which is the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter.

...

Or the definition I prefer.

...

The ratio of a circle's area to the square of its Radius.

...

In the few years of my human experience, there is one thing that I learnt very quickly: there are very few constants in life.

...

Things change. People come and go. Joy does not party for long, and sorrow doesn't linger either. Cookies disappear from jars. Chocolate melts even faster. Fluffy pet rabbits leave for heavens of green meadows and crunchy carrots. Maids who become family get on a plane and fly away. Snowflakes melt. Coal black hair becomes salt and pepper. Friends forget. The great big ball of fire burns out a little more every day. At first there are no teeth, and then there are so many that you need a thin wire to restrain them, and then even they fall out. A hand held by a hospital bed one day becomes ash and rejoins the earth.

...

In contrast, the list of constants is very short. In fact, the official list begins and ends with only One item, which ironically (or perhaps not) is also referred to as Ek. God, Guru, Yahweh, Khuda, Bhagwan.

...

But this post has nothing to do with that either.

...

It is about my list of constants, to which I add an item of my own. One that may not be as All Encompassing as Ek, but is no less Divine.

...

My mother.

...

My very own Pi.

...

Pi and Radius

...

Pi is the ratio of a circle's area to the square of its Radius.

...

When the Radius expands, the rule of Pi makes the area of the circle increase because the ratio between the two, Pi, is constant. On days that life seems expansive and infinite, She spreads Her wings and takes me on Her back and we soar as we fly amongst the stars. We visit all my hopes and dreams and get close enough for me to reach out to hold them in my palm. And when I open my hand to show Her what I have, She beams at me with a light so bright that the stars around us pale in comparison.

...

And when the Radius contracts, the rule of Pi makes the circle smaller, because again, Pi is constant. On days that I just want to curl up and disappear, She pulls the boundaries in, plants a garden of blossoms around me, wraps me in a blanket, blesses me with a prayer, and keeps me warm like only the love of a Mother can. In that little piece of heaven, I don't even remember the contraction, because all I see is an endless ocean of lilies.

...

Being Pi means that She has to keep the ratio constant same unchanged. She has to stop drop halt give up everything anything all the time anytime always when the Radius changes moves shifts. Because the ratio cannot must not will not change.

...

The Radius knows that Pi is at its mercy. It expects constant attention as it shifts, pushing the circle in and out, sometimes too rapidly, sometimes intentionally, sometimes continuously, without giving a moments thought to Pi, and the fact that She has so many other Radii to watch over as well.

...

Pi and some of her Radii

...

Pi is just expected to keep up.

...

And Pi does.

...

At times it seems as if Pi does not even exist for Herself. Her entire existence is defined by the length of the Radius.

...

And what has the Radius ever done to deserve its Pi?

...

I do not know. I cannot think of my Pi as anything else but a blessing so magnificent, so unwavering, so constant, that every inch of my existence is defined, blessed, celebrated, just because I have my Pi.

...

My Pi that brought me to the feet of my Guru. Sat with me every night until I finished my homework. Held the umbrella when it rained. Smiled through tears, because sometimes a child does not understand. Held out a hug anytime it was needed. Prays for me, for my happiness, for my peace, for my soul’s journey, without me knowing when or why. Holds me when I cry, and cries with me. Makes our home a temple and a sanctuary. Loves me as if I am the greatest gift and blessing God could bestow.

...

Radius can be quite a challenge for Pi

...

And all I have to offer in return is a humble prayer, that Pi is as blessed to be a part of this equation as Radius is.

...

Because without Pi, there would be no circle.

...

And the Radius would mean nothing.

Only human, after all

2009-04-26T00:44:00.013+08:00

Sometimes I feel as though I live in a state of permanent tug-of-war between Mind and Heart. They both want different things; they tease me and cajole me and pull me in different directions, they try to convince me that I should think with one, rather than feel with the other. I do not think one is good and the other not, I am only lamenting at this perpetual struggle that I sometimes find distressing.

How does one decide what is right? Sometimes I am able to summon Soul into the debate to settle the matter. Soul is neutral and guided by a greater wisdom which serves a higher purpose; hence She presides over them both. But She takes her time, and meanwhile I have to think of ways to amuse them until the intervention arrives :)

All this would not really be of any concern, except that sometimes I find myself caught in the middle of a spiritual tussle, such as the one detailed below.

To my Mind, the most appealing argument for Sikhi is the concept of Shabad as Guru.

I will not deny that the reason for this is perhaps rather egoistic: I do not think I have it in me to surrender to another human. I believe myself to be capable of devotion, of love, of compassion. But for me to surrender to a Teacher, it needs to be pure and unwaveringly constant, I need to be able to place it on a pedestal, and make it a standard to live up to. I need to know that it will always, always, always command my high opinion and respect, I need to have faith that it will never disappoint my conscience. I need to believe that I will never need to question it, as every message I receive will be completely in sync with my Inner Voice, which naturally will be none other than that very same Teacher. These are high expectations indeed, but I think perfectly justified in view that I am planning a full and unquestionable surrender.

And if there is anything I know to be true, it is that all things physical are ephemeral. I may love them, learn from them, and have an experience, but all at a detached distance. I may welcome them into my space, but release them just as easily. My understanding of Sikhi tells me that I will be blessed by the presence of many great souls in my lifetime. I may call them Saints, Rishis, Yogis, and even Gurus. I may bow to them, seek their guidance, revere them, be healed by their energy. But I must remember that they too are transient, their time too will come.

There is only one constant: Shabad. The wisdom of the Great Soul. The true Gu-Ru. My Light in Darkness.

But that is a sophisticated ideology for a simple being, and this vexes my Heart. While it recognises Shabad as the ultimate teacher, it struggles to let go of the 10 physical Gurus that provided the space for Shabad to come to be. The attachment I refer to is not only attachment to their messages, but also an attachment to them as beings of the 5 elements just like you and me, as real as the presence of any mortal being.

It is an attachment to the stories of their lives and those around them, to the places they were born in and fields they slept in, to the rivers they crossed and forts they built, to their names and that of their children, to their swords and locks of hair.

There is no defence here; I confess that the attachment is physical. And it is difficult to imagine it otherwise, because if I truly believe them to be my father, mother, brother, sister and friend, which I do, then as a human being I should also be allowed to long for the physical space that I would expect to share with those people.

There are times when I want nothing more then to be a grandchild sleeping in Nanak's lap, or a daughter resting my head against Ram Das's knee, or a servant with my arms curled around Gobind's feet. I want to be blessed by a hand on my head. To be humbled by touching my forehead on the Marble Floor. To be warmed by the glow of joyful Harkrishan.

Is it a justification to say that although these are physical attachments, they exist to pursue a spiritual experience?

I am only human, after all.

Miss Lulu pays a visit

2009-03-25T08:28:00.017+08:00

Life is a great teacher.

...

Once it sets it's mind on a Lesson, it does not get distracted, and more importantly, it does not give up. No matter how slow, stubborn or resistant it's student may be, life has mastered the art of driving a Needle through a Tank.

...

Just as well, really. For some of us usually miss the Lesson, time and time again. We walk through life arrogantly, wearing our impenetrable armour, blissfully ignoring life's trusted assistant, The Pink Flying Elephant, who comes our way with an envelope secured to Her tusks. The note reads: Wake up you Fuddle-Duddle, here is your latest Life-Lesson!

...

As we all surely know, a visit from The Pink Flying Elephant is a rare occasion, for She is only summoned at the most pivotal moments, to deliver the weightiest Lessons. Given the graveness of her position and responsibility, I've decided to call her Miss Lulu. (For understanding of obsession with naming things, please refer to earlier post).

...

Miss Lulu's friend. Not as pink, but then Miss Lulu doesn't judge by skin colour.

...

Lately, I've found myself in frequent company of Miss Lulu.

...

I can see you, at the edge of your seat, about to slide off onto your knees, hands clasped, gazing at me in veneration, asking: How, how O Great One, have you managed that?

...

It's no great secret - in fact it has happened quite by accident. All I did was move away from things familiar to me, and now, out of my comfort zone, I am forced to tune in to my environment. For reasons as selfish as self-preservation, I have to be more aware and sensitive to what goes on around me. And now I see Miss Lulu more clearly than I ever did before.

...

However, mere mortal that I am (shocking, I know :p), I probably still miss quite of a few Lessons, and misinterpret the rest. Yet, I am unperturbed, for I trust life (or Miss Lulu) to be stubborn enough to keep coming at me with that well-used Needle, until I get it right.

...

My recent Lesson was delivered in a most round-a-bout, round-the-bush, round-the-world fashion. It started with an absolute failure with books - since the start of 2009, I have remained sufficiently unimpressed with each one that has crossed my path. One was so unbearable that for the first time, I broke my own rule of never leaving a book unfinished. This desperation to read something worthy drove me to spend a hopeful afternoon in a bookstore, where Voila! Miss Lulu came to me in the form of Richard Dawkins.

...

I should like to write much more about Richard Dawkins. But I also don't want to digress. For now, it suffices to say that he is an evolutionary biologist, a keen believer of Darwinism, the author of The God Delusion, and, perhaps most relevant to my Lesson, an atheist.

...

And what was I doing with a book like The God Delusion, you might ask. Besides the fact that it seems to have broken my Midas curse of turning books to dust (i.e. I actually enjoyed it), I will boldly declare it to be one of the books that has helped me affirm my faith even further. Quite the opposite effect that dear Richard intended, I think, but oh well, we all have our little disappointments!

...

The reason I brought it up is this: one of the arguments laid forth in his book is that humanity and compassion should surely surpass belief in God as desired virtues. If we spent less time in religious practice and more time serving the universe, would that not be a better use of our time and energy?

...

To the average reader, I suspect this suggestion might be considered sacrilegious.

...

The enlightened would instead respond: but that is exactly what my faith is all about. For the act of caring for creation is in itself a salute to the Creator.

...

It is easy to love a flower.

If life was to put a name to this Lesson, I think it would be called: A Lesson in Love. Bringing me towards this book reminded me that perhaps the greatest form of worship is the service of the world we live in. Sikhs of course understand this concept as Seva. But this is not Seva as we understand, or rather misunderstand it. This is Seva as in Manas Ki Jaat Sabhe Eykay Pehchaanbo, recognising the human race as one (Guru Gobind Singh).

As much as it sounds like a happy-daisy, care bear, slightly-on-a-high philosophy, I think it's also the toughest one there is. To utterly and totally love one person is challenging enough. But to take that concept and extend it to every living, breathing organism we know and will know of? That is near-impossible. Almost as impossible as believing in the existence of Miss Lulu.

Logically, though, if we think about it, this should be the easiest thing there is! If I can accept that we are all made of the same elements and by the same creator, and that He/She lives in all of us, then you are really just an extension of me. How hard can it be to love an extension of myself? Even if that extension was large enough to stretch my imagination?

Don't we all know the answer to this one - EGO :) It's all about me, honey. Me, and MY love, and MY God, and MY faith. By the time I've filled in the 'me's, there is no room for anything else, not even for Miss Lulu's Needle of Life-Lessons. By filling all the space out with Me, we paradoxically create a vacuum where there is nothing.

Miss Lulu had one more point to make. Just in case I got the message wrong, and only remembered to love humanity, She caused me to witness a fascinating incident.

It was lunchtime at work, and we were enjoying the sunny day by eating outside.

Enter: Pigeon. Sad, scruffy looking pigeon.

Enter: Nice Lady, on the phone.

Enter: RSPCA, on the line with Nice Lady.

If you've lived in London (perhaps this is also true in other parts of the world), you learn to dismiss pigeons very quickly. Much to the public's distaste, they are everywhere, they are a nuisance (so much so that people console each other by saying that it's lucky if they poop on you), thus leading to the unaffectionate label of 'pest'. Besides an obsession with the weather and a love for curry, nothing unites Londoners more than an utter loathing of pigeons.

