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A Beginning, Not the End
by I. J. SINGHEarlier, I have written about a very dear friend who was not born a Sikh, but is now well on her way to the path of Sikhi. Moreover, she is seriously contemplating becoming Amritdhari.
We often talk about what it means to make the choice. For those on unfamiliar territory, this means becoming formally initiated into Sikhism. It is somewhat like Confirmation for a Christian, or Bar Mitzvah or a Bat Mitzvah for a Jewish boy or girl.
On the other hand, I have many Sikh friends who remind me, gleefully or sadly, that many Amritdhari Sikhs hardly lead the life of a committed Sikh; often their moral compass is too skewed and their actions far too short of the goal.
I often wonder if we expect too much of the rite of taking Amrit on how it would transform our lives. I also wonder if, at times, we expect too little of its magic and mystery that have defined Sikhs for over three centuries.
My thoughts on this clarified recently when I saw a news item which reported that, in the United States, more than 51 percent of women live alone or with a partner - without marriage. Most of them feel cheated in life; they would like nothing better than the seal of marriage on their existence.
Many people revere the institution of marriage too highly. They put it on a pedestal, as if it would be the crowning glory of their lives. So they either try to capture their dream by marrying too early, or they wait too long until they are financially secure, established in a career, or absolutely able to trust the person they will marry. (The operative word here is "absolutely". Are they just being averse to taking risks?) Marriage becomes the defining moment of a life. It then becomes a goal and an end, not a path to a point that one cannot always see.
But to my mind, such end-points and defining moments are the stuff that eulogies are made of. They make interesting bits in an obituary, not how a life is or has been lived. In a well-lived life, marriage is a stage of development, a rite-of-passage, a marker of travel and progress. It is not the end. In marriage, as in life, the journey is the destination.
Let me reinforce my idea by a small diversion. Doctoral students perhaps pine for the Ph.D., just like many look to marriage - as the final step in their education or their lives. But, in reality, this is hardly so. A doctoral degree is a defining moment in the life of a scholar, but hardly the end-point