But how does one love a mushroom? Asks she, who does not love mushrooms.

... ...

Which is what made this incident so much more meaningful. Nice Lady had seen Scruffy Pigeon, noticed that it was injured and could not fly, and had called the RSPCA to rescue it.

...

I know. I could barely believe it myself.

...

I'm not sure if you want to sit down for this, but the more heart-warming thing is that someone from the RSPCA actually came. And rescued the pigeon. She took it away to nurse it back to health.

...

Ode to Orissa

2009-01-19T00:25:00.007+08:00

I love stuff.. and I collect tonnes of it. Anything that has even a little bit of a memory attached to it, I either have it in a box somewhere or it's on display in my room. It's not that I think I'm ever going to use it or need it, I just have problems letting go... so by now you can imagine that I have a LOT of stuff!!

Problems of letting go stretch to other things as well - I still carry around stationery from more than 10 years ago, and for more recent gadgets, I kept my phone for longer than was necessary just because I got too attached to it. No, you don't understand, it really really needed to go, but after being with me for so long I couldn't imagine giving it up! I wonder if it's because I like to name things... this is a nasty habit I picked up from Surabhi (more on this crazy nut later), and once you give something a name you're a goner! Ok, so I've already admitted that I've got issues lol :p.

Anyway.. recently, my dear phone, that I named Orissa (long story for another time :p), reached her deathbed. She was practically on life support (read: needed to be constantly charged) and randomly went into cardiac arrest (read: phone would go dead in the middle of a conversation). Recognising that perhaps I'd held on for too long, I decided to get a replacement. SHHHHH don't say it too loud, she might hear you :)

My dear friend Surabhi, recognising how painful this experience would be for me, tried to ease the pain by writing a beautiful poem for Orissa. She got the gender a little confused, but otherwise it's an absolutely ridiculously nutty poem, one that I'm sure Orissa would appreciate. So here goes:

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Ode to the mobile phone

The autumn wind blows strong

Bringing forth the wintery gray skies

Those sunny days, they are long gone

And here, Kiren is left, with her mobile

She stares at it with apprehension

Tis a tragic story, an Aesop Fable,

However can she explain to it

That she hath replaced it! Oh, the betrayal!

As she whispers those painful words,

Tis most difficult for the mobile to endure,

How else to react in that excruciating moment?

When told 'I dont need you anymore'

Kiren thinks, 'Ah, how lucky I am'

'To have such an understanding phone'

'He could have screamed, shouted, sued me for abuse'

'As I leave him all alone'

He knows that it is time to go,

He hath served her well, tis true,

But now, he falls apart at the seams,

And all that keeps him together is a huge tube of UHU glue

He cries, She cries

They all cry, they tear, they bawl,

He because he knows the end is near

She because she cant hear people who call her at all

He knows the end has come

When he hears excitement in her voice, her tone,

For what is this arrived, in a brand new box

Why, it is a lovely new mobile phone!

'Goodbye world' says Mobile,

As he turns off his light for the very last time,

'Forgive me, for my sins I must atone'

Before the midnight hour doth chime

And so we come to the end of Mobile's tale

But for him the end is merely a beginning, a start,

And he knows, that whatever Kiren may have to do,

He is her one true love, within her heart.

...

Sigh... It's making me cry all over again.. hehe.

Anyway, I have named the new phone, it's called BB, which is short for Bling Bling - because it's a little too black and shiny for my taste :)

...

Oh, and in case you're wondering, I'm still carrying Orissa around with me... she just won't get out of my handbag and I don't have the heart to kick her out!

...

Rest in peace, Orissa. And BB be warned, you're stuck with me for a VERY long time!

...

P/s: Subi, you're now publicly famous for zany poems... muahahahaha :p

Pink Socks

2008-11-02T06:31:00.014+08:00

I was happily enjoying a beautiful London morning, heading to the tube station on my way to work, listening to Anand (Bliss!).

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And out of nowhere, this bloke appears and greets me. I remove my earphones, and he says he works for Marks & Sparks, and they were carrying out a survey, and would I please tell him what my 3 favourite sock colours were. Just like that, with a perfectly straight face!

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I thought it was a leeetle fishy as he didn't have any ID or chart or anything, and I wondered why on earth would Marks be carrying out surveys on quiet streets at 8 in the morning! But, I was in a good mood and decided to humour him, so I replied. Yes, I actually did :)

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Pink, orange and green.

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AND THEN!!! He asked if I was wearing any!

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And I replied YES! Pink ones! And then I quickly ran away before it got any weirder :)

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How absolutely random. I remember looking at the sky (as if calling out to some great spirit out there) and thinking: where on earth do these people come from!!

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And me being me, I spent a good part of the day wondering what was the the greater message that life was trying to send me... and I was drawing a complete blank, until a friend said:

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Perhaps the lesson would be to take pleasure in the simple things that make you smile - like choosing to wear whacky socks, and thus completely throwing off the survey's previous blue/black/grey bias ;D

...

...

Inspired by this, and armed with my rekindled love of brightly-coloured socks, you can only imagine what my next pair is going to look like! Only this time I might venture into new territory... furry socks? Socks with tinkly bells? Or maybe I'll stick to the traditional kind and just get rainbow socks with bats all over them.

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So many choices, but only two feet.

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The plight of a sock-lover. Sigh.

Kirtan on Wheels in Perak!

2008-10-03T10:45:00.019+08:00

Sikhs With A Mission recently organised their latest Kirtan on Wheels – this time to the northern Malaysian state of Perak. The previous one to Penang was almost 2 months ago and we were all quite impatient for the next one!

Members distributing CDs and other material. Check out the Mission logo - 'One God', inspired by Ek Oangkaar.

Kirtan on Wheels is more than your average kirtan tour – the idea is not only to sing kirtan; it is also to share messages that can be applied into Sikh lifestyle. The Gurdwaras we visited this time were all little communities tucked away from the cities; hence there isn’t much exposure to Sikh activities in more developed areas.

Sanggat in meditation

The other great thing about Kirtan on Wheels is that it’s not just the Kirtan Jatha that travels - the Mission hired a coach and welcomed members of the KL sanggat to tag along, to bring together the sanggat from different parts of the country. So we had a very diverse group of people on board – Uncle Jis, Aunty Jis, young families, and a whole battalion of youth, who dominated the back of the bus.

The Kirtan on Wheels group arrives at Gurdwara Sahib Sungai Siput for the 'milni' :p

Walking towards Gurdwara Sahib Changkat Tin. The road was too narrow for our bus! But we enjoyed the walk through the beautiful little village :)

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And true to its name, there was music pretty much all the way up and down – from Kirtan to qawwalis to ghazals – as long as the music is about God or a spiritual experience its welcome! The harmonium and mike travelled up and down the aisle as people took turns singing - it was one heck of a party! My brother, cousins, and some friends were there too so there was plenty of love to go round :). And I know I speak for all of us when I say that we sorely missed Dalip, our beloved Yogi D and Ragi rolled into one. It was truly Sajna Tere Bina :p

The theme is always to bring an element of worship into daily life, but this time we were also addressing an issue that was very relevant to the area we visited: idol/element worship and placing faith in rituals. The message was that just bring all your prayers back to the feet of the Guru!

Sunday programme at Gurdwara Sahib Tanjung Tualang - will all the little cutesy kids right in front.

We visited some of the most beautiful Gurdwaras in Malaysia – my cousins and I were sorely reminded of our own village Gurdwara in Ulu Yam, which has unfortunately lost its charm after that thing called modernisation came to knock on its door. Sigh… It’s really sad that we’re losing so many of our quaint Gurdwaras in Malaysia in a frenzy of tearing down and rebuilding. But before I start embarking on my own little crusade, I’m going to get back to this post :)

The grounds at Gurdwara Sahib Pusing - this Gurdwara has a special place in the hearts of all Malaysians, sanggat regularly comes here with their prayers. This is where we spent the night. Bliss!

Singing our way into Gurdwara Sahib Tanjung Tualang

Off the bus and onto the green, green grass at Gurdwara Sahib Malim Nawar. Suksharan, Manpreet and I were busy scouting for future mini samelan destinations - this one looks perfect!

Lovely little Gurdwaras and their lovely little langgar areas - sigh...!

The sanggat was beautiful in every place; they were warm and welcomed us with such grace that we felt right at home. And they know how to make a god cup of tea! I drank cha at every single stop – mind you that’s 8 cups of cha over 2 days - this is from someone who never drinks tea unless in India :)

This is Cha stop Number 3 :) And I remember the cake. Divine Cake!

See it wasn't just me... Ickle Nimmerta couldn't resist the cha either :)

All in all, it was a weekend well-spent in the arms of Guru’s beloved sanggat. At the sanggat’s request, the Dasmesh Jatha made a second trip there during the Eid break, to continue sharing the Guru’s message.

If anyone is interested to join future Kirtan on Wheels trips you can log on to the Mission website or email mission@khalsa.com.

May Guru bless all those who spread His love!

... and her spirit soared!

2008-09-01T13:30:00.010+08:00

I sincerely thought that I would have written about this a lot earlier. When I returned from the States in July, I was itching to write, record, recall, remember anything and everything on my journey in Espanola.

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But the many moments spent in front of the screen always yielded the same result - a beautifully blank page :)

I've learnt that the more profound the experience, the greater the silence that follows. The silence is a result of a simple dilemma: where to start (because the journey began years before I boarded the plane), what to skip over (because even the simple act of opening the tent flap every morning was a blessing), who to leave out (because I could talk for ages even about random hugs and smiles from people who shared my space).

And so I am resigned - trying to write about it is futile, as the only thing I'll succeed in doing is short-changing the reader as I trip and fall over words in a vain attempt to describe a spirit-soaring experience.

Instead I hope my pictures will help me do some of the talking. Here is the the lense through which I lived those few weeks.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/29918597@N03/sets/72157607052439459/

Still, feel free to corner me and ask... I LOVE to talk about my time in Espanola (as some have painfully realised :p). Some of my favourite memories are about The Rise Up Minstrel and its Cacti-dodging Adventures, waking the Sun up at Morning Sadhana, The Fuzzy White Lines through the corner of my Eye during Tantric, The Forehead-Floor reunions during my visits to My Solstice Sanctuary, The Beautiful Beanie-Gloves-Shawl-Sunblock Relationship, Prayer Beads dancing through my Mind during Meditations, the Guru speaking to me in Spanish, the All-Night Lullaby that put the Universe to sleep, receiving Amrit for the First Time - again.

And of course, the all-time winner, Ishnaan Seva at Espanola Gurdwara, where Water raced down the Blessed Marble to reach the Golden Temple in my Heart. In those few moments I was truly in Amritsar.

I lived several lifetimes, crossed world-oceans, lost myself, found myself, discovered pain, discovered release, clung on, let go, hugged, laughed, cried. I bow eternally to that time and space, where emotion brewed in a pot and released the aroma of bliss.

I cannot end this post without sending out buckets of love and thanks to wonderful Shanti and Tyaga, for hosting us, feeding us, introducing us to Noah and Meeta, and most importantly, giving our minds and souls a home. Even a soaring spirit needs a santuary to rest in :)

And of course, thank you, Yogi Ji, for helping me pave my way to Guru Ram Das :D

Lost and Found

2008-07-16T01:03:00.009+08:00

I lost my Kara last week.

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It was there one moment, and just like that, gone in the next. I simply could not recall the last time I’d seen it, or how it had come off.

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I spent the first few minutes in denial – it’s always always always been there and I could still feel its weight on my wrist and hear the clink whenever I rested my arm on the table. I’m very organised with my things and losing them unsettles me right to my hair tips. I’d had this Kara for over 12 years, and now it was gone.

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What I wasn’t prepared for was how alone that made me feel.

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We’re brought up to understand the Kara in many different ways; as a symbol of Oneness, a reminder of the Circle of Life and Death, something for God to latch on to, a representation of the connection we have to everything around us...

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At the back of my mind I know all this, but I don’t think I ever consciously lived it. The Kara is one of the first few things our parents stick on us as babies and I guess we get used to it so early that we just don’t think about it much.

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But that day, when I lost it, wow. The feeling of incompletion was just so overwhelming; and the question that kept running through my head was: how will my Guru hold me now?

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It was an experience of being stripped so bare, that no one would ever be able to identify me and I would never belong again. My Kara had become so much a part of my identity, so much a part of me, that without it I became completely invisible.

...

That week was full and busy and eventful and exhausting, and yet when I look back, all I seem to remember is that it was the week when I was bare and alone. And when I finally went to Gurdwara on Saturday, I rushed to the stall and grabbed hold of any Kara that would have me. It turned out to be a really cheap-looking, thin and flimsy 3 ringgit Kara, and yet the moment was priceless – suddenly my skin felt like mine again and I… belonged. I regained the lost connection; I was comforted that my Guru would be able to reach out and hold me again.

...

And it’s just as they say – sometimes you need to lose something before you can gain something else. By creating a vacuum, you draw in the energy needed to fill the space.

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And the vacuum left by that Kara was filled with the realisation that my Kara went beyond completing my Circle of Life and Death, or connecting me to the rest of creation…

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It was there to complete ME, to make ME whole, to bind MY mind, body and spirit, to unite MY soul with God’s. It was MY circle and it brought me together within myself. God and me, me and God, are one.

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And because of that, He can Never Let Me Go.

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Phew :p

The One Where She Goes to Espanola...

2008-06-14T01:34:00.007+08:00

There are some experiences you know you just have to have - and over the last few years, the 3HO Summer Solstice Celebration has had that pull on me. Come 2008, even Mataji starts itching to go..... and ta-da! A trip is planned and we'll be on our way in just a few hours :)

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So while you wait for me to come back and tell you all about it, enjoy the pictures from my experience at the 2006 Yoga Festival in France – There aren’t that many pictures and admittedly they aren’t that good either… but I was too busy with my soul to worry about worldly things like cameras and the like :)

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The Big Top, where all the group yoga and meditation sessions took place, including Tantric

Yoga in the Big Top

The most fascinating thing about sessions here was that everyone sat in their language groups. Since people come from all over Europe and English may not have been their first language, there were a few translators who would stand up in their little circles and explain what was being said. It was pretty neat to hear the Guru's word being translated into French, Dutch, German, Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, Italian...:)

Sunrise just after morning sadhana

There is nothing like doing sadhana to live music :)

The Gurdwara was packed on the day of the weddings - of course some were just waiting for the prashaad :)

During the lavaan

Getting ready for Tantric

Tessa and my Tantric neighbours during our second day

All Whites! Taking a break in between Tantric

All set for the Happy, Healthy, Holy experience :)

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Love, Peace and Light to all,

Satnam

Of Chocolate and Cinnamon… and Beautiful Cubes of Brown Sugar

2008-06-09T23:43:00.015+08:00

Apparently, I am faced with one really big dilemma (amongst others, of course, but this one is a Biggie). Well I can’t say I’m alone in this, for millions others are also afflicted with this awkward reality.

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Our predicament? We are Brown.

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I was at the pharmacy today – arguably a place that should be retailing either items to restore my health, or those that make me feel good. Yet as I browsed along the shelves, I grew increasingly troubled at the frequency at which one word was repeated. From face cream to moisturiser to shower gel, apparently the quickest way to get products off the shelf was to slap on one defining word: ‘whitening’.

This is all the more concerning when you think about the racial make-up of my country, which is approximately 60% Malay, 30% Chinese and 8% Indian – which means that excluding the Chinese, who are already naturally fair, there is 68% of the population being told that they should be having sleepless nights at the thought that their skin isn’t comparable to the colour of chalk.

And I do, seriously, mean chalk. Because those ads are not referring to a healthy fair skin that the other half of the world’s population is blessed with. They are referring to… chalk.

This bugs me for two reasons – first, that I too now am the un-proud owner of whitening moisturiser – because even those of us who do not support such unashamedly confidence-bashing advertising are left with no choices. The ‘whitening’ stamp is now akin to a quality control certificate – if you don’t have it, your product won’t make it to the shelf. This maelstrom, however. will be short-lived – for on my next trip overseas I’m going to hunt down some plain Jane kind of lotion with no references to colour, and I’m going to stack up enough to last me the next 100 years or so. Sigh – the troubles and tribulations of being Brown…… don’t get me started on being left-handed :p

The second bug-me factor is not so easily healed – and here I’m referring to the so, so, so many women out there – especially Indian women, who look in the mirror everyday wishing for a snowfall that will wash away their colour. And naturally, as people are their own worst enemies, these women are not just battling effective advertising, but also pressure from their own families and communities, where the first thing anyone wants to know about someone’s girlfriend/daughter-in-law/newborn baby is: ‘Is she fair?’ And once that question is answered, the Writing is On the Wall dah-lin’, and fate is cast in stone.

This issue is something I can relate to, because when I was in my early teens, my skin colour bothered me too. Brown was nice and all, on someone else. But to be honest I wouldn’t have minded being a shade or two… or three…. Oh alright – the colour of chalk.

You wouldn’t think it if you knew me now though :p – today I am as proud and grateful and content as anything at the way my Creator made me. So I have my imperfections, but who doesn’t, eh? Thank God I grew out of that phase and discovered how much I loved being the colour of the earth and melted chocolate and curled cinnamon sticks!

But my point is that even for someone like me, who grew up in a family where the colour conversation never made it to the dinner table, who was encouraged to spend most of her time under the sun whilst having a non-existent relationship with sun block until recent years, who took no nonsense from anyone, and knew full well that advertising is a money-making sham where people are wheedled into wanting things they could in fact be quite happy without……… even that someone had her faith shaken as a little girl – all because some half-starved, malnourished, chalk-faced model on tellie insisted that she was the definition of beauty and the rest of us should be killing ourselves to look like her.

And so I worry for all those Beautiful Cubes of Brown Sugar scattered across the globe, those for whom colour is the only conversation at the dinner table, sunshine is sin, and fashion magazines the answer to all the world’s problems. For no matter how brightly their personality sparkles, it is simply not given the chance to shine through their dark skin.

And I want to say to them: Your Brownness is not a blemish, it’s a blessing – and no amount of slapping on that muck is going to change your complexion – unless you want to take it up with God directly. So let it rest and go lie in the sun instead! Don’t forget your sun block though – burns are no fun :)

Brown IS beautiful.

And for the record, so is White, Yellow, Black, Red, Beige……and whatever else I’ve missed out. I am being pro-colour, not pro-Brown – this post looks through the Brown glass because that’s what I can relate to, while I hope there are others out there fighting their own little battles for the right and beauty to be whatever colour they are.

Isn’t it ironic that while one end of the globe is obsessed with getting fairer, the other half sunbathes and visits tanning salons to get darker. Why can’t we all just be comfortable in our own skin, literally!

You know, in spite of the fact that God gave the world so much colour, when it comes to people, I hear that He is, in fact, colour blind.

I think it’d be pretty nice if we were too :)

Britain's Got Madhu!

2008-05-03T09:28:00.014+08:00

Sigh... so I know I've been seriously MIA for a while... and I hope the fact that this post is less than 10 lines long (compared to my usually-endless rantings!) is a testament to how busy things have been.

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But here is something that will make you forget all that and just cheer for Madhu :)

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DhmUb_Z4mKw

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Madhu you da man!

The Savage who did not understand

2008-02-14T13:17:00.009+08:00

I looooove the Earth. Sometimes I wish She could shrink and I could expand until we are both just the right size for me to give her a great Big Hug :)

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She is to me the simplest example of God’s marvel. Forget the countless stars and galaxies we are told of in science, and also coincidentally (or maybe not!), in Japji. My mind doesn’t even get that far; it just gets stuck when I start thinking of the Earth and how intricate She is.

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Man has rightly bestowed the title ‘Mother’ upon her – for she dotes on us so. She presides over us rain or shine, wind or snow. Man (and beast) has equally found solace in Her arid deserts and vast savannahs, Her dense forests and undulating hills. She is so enbelievably Beautiful and Bountiful - and She smells fabulous, especially right after it rains :)

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But mankind, being mankind, does not always remember to love Her like She does us – and that is exactly the spirit in which Chief Seattle spoke on that day in 1854.

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I first read Chief Seattle’s speech for a school assignment. It is described as ‘one of the most beautiful and profound statements’ ever made on the environment.

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Bear in mind that there is a great deal of controversy on the origins speech; in fact there are debates over its very existence. The version below is actually said to be fraudulent; written by a screenwriter for a movie.

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That may very well be true – it does seem too beautiful to have ever been uttered in real life.

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My suggestion? Forget where it comes from. Take it as poetry from a child of Mother Earth.

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Before you read on, you will have to travel back in time to the 1850s, in America, during the struggle between the White Man and the Native Indian.

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INTRODUCTION

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In 1854, the "Great White Chief" in Washington made an offer for a large area of Indian land and promised a `reservation' for the Indian people.

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Chief Seattle's reply has been described as the most beautiful and profound statement on the environment ever made.

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THIS EARTH IS PRECIOUS

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How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land? The idea is strange to us. If we do not own the freshness of the air and sparkle of the water, how can you buy them?

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ALL SACRED

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Every part of this earth is sacred to my people.

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Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clearing and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people. The sap which courses through the trees carries the memories of the red man.

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The white man's dead forget the country of their birth when they go to walk among the stars. Our dead never forget this beautiful earth, for it is the mother of the red man.

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We are part of the earth and it is part of us.

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The perfumed flowers are our sisters; the deer, the horse, the great eagle, these are our brothers.

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The rocky crests, the juices in the meadows, the body heat of the pony, and man--all belong to the same family.

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NOT EASY

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So, when the Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy land, he asks much of us.

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The Great Chief sends word he will reserve us a place so that we can live comfortably to ourselves. He will be our father and we will be his children. So we will consider your offer to buy our land.

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But it will not be easy. For this land is sacred to us.

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This shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is not just water but the blood of our ancestors.

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If we sell you land, you must remember that it is sacred, and you must teach your children that it is sacred and that each ghostly reflection in the clear water of the lakes tells of events and memories in the life of my people.

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The water's murmur is the voice of my father's father.

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KINDNESS

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The rivers are our brothers, they quench our thirst. The rivers carry our canoes, and feed our children. If we sell you our land, you must remember, and teach your children, that the rivers are our brothers, and yours, and you must henceforth give the rivers the kindness you would give any brother.

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We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One portion of land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs.

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The earth is not his brother, but his enemy, and when he has conquered it, he moves on.

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He leaves his father's graves behind, and he does not care. He kidnaps the earth from his children, and he does not care.

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His father's grave, and his children's birthright, are forgotten. He treats his mother, the earth, and his brother, the sky, as things to be bought, plundered, sold like sheep or bright beads.

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His appetite will devour the earth and leave behind only a desert.

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I do not know. Our ways are different from your ways.

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The sight of your cities pains the eyes of the red man. But perhaps it is because the red man is a savage and does not understand.

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There is no quiet place in the white man's cities. No place to hear the unfurling of leaves in spring, or the rustle of an insect's wings.

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But perhaps it is because I am a savage and do not understand.

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The clatter only seems to insult the ears. And what is there to life if a man cannot hear the lonely cry of the whippoorwill or the arguments of the frogs around a pond at night? I am a red man and do not understand.

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The Indian prefers the soft sound of the wind darting over the face of a pond, and the smell of the wind itself, cleaned by a midday rain, or scented with the pinion pine.

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PRECIOUS

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The air is precious to the red man, for all things share the same breath--the beast, the tree, the man, they all share the same breath.

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The white man does not seem to notice the air he breathes.

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Like a man dying for many days, he is numb to the stench.

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But if we sell you our land, you must remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports. The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also receives his last sigh.

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And if we sell you our land, you must keep it apart and sacred, as a place where even the white man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow's flowers.

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ONE CONDITION

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So we will consider your offer to buy our land. If we decide to accept, I will make one condition: The white man must treat the beasts of this land as his brothers.

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I am a savage and I do not understand any other way.

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I've seen a thousand rotting buffaloes on the prairie, left by the white man who shot them from a passing train.

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I am a savage and I do not understand how the smoking iron horse can be more important than the buffalo that we kill only to stay alive.

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What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, man would die from a great loneliness of spirit.

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For whatever happens to the beasts, soon happens to man. All things are connected.

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THE ASHES

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You must teach your children that the ground beneath their feet is the ashes of your grandfathers. So that they will respect the land, tell your children that the earth is rich with the lives of our kin.

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Teach your children what we have taught our children, that the earth is our mother.

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Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. If men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves.

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This we know: The earth does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth. This we know.

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All things are connected like the blood which unites one family. All things are connected.

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Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth.

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Man did not weave the web of life: he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.

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Even the white man, whose God walks and talks with him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny.

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We may be brothers after all. We shall see.

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One thing we know, which the white man may one day discover, our God is the same God. You may think now that you own Him as you wish to own our land; but you cannot. He is the God of man, and His compassion is equal for the red man and the white.

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This earth is precious to Him, and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its Creator.

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The whites too shall pass; perhaps sooner than all other tribes. Contaminate your bed, and you will one night suffocate in your own waste.

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But in your perishing you will shine brightly, fired by the strength of God who brought you to this land and for some special purpose gave you dominion over this land and over the red man.

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That destiny is a mystery to us, for we do not understand when the buffalo are all slaughtered, the wild horses are tamed, the secret corners of the forest heavy with scent of many men, and the view of the ripe hills blotted by talking wires.

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Where is the thicket? Gone.

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Where is the eagle? Gone.

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The end of living and the beginning of survival.

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It seems to me, that the 'savage' probably understood it best of all.

The family that prays together, stays together

2008-01-19T12:09:00.000+08:00

The quote above is something my maternal grandparents believe in very strongly. Growing up, every vacation spent at our family home in Ulu Yam included Rehraas (evening prayer) being done together as a family in the living room, right under a frame carrying those very words. (Japji was your own responsibility, and it didn’t matter if you had been chatting until dawn and only woke up at noon – breakfast/ lunch was not served until Japji was done!). This was a pretty amazing feat since we are quite a large family and at any time there would be at least 20 people at home :)

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What may have started as a forced discipline during our adolescence has now grown to a binding knot between us. To us, the grandchildren, prayer is in a way the central theme whenever we go home. It’s really quite nice to have such a beautiful commonness in the family.

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At end-2006, we had a family Akhand Paath (continuous recitation of the Guru Granth Sahib) in our home, and as we loved it so much, we’ve made it an annual family tradition and had our second one recently.

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The Ulu Yam family Akhand Paath operates slightly differently from the norm.

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For one thing, it was Nanaji, our aunts and uncles, and my fellow cousins who read from the Guru - roughly 30 paathis out of a family of almost 50, with ages ranging between 8 and 80 :) As you can imagine, setting the timetable was quite a challenge – we simply had too many paathis!

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agonising over the timetable to make sure everyone had an opportunity to read from the Guru

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Also, we ignore the usual 48-hour tradition – the point here is to take our time and enjoy Baani. In 2006 it took us 67 hours, and this time we’d been practicing a little more so we cropped off 10 hours to make it a nice 57 :) And I’d say it was just nice for everyone to truly enjoy it.

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in the Darbar, we had 2 pothi sahibs and a laptop with the Gurbani computer software, so at any time, there would be a few of us in the Darbar and either following the Paath with a pothi sahib to improve our reading, or following the English translation

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in meditation

Ekjot, our youngest paathi-cousin, warming up with some practice before his turn

our glorious mothers-paathis-chefs taking a break

the eternal Ulu Yam Swing – its been around forever :) Nanaji and the men catching up at tea-time

sleeping in the corridors is an age-old Ulu Yam tradition – even when there are vacant beds we all habitually charge for the floor!

Sharan and Trishvin stumble upon the ideal location for morning nitnem - the kitchen floor :)

on one evening, we headed over to our beautiful little village Gurdwara for an informal kirtan session

I like to think that it is this ‘formula’ for an Akhand Paath that brings it meaning, where the journey matters and not the destination. With everyone making the effort to read the translations, the ritual was transformed to meaningful practice. By keeping it in the family it truly becomes for the family, and with everyone having a hand in something we are reminded of the common roots that bind us.

Coming together like this is a grounding experience. It is this family, with its devotion and its tight knot; this home, with its organised confusion of 50 inhabitants; this village, with its little Gurdwara and vegetable patch, that has shaped so much of who I am.

the family paathis

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Its nice to know that I’m rooted to this place. The roots are strong and go deep; they will not let go and will not let me forget. I may fly high but anytime I need to touch the ground they will find me and hold me safe, until I am ready to spread my wings again. And they will remind me that because we pray together, we will stay together.

Eastenders come to town!

2008-01-03T21:53:00.000+08:00

Last weekend we had some really nice company at home – Preetkamal and Gurcharan are friends from London and they bunked with us for a few days.

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Malaysia is just one of their stops; they are in fact on a 6-month backpacking trip round South East Asia!

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Hearing their stories made me so envious – doing something like that is on the top 5 of my wish list, only I want to cover Latin America instead. The longest Surabhi and I were on the road for was a month. This is 6 months! Envy envy pure primal animal-like envy! :)

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Imagine living out of a little backpack containing only the following: minimal clothes, a pillow case, water purification tablets, flip flops, a Lonely Planet guide (God bless Lonely Planet!), waterless hand cleanser, a good luck charm, train timetables, an insurance policy, a digital camera (totally out of place amongst other meagre posessions!) a secondhand book, pepper spray, a youth discount card, and not much else.

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...Sleeping in strange hard/lumpy/springy/saggy alien beds in shared dorms where the women are slappers and the men snore

...Having your passport scrutinised and stamped at a new country every week

...Retracing history through the backdoor alleys of little towns

...Long, long, long dreamy train journeys

...Hauling your backpack around town in blazing heat because your hostel is closed during the siesta hour

...Swapping travel anecdotes (your most prized possesion!) with other skint backpackers

...Learning to say the 3 most important phrases in the local language:

– thank you;

– please; and

– where is the restroom? :p

...Desperately hunting for vegetarian food in the middle of carnivore-ville

...Enduring endless chatter and deafening silences

...Carrying the baggage of time while walking in ancient ruins

...Going into a church to pray because sometimes you simply can’t find a Gurdwara

...Balancing the budget every night and living on bread rolls and sleeping in train stations in order to be able to afford that museum/ opera/ château/ gallery/ cruise/ walking tour/ train ticket/ tacky souvenir

...Getting lost in sleepy little towns because that part is simply not on your map and where no one understands English/ your version of sign language/ your feeble attempt to vocalise the sentences in your phrasebook

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Did I mention long train journeys? I LOVE long train journeys!

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I have Louis Armstrong in my head...

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Heaven

I’m in Heaven

And my heart beats so

That I can hardly speak

And I seem to find the happiness I seek

When we’re out together

Dancing cheek to cheek

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Hmm... maybe the last sentence needs to be adjusted :)

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Anyway back to Preet and Gurcharan :p. So far they’ve been to Thailand, Indonesia, Singapore and Cambodia as well, and from what I’ve heard they’re having a blast!

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While in Malaysia they also attended the Samelan – which they declare was an incredible experience. Still, wanting to make sure that they would never never ever forget Malaysia, we decided to treat them to some durians! The results were… erm… well. Perhaps you want to hear about that (and many other travel stories) first hand - by visiting their travel blog!

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The next destination is Laos, and they go back to Thailand before heading to their last destination on this trip - India.

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One of my backpacking trips led me to discover what the Empress Sissi of Austria once said: Destinations are only desirable because a journey lies in between.

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So blog-walk with them and enjoy the ride!

Year end Eye Bags

2007-12-27T13:15:00.000+08:00

I've been rather noticeably absent from action (from Blog-la-land) for a while – December is always hectic and this year especially I think I bit off more than I could chew!

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On one hand I was fully swamped with the Malaysian Annual Samelan 2007, which was quite a bit to handle with preparations having begun months earlier. The thought of housing, feeding, and keeping over 1000 people charged up and in Chardi Kala for one week was enough to cause many sleepless nights!

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To top that, in a moment of insanity (or perhaps it was the persuasive tone of a friend’s voice :p), I also committed to helping out at the Bahadur Bachey (BB) Camp in Singapore, which took place the week just before Samelan.

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The back-to-back camp-a-thon meant that the bags under my eyes were set to become a permanent feature :p

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the few pictures I could lay my hands on... if any of you have more then please email them to me!

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Looking back, I wouldn’t have done it any differently – I am so grateful to Jasbir for his persistent insistence that I should go to Singapore, and how awesome the BB Camp would be – which indeed it was. I enjoyed every moment I spent there and the youth of Singapore are truly magnificent. It was structured, detailed, well thought of, and every activity had clear objectives set out. The amount of love and devotion put into this camp makes me smile – knowing that our young kids have sevadars like these around them is so reassuring! Bahadurro you are the bomb – stay explosive!

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The two unforgettable events for me both coincidentally involve candles. The first was the Candlelight Shower - where the electricity tripped and the older girls stood outside the showers with candles in their hands so that the little ones wouldn’t be afraid. Not having any sisters of my own, I just adored the idea of standing guard to protect a little sister from the demons of her imagination.

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And the second was the Candlelight Procession - where a whole series of unfortunate events led to this lovely idea. Picture this: Night-time at the Vadda Gurdwara, dim lights, shadows dancing with the flames of candles that lined the walkways, soothing simran echoing from the walls and silencing the mind.

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A line of wide-eyed children, coming up the stairs, their little feet taking one anticipatory step at a time, watching, seeing, looking, inhaling everything around them. Walking up to the candle stand, lighting their tea-lights. Heading calmly towards the Guru while delicately balancing the flame in their palms and a little wish in their heads. And at the front, kneeling, presenting the light to the Guru, saying their prayer. Joining the sanggat in meditation whilst enjoying a trance-like sense of peace.

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The kids were completely mesmerised; I don’t think any of them had ever shared such a personal moment with the Guru before. It was simply utterly totally absolutely. Adorable. The memory is making me goosepimply. The whole evening turned out beautifully!

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I’m so proud to wear the Bahadur Bacha stamp on my forehead – this is another addition to my 2007 Treasured Memories Chest.

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And the Samelan? Nothing really needs to be said about that. Mataji took me to my first Samelan when I was 2 months old - she was part of the organising team and so I got packed along and handed over to the babysitting squad. That decision has shaped so much in my life - I have grown up in the Samelan environment, in the cradle of the Malaysian sanggat; and so to me, going for the Samelan is not even a choice, it’s a given :)

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(The above 3 photos were taken from the Samelan 2007 Blog. For more bitsy-bobs on the Samelan, you can follow the Media Crew's work by clicking here)

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And regardless of what happens during the Samelan week – the good, the bad, the ugly, the disastrous, the inspiring, the ridiculous, the humorous, the distressing – all the above ingredients are what make it a Samelan, and our hearts still shed a little tear when Guruji is escorted away from the Samelan grounds on the last day.

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What would my alternative December look like? Mornings that fade into afternoons, craters in the living room sofa, a love-hate relationship with Spanish soaps and tissue boxes, too much chocolate and not enough conversation, days wading in and out as if seamlessly stitched together, too much silence and not enough reflection.

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And I realise that the bags under my eyes, the ones I am so worried about, are in fact laden with happy thoughts, joyous moments, beautiful awakenings, and so much love.

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I’ve decided to embrace the Eye Bags - they symbolise the things that make my little world oh so wonderful.

Can You Feel the Love Tonight?

2007-12-27T12:39:00.000+08:00

I had been fixed on the idea of having a little kirtan darbar at our home for a long time – just some friends coming together to celebrate the divine. In London things like this were a lifestyle, there was one every other week in some place or other with all styles of singing/ instruments/ food (!!) and I’ve missed having that environment.

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So over the long weekend during Divali, Hargobind and I invited some of our friends over – and it was just so nice to have the sanggat in our living room, singing Guru’s praises, led by some amazing kirtanis – I’m so thankful to everyone who came; our home is blissed out with all your love!!

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Some pictures from the evening…

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our clan doing kirtan

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the sanggat in the living room

Amrit, Ajeet and Naranjan

candlelight

Belay and Indy

Pitaji leading the Guru Dev Mata, Guru Dev Pita meditation

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The one person who did most of the work but didn’t get captured in any other photos– Mataji! It’s her stressing about the details that made the event :)

the weather was lovely so we served dinner outside

some of the lads from the Redecorating Committee - Boo!

the lovely Harsohela and Gurprakash with our dear Zafar

In hopes of many such darbars in the future…minus the redecorating portion, of course – guys I don’t think my room can handle the trauma of yet another repositioning! Next time I’m going to bolt down anything that can be moved – and position Zafar to guard the door :)

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Spread the love and keep the light shining until we meet again.

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Tav Prasaad – By Thy Grace

Spread your wings and fly!

2007-10-30T22:20:00.000+08:00

My brother has graduated! The family flew over to Langkawi last Friday for his Wings Presentation Ceremony - the graduation involves presenting cadets with their 'wings' that they wear on their left breast pocket - its like a license to fly.

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He’ll probably put up more details on his blog, but since I’m feeling so proud I simply have to glamorise him on mine :) What is it about girls and pilots?!

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Hargobind with his batch mates

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Our parents and grandparents

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All winged-up!

Hargobind, I love you but even more than that, I love all the benefits your flying entitles me too! ;)

With our family

Technically speaking they were not wearing graduation hats - they are actually a part of their uniform - but they couldn't resist!

Before anyone gets any ideas, let me point out that my brother was only there for the photo and did not participate in this tradition :)

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After the ceremony, Hargobind took us around for a tour of the hangar. Here he's showing off some fancy new airplane to Pilot Sr. All I could think off was hmmm... the plane looks cute but I might wreck my heels trying to get in and out of it!

Engineers in action at the hangar

The only sad thing about leaving Langkawi was leaving Artisan's - Hargobind's favourite diner on the island (which is also where we celebrated my birthday earlier this year). This is his expression of pain as he has the last slice in a looooooong time...

Right now he’s back home and alongside wrestling me for the TV remote, he's also training with Malaysia Airlines... with Guru’s grace he’ll officially start flying in a year’s time.

Don't ask him to belanja you yet though, he's still quite broke, but you can always bug me for a treat (until the charm wears off :p)

Piccolo Mondo

2007-10-21T17:23:00.000+08:00

Sometimes a series of events takes place that initially sprouts with something completely prosaic, but the result is something unexpectedly beautiful. Not necessarily revelatory or enlightening – sometimes its just a reminder or a sweet something to ponder on – but ultimately it ends with a happy little curling upwards of the lips and a contented sigh (a little like just after you’re finished with a tub of Ben n Jerry’s while lounging on your favourite sofa :)

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My latest experience with this is quite sappy and twee – but I’m going to share it anyway :p. It all started with the Eid weekend and a cousin getting married, which resulted in me missing Surabhi’s singing for Navratri. She was only singing for a couple of minutes, but the guilt stick dangled over my head and made me realise that our dutiful weekly Sunday breakfasts had dwindled to the occasional lunches and emails now and then – a sad fate for friends with the history that we have. I won’t go into the whole story – but the tale starts like this: Well we’ve known each other since we were seven… and blah blah blah :)

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Anyway. Me feeling guilty was coupled with a sudden craving for Italian food, and my wrenching absence from a decent bookstore in a looooong time. In searching for a solution to kill all the birds in the equation with one stone, I stumbled onto success: an Italian place near a bookstore on a day we were both free. It’s amazing what I’ll consider as a success these days – time is slipping slipping falling crashing running dashing darting away ever so quickly.

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The restaurant I found was called Piccolo Mondo.

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Freetranslation.com: Piccolo Mondo is Italian for ‘small world’.

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Flashback: Sitting on the little boat in Disneyland (with Surabhi, no less!) on the ‘It’s a Small World’ ride.

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Recollection: The lyrics to the song that my brother and I played repeatedly when we were kids. Sorry Hargobind, I wouldn’t have dragged you into this but the truths of your past cannot be buried :p

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It's a world of laughter, a world of tears.

It's a world of hopes, and a world of fears.

There's so much that we share,

That it's time we're aware,

It's a small world after all.

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Chorus:

It's a small world after all.

It's a small, small world.

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There is just one moon, and one golden sun.

And a smile means friendship to everyone.

Though the mountains divide,

And the oceans are wide,

It's a small world after all.

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Are you paying attention? Read the lyrics again.

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It’s just a children’s song on a theme park ride with animated dolls depicting cultures and scenes from around the world. Any admittedly, it can get pretty cloying after a while.

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But pause. Think about the depth embedded in its simplicity.

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This song reminds me that it all boils down to Ek. One God, one world, one soul. It’s not only a small world; it’s our world, and our only world. These are things we all already know, but how often do we think, and I mean really think about this? The concept of ‘one’ is so simple and yet so unfathomable.

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‘Modern’ thinking resists; it screams of individualism, independence, uniqueness. It raises walls to guard the entity and protect its distinctiveness. We are programmed to see the differences, but ‘Ek’ calls to us to forget the divergences – those are superficial and physical and man-made. Seek only the essence and the root of everything, for in that there is only one.

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If you believe in Ek Oangkar, then you must believe that you and I are one. Our atma is a part of the same Parmatma; His/Her spirit that lives in me is also in you. As Yogi Bhajan says: if you can’t see God in all, you can’t see God at all.

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This is my Everest. My ego fights back and in my mind there is a perpetual slide show on how to create Maginot lines to preserve my distinction from you. The automatic response is always to judge, to hate, to separate. Tolerance and compassion are slower to act, and oftentimes too late.

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The website I copied the lyrics from ended the page with a note that summed it up for me:

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Repeat ad nauseam until it's permanently etched into your neural synapses.

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Maybe that will help, knowing that “there is just one moon and one golden sun”. And it’s a small, small world.

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How strange. This post began with a cousin’s wedding, transitted at an Italian restaurant (which we ended up not going to, by the way) and ended with a new mantra to live by.

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You see what I mean about random events?

Destination: Rasa

2007-09-12T18:34:00.000+08:00

The samelan crew packed their bags again and this time headed for Rasa – a little village tucked away 1-1.5 hours away from KL. We were serving not only Rasa, but some other nearby villages like Kalumpang, Kuala Kubu Baru, Tanjung Malim, and of course, the ultimate village, Ulu Yam (where our family hails from :p)!

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I was sorry to have missed the first day but even just being there on the Sunday was a touching experience. This camp was really special; the kids here have little or no exposure and hence we found our hands full of innocent and perfectly trusting children – a nice relief from the demons of Kuala Lumpur! They were just waiting for us to teach them and guide them and play with them and love them – their manner was truly heartwarming.

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We travelled through all sorts of challenges to get there, just in time for...

... registration on Saturday morning

Nishaan Sahib Selami

Opening Hukumnama

Ice breakers

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Hari Singh had a session with the parents while we were pulling our hair with the kids lols :)

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We were surprised to learn that many of the kids had never heard of/ seen a baana before, so Manpreet had to use what little resources she had at hand to give the children a rough idea so that they could carry on with the Baana Runway competition. Later I received a call asking me to put together some photos of today’s Sikhs in baana to show the kids that they are not just a thing of our past but also the pride of our present.

Our little soldiers all riled up for the Baana Runway competition

The warm sanggat of Rasa and the neighbouring areas – they welcomed us with open hearts and kept our tummies filled!

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Jag guiding a participant to lead the prayer of thanks before langgar

As our crowd was small, everyone sat in a circle in the langgar and ate together. We sevadars enjoyed going round making sure the kids were fed before sitting in our own little circle to have our meal/quick meeting before the next activity.

Sukhsharan with one group of kids…

… while Gurreet and Amit discussed Prashaad with another group…

… and Phobinder and Narin guided the rest through the concept of langgar.

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The Rasa Gurdwara was quite overwhelmed by this sudden landing of 'foreign' sanggat, and we had to squeeze ourselves into any space we could find for sleeping arrangements. Of course one could argue what better resting place can there be than the feet of the Guru :)

Samelans are never just about the kids – I also look forward to them as it gives our sanggat a chance to get together and have a few laughs – something that is becoming rare as our group is slowly leaving uni and walking into the working world. This is a good chance as any for us to bum around and catch up!

Gurreet helping a participant with the ardaas

We scheduled in a light yoga session – I was a little iffy at first as I wasn’t sure how the local sanggat would react to the whole ‘yoga’ part – some communities in Malaysia have very conservative/ orthodox/ whatever-you-want-to-call-it ideas about yoga and Sikhi. It went well though; I explained the various exercises by drawing from examples in the animal world so it probably came off more as exercise with some meditation rather than something revolutionary, and we all enjoyed a good stretch!

Meditating

Amit and Esha enacting a typical scene in our Gurdwaras – two women doing seva and gossiping about the whole wide world. We were trying to show the kids what the reality is, and more importantly, how we can deal with it, what prayers we can say and how to heal the situation. Some of the other scenes we enacted were drug addiction, domestic fighting, and anger – situations that they are sure to face.

Aww those sweet kids :)

As we were leaving, we went round to thank the sanggat one more time for their support, for hosting us and taking care of all the logistics at their end.

And this is one of the strangest experiences I’ve ever had at any camp – women were cornering us one by one to ask for advice on how to raise their kids to be good Sikhs, what they can do at home, how to encourage their children, etc etc etc. There was us, in our twenties, guiding 30 to 40 year old women on motherhood! Needless to say, we were all unqualified to offer any advice, but they were so insistent and sincere in their desire to know I couldn’t just walk away without trying to help. I also talked to them about our annual samelan in December and invited them to come – it would be the perfect avenue to expose their kids to other Sikh children and also for the mothers to meet other mothers and gain guidance from them.

While I was there I found out that this was the first time in the Gurdwara’s 100 year odd history that sanggat had come from KL to spend time with them, something that was difficult for me to digest. It made me realise that these are the areas we should be visiting to spread the love; these places that dot the map of Malaysia and we neglect, overlook and don’t bother with because they are too small, but ultimately that should be the purpose of our seva. And I hope that’s what we’re going to try now – Tav Prasaad - reaching out to the little corners.

It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us

2007-09-10T20:13:00.000+08:00

From the movie Coach Carter:

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Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do. It's not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own lights shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

My other home

2007-08-21T13:47:00.000+08:00

I am unbelievably thankful that I went to London... Alongside the walks down memory lane, catching up with friends who’ve become family, and the sadness of leaving London yet again; I have brought back with me a treasure – the blissful experience I’ve grown to expect from the Sikh Student Camp.

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The experience of going back was healing - to once again be amongst the people and places and sights and smells I hold dear was just so.... nice. I’m such a saddie that I’m still wearing my blue camp wristband. Still holding on and living in denial that I’m no longer there :)

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Taking pictures was quite a challenge - I found myself wanting to simply absorb every moment as it presented itself and had to remind myself to take photos to preserve the memories… saying that I still managed to collect quite a few – until this one banda decided to run into me and crack my LCD screen! Well alright I was standing right in front of him in the 100-metre race, but the potential shot was too good to miss so I had to stand in front of him - It’s not my fault he was blindfolded and had water being sprayed at him to add to the confusion!

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Anyway... :)

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It will take me a while to post the photos up on the blog as I’ve just submitted them for watermarking – give me a few days.

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To the Sikh Student crew – what can I say guys? All the ‘thank yous’ and ‘well dones’ in the world fall short of what I really want to say. I'm so happy I came, every moment was priceless.

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Don’t ever stop – you have no idea how much this camp means to all of us.

You can't keep me away from...

2007-08-01T23:15:00.000+08:00

...SIKH STUDENT CAMP 2007!!!

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I could not resist - I had only been back from London for a few short months when I decided that no force could keep me away from Sikh Student Camp 2007. I've grown up in camps of all sorts but there is still none quite like this one - I measure that by how utterly depressed I was on the last day when it was time to leave :)

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I'm not going to attempt to describe camp to you - I will run out of blogspace. To have an idea of what its all about. you absolutely have watch the camp trailer by clicking here.

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Unfortunately I don't have many decent photos from camp last year; you can however check them out at the Sikh Student Camp website or on Gurumustuk's blog - he has pictures from both 2005 and 2006. ...

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this is one of my favourite photos of the camp - on one of the days everyone was invited to experience tying a dastar - here are some of the girls

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My plane leaves in a few hours and before long I will be reunited with the spirit of Sikh Student. Next week is going to be wicked!

Yeh Dosti...

2007-07-31T12:57:00.000+08:00

Hargobind and I have a very special relationship with our cousins – they are not only our family (where we have no choice), but our friends (where we do). When we were younger our circles were different – during our school holidays we would all head to our grandparents home in Ulu Yam, where the boys rolled about in the mud and severed the heads of their action figures, while the girls sat beautifully in their dresses and held intelligent conversation (oh alright, that’s a mild exaggeration :p). However as the years are going by the boundaries are crumbling and our two sides have pretty much merged :).

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all of us in the cable car

back L-R: Manmeet, Tarsem, Hargobind and Manpreet

front L-R: Sharan and me

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The last few years have been hectic with all of us finishing school and pursuing higher education all over the place… so we treasure our moments together all the more. Usually we end up bumming either in Ulu Yam or in one of our homes, but his time we decided to give our poor parents and grandparents a break and head elsewhere. We finally settled on Langkawi – it’s a beautiful island off the northwest coast of Malaysia and Hargobind is in flying school there so he knows his way around.

We timed it for when our 2 Penangite cousins would be in town: there is the soon-to-be-dentist Manmeet (Manipal), and the following-the-family-steps accounting student Trishvin (Auckland). Trishvin ditched Langkawi for a road trip around South Island (to be honest any of us would have done the same!) and so we missed her this time round – but there was still more than enough noise with the rest of the crew.

The theme song of our trip was Yeh Dosti (from the movie Sholay – it is a cute and cheesy song about everlasting friendship and never breaking apart), which we randomly started singing in the car one day and then couldn’t stop. It just seemed appropriate somehow :)

Here are some pictures from that weekend.

randomness by the beach

our car was too small for us so we had a strict, fixed seating plan without which the doors wouldn't shut! Manmeet calls it the BPS: Bum Positioning System :p

an unexpected bout of twee-ness: with my brother Hargobind

Manmeet and Manpreet terrorising the hermit crabs

Tarsem and Hargobind on the top of the world :)

pretty pretty, eh?

a sisterly moment with Sharan and Manmeet on the hammock-that-hit-the-ground

lounging in our gorgeous bungalow by the beach

at the cable car viewing platform, filming the sequel to Don

Shah Rukh Khan: Manpreet Kaur, badmash: Tarsem Singh, bimbo girlfriend: Manmeet Kaur, oblivious indian bystander: Hargobind Singh

we had gone up just before sunset, it had been a rainy evening and the sun was slowly breaking through the clouds as we were about to leave

the girls on the wave-breaker

As it turned out, the weekend that we chose happened to be the one just before my birthday, and the cheeky lot planned a little surprise dinner and cake to celebrate. What they did not plan, however, was being serenaded by the owner (Dasch) with a guitar until the wee hours of the morning while singing along to Simon and Garfunkel, Bob Dylan, The Beatles, old Hindi sings, random hotchpotch, and of course, many repeats of ‘Yeh Dosti’!

Thanks guys, it was a great way to celebrate my birthday and I really had a fantabulous evening :)

On the wall of our Ulu Yam house hangs an old pictureframe with a faded saying: The family that prays together, stays together. In Ulu Yam, it is practically a law for us to do our Japji first thing in the morning, and in the evening the entire family sits in a circle for Rehraas. Thats the way we've all been brought up by our Nanaji, and whenever we are together (even if its not at Ulu Yam), the training is so ingrained in us that we keep to that tradition.

And so here we are, doing our Nitnem by the beach. (Manpreet has her arm around 'Manmeet' while I'm holding up the letter 'M' to show that she was there :)

It is my theory that the force that keeps us together is all that fresh milk Naniji forces down our throats in Ulu Yam :)

The one picture I wish I had is of our last few moments in Langkawi, where we were all standing on the jetty, panting for breath, waiting for the ferry to turn back because we were late and it had left without us! We had a sound telling-off from the lady on duty, which we endured with sheepish looks and many 'sorrys' :)

Sharan, Manmeet, Tarsem, Hargobind, Manpreet: I had a great time, here's to all that Ulu Yam Da Duddh and the family that stays together :)

The End of Harry Potter? I think not.

2007-07-24T13:13:00.000+08:00

Warning: If you are an ardent Harry Potter fan and have not yet finished Deathly Hallows (although any fan worth his/her salt should have by now!), I advice you to stop reading, for I shall not bear responsibility in the event that you prematurely discover how it all ends and feel like strangling me for leaking it to you.

Now that we have that out of the way… :)

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Anyone who calls them kiddie books will abruptly find themselves facing a force to be reckoned with – I take Hogwarts very seriously and spent many a day hoping that I too would receive an owl with a letter welcoming me to the world of witches and wizards, goblins and house-elves, hippogriffs and thestrals, pensieves and snitches, gillyweed and blast-ended skrewts, Veela and Dementors, horcruxes and hallows (yes I know what you are all thinking: this time she has definitely gone mental! :p).

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I first met Harry when I was 16, in our Physics lab at school, where Surabhi introduced us. At that time Harry was still a nobody; it was just The Philosopher’s Stone and The Chamber of Secrets, but I fell in love with the books instantly. Before long my beloved Prisoner of Azkaban came along and by then we became inseparable – I read and reread them, waiting exasperatedly for The Goblet of Fire, from where began the touches of dark magic, and then the shadow of evil cast over Harry’s world.

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And then she made us wait for while, that J.K. Rowling did. When The Order of the Phoenix was finally released, Hargobind and I were amongst the other crazy loons standing outside Suria KLCC at 4 in the morning, waiting for the doors to open at 6 and then run up the stairs to the 5th floor and wait for Kinokuniya to let us in at 8. I have not had the courage to read that whole book more than once – I’ve made it almost to the end countless times and then I have to stop – I can only watch Sirius die once and even that was one time too many.

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For The Half Blood Prince I spent the eve of my beautiful breezy summer birthday standing outside a bookstore in London with Surabhi, waiting for the store to open at midnight. I didn’t sleep that night as I had to finish it, and when it ended I was in shock. Dumbledore was no more, but Sirius’s death had crushed me so hard that this felt like a shielded blow. It also gave me another reason to hate Snape – he was vile, vile and I loathed reading his name. And so I spent my 22rd birthday only ¾ awake and in a sad mixture of joy and pain (yet I would not want it to be any different).

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And now the last one, Deathly Hallows. I was so excited that my arm was trembling as I reached out to pick it up at the bookstore, and I ran pretty much all the way home (except for the time I was in the LRT :p) to start reading it.

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And I loved it. A little slow to pick up, but I thought the plot was clever and I loved the way it unraveled very slowly. Rowling answered all the questions I’ve had on my list since I read the first book, and I am content.

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I was devastated when Dobby died – he was too pure for this world. But the hardest truth to swallow was the Story of Severus Snape; I feel so much remorse – I had always thought the worst of him and he turned out to be the one that probably had the greatest capacity to love. I don’t think I can ever forgive him for driving Sirius to his death, but now I will think of him in better light - to me he is the real hero.

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To some, the last book may mark the end of the world of Harry Potter, but to me (and undoubtedly to countless others), the child in me will still sit by my windowsill, looking out into the darkness of the night for a half-giant on a flying motorbike, waiting for him to whisk me away to a world filled with wonder.

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Harry Potter truly is, The Boy Who Lived.

Rock on, Tony!

2007-07-18T20:51:00.000+08:00

I know I should be an ardent supporter of Malaysia Airlines (MAS) since Pitaji works for them, Hargobind will soon follow suit, and I must grudgingly admit that the airline did dutifully carry me back and forth while I was studying; but for the moment, I’m switching sides to Air Asia (our low cost carrier).

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The reason for this sudden change of affection? I read in the news yesterday that Air Asia will start flying to Amritsar starting early next year!

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Darbar Sahib on Divali

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Last year MAS abandoned me (no more family benefits) when apparently I turned too old (how insulting - age is but a number I’m told :p) so I can’t milk them for any more cheap flights now.

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I was thrilled to find that Tony’s timing was just right – after my life-changing experience there last year, I had worried that the City of Nectar and I would have to separate for a while until I could go there again. But since ‘Now Everyone Can Fly’, I think I won’t have to wait that long before I touch that blessed marble yet again :)

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My telebubbly Gurudarshan and me just before marble seva

So there MAS. I scoff at your flat beds and cosy blankets. I renounce your movie collection and jukebox selection. I relinquish the elegant green kebayas and bowls of luxurious chocolate.

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I will still be going places. And I will be going there cheap!

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(But I won’t say no if MAS does offer me a chance to absolve. My will is not strong enough to resist that divine chocolate! :p)

Kampung Pandan Mini Samelan

2007-07-16T16:39:00.000+08:00

Over the last weekend of June, Sikh Naujawan Sabha Malaysia (SNSM) organised a mini samelan in Kampung Pandan. Some friends are I were recruited to get our hands dirty and run the samelan - and we had an awesome time! Most of my friends have been busy in other samelans over the year, however for me this was the first time I was approaching a samelan from an organiser's point. My life-long experience at samelans as a participant was good training for what to expect, therefore it was mostly fun and very little work :)

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Here are some pictures from our weekend...

Uncle Malkith, our Jathedar, overseeing registration

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Ice-breakers

The first IPS by Gurmukh Veerji. I missed the first half of the session as we were at a meeting; when we rejoined the sangat they were singing Raam Japo Ji and Veerji told them the story of Prahlaad.

Team briefing (clockwise): Manpreet, Gurreet, Tarsem, Salprith, Sukhsharan, me, Sukhvin, Saranjit, Sukhvin, Rashvinder, Gelinder

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One of the activities we organised was the Banaa Runway competition - we provided newspapers, bits of coloured paper, ribbons and some other itsy bitsies for the teams to design their own Banaas and parade them.

Some of our younger participants being possesive over their name tags :)

Hard at work Jeshvind was one of the most adorable kids there - he stole all our hearts and all the girls still go 'awwwwwwwwww' whenever we think of him!

The four contestants

I love you Guru Nanak, I love you so truly

I love you Guru Nanak, you're magical to me...

A shot at langgar seva

We ran out of langgar the first night, so while we were with the kids, Gurleen taught Sukhjit how to make rotis - we gave him a lot of hell but they turned out pretty well!

At Nishaan Sahib Selami in the morning

My first IPS - we were assigned to carry out one darbar session with the kids. I was pretty nervous - how on earth do people keep children's attention in the darbar? But I need not have worried - Manpreet is good with kids and has done this before, Sukhjit is spot on with the tabla, our back up was strong and the kids were angels. I think we all enjoyed ourselves!

Bani Puzzle - the kids rearranged various lines from Gurbani (we chose verses they would be familiar with from their nitnem) and discussed their meaning.

Saranjit created a following - don't go Veerji, don't go!

The kids were well worth it :)

Thank you to the sangat of Kampung Pandan for giving us the chance to do this... and to Gurreet, Gurleen, Rupinder and your family - thank god you were there to coordinate everything - we couldn't have done it without you.

Bring on the next samelan - We're ready!

07.07.05 – The Day I Walked With London

2007-07-10T21:59:00.001+08:00

This 7th of July was the second anniversary of the London Bombings.

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(photo from www.bbc.co.uk)

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I leafed through our newspaper in search of some article, some little picture of someone laying a wreath in memory of those who died, and I found nothing. The world (to be fair, the world as reported in the Malaysian news) was too busy with Live Earth and the Seven Wonders of the World to recall the 52 lost lives of 7 July 2005.

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I am usually quire realistic about news coverage – the media has a short-term memory where events fade into the distance and people forget all too quickly. The world has become such a place that there never is a lack of terrorist acts, calamities, and catastrophes to report on. After all the London Bombings are not new news, and I’ve painfully heard many people say that the death toll was hardly anything major.

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But since I was there when all of it happened, my relationship with that day is a little different.

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I have my own little ritual for remembering that day: I prepared a simple altar with pictures, candles, an aroma jar and a repeating Jaap track playing in the background. I meditated on the day, two years ago, when together with the 7 million or so Londoners, the event had unfolded before me.

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I had left home looking forward to the day; it was my first day on my summer internship, Surabhi was coming back into London with her mum, Laavanya and I were hoping to catch some Shakespeare in the Open Air Theatre at Regent’s Park that evening. It was summertime and London was infected with the sun and picnics and boat rides and sales and tourists and everyone smiled.

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All that changed in the space of a few hours; suddenly I was a part of all the confusion and uncertainty and frantic calls to people I knew. News came in fragments, first it was a tube bomb and then a bus or was it both and then there were three no four bombs and the death count kept changing 35 no 42 no 60 wait 52 depending on who you asked. Russell Square was close to uni, Edgware Road close to home, I knew these places inside out and now there were bodies. My home was under attack and I felt angry, confused, doubtful, insecure, afraid and helpless.

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The one memory that will be forever carved in my mind is of The Journey Home, in the evening, when people left the workplace for their homes. The tubes were out, busses were being checked thoroughly so only some ran on a restricted service, cabs were scarce and not many people drive in Central London.

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(photo from www.bbc.co.uk)

And so London walked. There were hundreds of people on the streets, heading one way or the other. I knew it would take me a while to get home, and so I chose the scenic route. You may think it inappropriate considering the events of the day, but that was precisely why I was reaching out to every bit of beauty I could so as to not lose faith that people are good, this world is good.

(photo from www.royalparks.gov.uk)

I walked along the Thames where birds flew above and there was an endless queue of people waiting for the ferry, up to Trafalgar Square where laughing children took pictures with the fountains, through St James’ Park where old women fed squirrels and tourists pressed their faces to the bars to get a better look at Buckingham Palace, in Green Park where the canopy of trees shaded little boys in games of catch and people lazing in picnic chairs, across Hyde Park where teenagers rollerbladed and dogs ran free, down Queensway where the wind blew and people piled into restaurants, and finally reached home where everyone was huddled in the living room, hoping for BBC news to tell us what was happening and what to do. And later, in the silence of our rooms, we cried.

That walk home was momentous – I fell in love with London again that day. I became protective and defensive for it, I kept thinking how dare they, how dare they do this to my beautiful and happy London.

The harsh truth is that I don’t think the bombings came as that much of a surprise. After 9/11, at some level I believe most Londoners knew that it was only a matter of time before the disease would spread here.

What I will always cherish is London’s response. In the days and weeks that followed, London just moved on. It seemed to me that people were eager to get on with things. Don’t misunderstand me; we were not forgetting, oh no. London did not want to forget, and it was impossible to forget with the daily reminders in the form of pictures of victims and their families, the tubes being paralysed for some time, frequent checks on busses by the Metropolitan Police (more to reassure than anything else, I think). London will not forget the terrible four and how they shook our corner of the earth with those bombs.

No, London was not trying to forget. Rather it was standing up, saying watch. Watch us move on. We will not wallow here in loss and despair and let our world crumble around us, because that will be your victory. Do your worst, but no matter what you try, we will rise. Our response to you is our strength to remember and to keep on walking.

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That day I walked (both physically and figuratively) with London, that day we stood together and wept for the lost lives. That is what the 7th of July means to me – and I will never forget.

Words are not enough, and there are not enough words

2007-06-15T21:06:00.000+08:00

After I posted my rather head-in-the-clouds-la-la-land experience of the camp, I had many friends asking for more details, so I thought I should ground myself a little and explain exactly what went on.

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The mornings would start at 5, with all of us gathering in the Sadhana Room for morning sadhana. We would begin with Japji, do a yoga set lasting approximately an hour, followed by sadhana for the Aquarian age, and end with the Guru Raam Das chant, which is the most beautiful of chants :)

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For the yoga set on the last day we did Bowing Jaap along with the CD by Sat Nirmal – which was a totally different experience compared to the other CD I usually use. Even my friends who were doing this for the first time were energised and kept to it all the way, which is not easy when you have to sit on your heels and keep bowing for 30 minutes! Shanti told me that in Espanola they do this every Saturday morning, with live music from Sat Nirmal herself. Now wouldn't that be something.

After sadhana we would have some dried prashaad and then break for breakfast. Meal times were light and easy, we moved around from table to table to meet various people and then some of us would end up on the beach to stretch out and feel the smooth white sand between our toes.

The women and men would then split to their separate rooms for our morning sessions, which would include a touch of story-telling, a drop of yoga, a spoonful of chanting, and buckets full of inspiration and love. On our side Shanti, Nirvair and Kirn conducted the sessions together and they were seamless – the message was always one and loud and clear. These sessions lasted for about 4 hours and we always came out freash, awake and hungry :)

After lunch we would have another session, similar to the one before. Kirn would warn us before lunch to go easy on the food (always difficult once we saw the spread – all that watermelon!) and then she would make us pay for not heeding her advice :) I think it was a family thing – Guru Chander was just as enthusiastic on the men’s side and they got the children roped in as well as Guru Sandesh and Guru Mitter led us through Nabhi Kriya exactly when all we were hoping for was a good lie down under the palm trees by the beach!

The topics we covered included love, strength, leadership and seva; they drew from Mata Jito Ji, Mai Bhago and our own lives, they taught us to hold relationships and break blocks and exercise our right of being beautiful, bountiful and blissful. Even as I write this I am thinking that this does not even begin to explain what we went through in that time. When the soul goes for a journey like this then words are not enough and there are not enough words.

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Evenings were obviously spent by the beach, where we started of rather sedately with Breathwalk, and then quickly disintegreated into a children’s catching game called Police and Thief. The women thoroughly enjoyed themselves behaving like wild little children running around screaming, exactly how they warn their own children not to behave! On another day we had a face mask feast – Manjit Phenji mixed up some weird concoction of oats and I-don’t-want-to-know-what-else, but it felt pretty good and we had a good scrub-down in the sea after that.

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And then we would eat (again!) before coming together for Rehraas, and after our separate night sessions we would all disperse, although most of us would hang about in the sadhana rooms because it was too difficult to just sudddenly tear away from that energy. We would compare notes and sing songs and gave massages and then when the yawning started we would tread back to our rooms and enter the realm of dreams in which we could pretend that we were still with everyone, sitting together in the Sadhana Room, singing Guru Guru Vahe Guru, Guru Raam Das Guru, and celebrating the wonders of this beautiful world.

The soul sang and the spirit soared :)

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To view more memories of the camp (and some embarassing candid vidoes!), please click here.

A Celebration of Dignity, Divinity, and Grace

2007-06-14T00:26:00.000+08:00

We have had such an intensely beautiful time over the past week – just before camp our guests came from the U.S. and we had the honour of hosting some of them. Our time together in KL was quite rushed; still I celebrated every joyous moment spent in their company.

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Nirvair Kaur, Shanti Kaur and Mataji

Guru Chander Singh and Nirvair Singh

As for the camp itself, I currently face the dilemma of wanting so much to share how powerful and significant it was for me, but I am stuck as I know not how I can ever do it justice by trying to describe such an experience in words.

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I could show you pictures - they say a picture speaks a thousand words, but there are still not enough words to describe an experience. You have to be there and hear the rhythm of your breath with your own ears and see the radiance on other faces with your own eyes and chant Guru’s praises with your own lips and sense your muscles tense as you stretch out and feel your fingers tingle as you bring your palms together in prayer pose. That feeling even a thousand pictures cannot express.

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(For the record, we have 262 photos that will be up on an online photo album soon – I will post the link once they are ready :p)

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At the women’s end we had Shanti Kaur, Nirvair Kaur and Kirn Kaur and my god it could not have been more perfect – it was bliss, grace and live wire blended together. On our journey together we discovered strength and grace, love and power, leadership and inspiration. And from what Pitaji and Hargobind tell me, the men had nothing less from Nirvair Singh and Guru Chander Singh.

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Over the 4 days we meditated, listened, shared, did yoga, chanted, stretched, bonded, learnt to identify all the muscles in our bodies as they were pulled one by one, sang, laughed, learnt, hugged, played Police and Thief (lols!), got massages, gave massages, loved, healed, experienced. And even after 4 days they had us pleading for more.

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Breathwalk warm-ups by the beach

In the pages of my life, that weekend comes under the ‘Truly Unforgettable and Life-changing’ category.

And just like that, as quickly as they came, everyone is gone. To apply a well-used oxymoron: the silence is truly deafening. I had grown accustomed to having the house filled with the spirit of our friends, and now that they are gone it feels empty and a little lonely.

To dearest Shanti Kaur, Nirvair Kaur, Kirn Kaur, Nirvair Singh and Guru Chander Singh: our home and family has been blessed blessed blessed by your beautiful and warm presence, thank you so very much for gracing our lives with all your love. Even if it is some time before we meet again, I am comforted in knowing that our souls had the chance to meet yours in this lifetime.

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with Kirn, Guru Mitter and Nirvair

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To my lovely parents - thank you for making this happen, you will never know how much this experience has touched us.

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The next camps will be in 2009. Until then, my cells have locked on to the experiences I had, and I will live in the light of all that love we shared.

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Satnam

A Journey Inside: Women’s and Men’s Camp Asia

2007-05-29T22:25:00.000+08:00

Living in Malaysia puts quite a distance between us and 3HO-related events like the Solstice (Española) and the Yoga Festival (France). In recent years Rajvir and Guru Jaswant have been organising Camp Miri Piri in Singapore to get things moving at our end and things are picking up gradually.

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It was at the first Camp Miri Piri that Mataji met the lovely Shanti Kaur Khalsa, and they decided it would be amazing to have a women’s camp in Asia – Mataji had been to the one in New Mexico in 1984, and yours truly had hopped along, although I was only a 1-year old then :)

Ladies Camp, New Mexico, 1984

Mataji and ickle me

And that is how the first Asian Women’s Camp took place in 2005 in the beautiful island of Bali. We were truly blessed to have Bibiji, Shanti and Sat Nirmal come for the camp, and women from Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia and Thailand got together to heal, juvenate and rejoice in being women.

Women's Camp, Bali, 2005

Bjibiji with Mataji

Two years since, the team is again organising the camp, and this time having one for the men as well as they were feeling a little left out previously :). And so this weekend we all head out to Kuantan for what promises to be a wonderful retreat. Shanti is coming again, and we also have Guru Chander Singh, Kirn Kaur and Nirvair Singh; and hoping dearly that Bibiji will be able to join us also.

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I can’t wait! Having missed out on the first one as I was still in London then, I was one of the first few to sign up :). Somehow I’ve been building up to this: lately I’ve been wanting more and more to crawl into my shell and hide from the big, bad world. 4 days of yoga, meditation and bumming with the girls is exactly what I need!

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Also, this Friday (1st June), Shanti, Guru Chander, Kirn, Nirvair, and (hopefully) Bibiji will be leading the meditation at Klang Gurdwara, 7.30 pm. Do come and join the sanggat!

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(For further details re camp and/or Klang programme, please contact Sri Dasmesh School, dasmesh@streamyx.com, 03-2288 1600)

Love from Sweden

2007-05-26T01:17:00.000+08:00

The Malaysian sanggat will most definitely remember our dear friends from Sweden, Jasmeet and Virpal, who were here for the Samelan. Virpal left soon after, but Jasmeet was completing a semester of uni here so she stayed on and only recently left for to go back to Stockholm.

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I met Jasmeet at the Sikh Student Camp (which, for those who don't know, is the best camp evvvvvvveeeeeeeeeer!!) last year, where I had all the Swedes in my group. Viz-kavina A1! Did I say that right? :) It was wonderful to have someone from my London life here in Malaysia with me, and I miss having her around.

While here, she had quickly became a part of our sanggat and a regular weekend resident at Sabha House; we all know her as the sweetest thing :) I’ve been keeping in touch - she misses us and here’s a text from her for all (it’s in Malay, which she picked up at uni).

Saya bagus bagus! Sangat rindu semua malay kavan-kavan saya. Apa khabar?

...

Pyar2all

Hugz

(Translation: I’m doing very well. Miss my Malaysian friends very much. How are you?)

Jasmeet, kami rindu kamu juga. Mungkin satu hari nanti kamu akan kembali :)

Fired up by Tango

2007-05-24T13:57:00.000+08:00

My birthday celebrations began super early this year thanks to Surabhi – she told me quite a while ago to block the 16th of May to receive my gift and refused to offer any other information, abandoning me to feed on the voices in my head (which is never a good thing!).

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The long-awaited date finally arrived and we rendezvous-ed (is that even a word?) at the agreed location at the predetermined time and voila! She handed me my birthday present: tickets to watch Tango Fire – a tango show by a troupe coming from Buenos Aires.

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Maybe I should backtrack a little to explain why this was the perfect gift: Surabhi and I go back a looooooooooong way, since we were 7 (oh my god how many times have we told this story already!?!). Somehow our paths kept crossing and we both ended up studying in London and even lived in the same house for 2 years. The Victoria League House rocks! (Sorry, I had a flashback moment there :p). We have always been very close but London was different – living, laughing, backpacking, crying, turning suicidal before exams and starving together took us from friends to family.

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One of the delights we both share, besides our priceless books, Mr. Darcy (only when he’s played by Colin Firth) and Johnny Depp (or is it George Clooney? – I always lose track) is our mutual love for the theatre. While in London we went for a musical as often as we could afford to and have seen almost every musical worth saying anything about – in addition to concerts, plays, comedies and a circus (Cirque Du Soleil - animal-free of course!). And as we traveled we went on to gather under our belts a flamenco performance, a marionette show, a ballet and the opera. In fact, in Romania we even had the opportunity to BE the show but I’ll spare us the embarrassment and not elaborate further :)

waiting for the flamenco in Sevilla

So it was only a matter of time before tango came our way – I just never expected it to be in Malaysia! It was also symbolic because Buenos Aires (where the troupe was from) is one of my favourite cities in the world (from the few that I’ve had the chance to visit) and we both dabbled in a bit of Spanish while in London. Then there was the time that I was hopelessly addicted to Mexican/ Venezuelan soap operas (don’t ask me how they became popular in Malaysia – we have no connection to the Spanish world at all but they were a hit).

So you see there are a lot of connections to be made!

Anyway, the point of all this is to say that the show was awesome :)

I admit to be a tango-ignoramus, and my naïve perception of tango being hands-clasped-rose-between-the-teeth-marching-up-and-down was shattered – here I saw a stunning display of legs, legs, and then more legs flicking as though they were a butterfly’s fluttery wings. Their movements were swift and glamorous; sometimes tentative and uncertain, yet other times so very dramatic and forceful. I spent most of my time holding my breath, thinking that at any moment now they are all going to get horribly entangled and make a mess of themselves. My worry proved to be unfounded because it was all one: the dancers, the music, the lights. They were not separate pieces of the puzzle being put together; there was no puzzle! A spot light followed the dancers and I kept looking back and forth between the dancers and their reflection trying to decide which one I was more captivated by. The dancers were a wow - the men, fantastic though they were, I don’t think got much of the glory; they were more like a part of the furniture while the women stole the show – after all it was the women got to strut up and down the stage, full to the brim with Latina attitude, in those gorgeous dresses and exaggerated stilettos.

It was so typically Spanish – all they did was dance and fight, or sit at a table to watch others dance and fight (pardon the stereotyping, but remember that my experience comes from watching Venezuelan soaps! :p).

I think I would still prefer to take my taste of tango in a lovely restaurante, amidst a gregarious crowd enjoying their dinner, from which a dark-haired beauty suddenly slips out of her chair to command the floor. On the spur of the moment and unpredictable – exactly how it should be. Still, seeing that this is an unlikely reality for me at this point in time, Tango Fire was a good enough substitute! ...

Surabhi, thank you so much for this. I know I’ve already said that I loved it a thousand times, but now you have it in black and white :) ...

Oh, and what are you thinking for next year? You do know that I haven’t seen Riverdance, right?? :p ...

(And no, Irish dancing bus drivers will NOT do – even if they come from Birmingham!)

Bow to the Earth, to the Trees, to the Sky

2007-05-21T23:12:00.000+08:00

...

Prayer has nothing to do with what is known all around the world as prayer. Real prayer is not a ritual. Real prayer has nothing to do with the church or the temple or the mosque; real prayer is neither Christian nor Hindu nor Mohammedan. Real prayer has nothing to do with words. It is not verbal. It is silent gratitude. It is a silent bowing to existence.

So, wherever, whenever you feel like bowing to the earth, to the trees, to the sky, bow. That bowing will help you slowly, slowly to disappear.

Prayer is one of the greatest methods of destroying the ego, and when the ego is gone, God is left. It is ego that is hiding God in a dark cloud. When the could is gone the sun shines forth in all its glory, beauty, grandeur, splendor.

~ Osho

Let me be the Murky Water…

2007-05-19T12:41:00.000+08:00

...from which the Lotus of the Guru blooms.

Gurudarshan and I were going around the Parkarma at the Hari Mandir one morning when she said this.

I suddenly recalled those words as I walked in our garden one day – Mataji has some beautiful lotuses and a pink one was in full bloom (pictures).

I remember thinking that with a Guru as wondrous as that lotus, who could give up the chance to be the murky water?

Thank you Guru D, for that thought!

Octopussy

2007-05-18T23:53:00.000+08:00

Tired of work and people and places, last weekend I commissioned myself to voluntary house-arrest. Ok, ok, I’ll be honest. I didn’t really move from the TV couch – and to my surprise discovered that reading, watching telly and eating are a pretty exhausting combination, therefore I was forced to space them with a dose of sleeping here and there :)

I ended up watching the only movie that seemed remotely interesting - Octopussy. Bond undoubtedly kept me entertained - what more could I ask for than to be a part of an attempt at world domination involving a Faberge egg? When I went to Moscow last year I did see the intricate Faberge eggs at the Kremlin, and I thought how thrilling it would be to be caught up in a chase involving them.

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Faberge eggs aside, the story was quintessentially Bond: the Russian official who got tired of playing comrade and defected, bits of East Berlin, a Swastika or two, threat of nuclear warfare, Bond’s almighty watch, the beautiful women that he always seems to attract, the car chase, the gripping flying incident, and the sea of destruction he characteristically leaves behind.

What I loved the most (aside from the cheesiness factor, that is) was that it some of it was set in India, hence the classic Indian formula was applied through and through: fortresses in the hills, heartbreaking beauties, pilgrims bathing in holy rivers, jasmines in hair, beggars, traffic-stopping cows, arched corridors leading to nowhere, heavy-lidded eyes lined with kohl, beautiful bougainvillea amidst lush palms, and draped windows with veiled women peering through.

Craving for the local flavour, Bond rode around in an auto-rickshaw and gate crashed a local village festival of fire-breathers, hot coal-walkers, snake-charmers and sword-eaters; before braving the Indian jungle in his perfect white suit, where he was hunted by an elephant, a Bengal tiger and a crocodile, but still came out unscathed and with every strand of hair perfectly in place.

My favourite scene was undoubtedly the one where the vampish Miss Magda, after stealing the Faberge from Bond’s pocket, delicately tied the pallu of her saree to the balustrade, leaped over the balcony and exquisitely twirled out of it, to be received on the ground by an exiled Afghan prince who wrapped a silk robe around her shoulders and whisked her away. Wow.

Somewhere in the film our exiled Afghan prince, Kamal Khan declares: Mr. Bond indeed is a very rare breed, soon to be made extinct….

Naturally he realized the folly of that statement, and not long after, he remarked: You (Bond) have a nasty habit of surviving.

Oh yes he does. And with lots of saddies like me rooting for the eternality of Bond, I think he will thrive for a long, long time :)

www

2007-05-18T23:14:00.000+08:00

The first time I saw the letters www, I had just been listening to Louis Armstrong’s What a Wonderful World, and in my sweet ignorance I thought that’s what they stood for. Now I’m a little bit older (though not much wiser), and still I think that my version holds a little more charm.

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Recently this little memory of mine resurfaced and I thought there could be no better way to describe my space in the World Wide Web than to draw from a little bit of child-like innocence.

Hopefully, through these pages I will be able to share a little bit on the wonders from my own little world :)

Hello World!

2007-05-18T23:13:00.000+08:00

Satnam to all!

Welcome to my little share in the infinite space of Blog-land. I suppose it was only a matter a time before the bug bit me, and now I too have jumped on the bandwagon, along with countless others, to share the past and present of my thoughts, experiences, pictures, moanings, musings and wisdom (hmm, perhaps not so much of that :p).

My previous blog, from my time at Amritsar, had a particular focus and a known lifespan. Now I feel as though I’m at the deep end, drowning in the vast sea of options - suddenly my world seems so big and how oh how will I decide on what to share and what not too?

Bear with me as I chart my own direction and create some sort of line of thought. For now, I promise to be random and inconsistent :)

Welcome to my world!

Love,

Harkiren Kaur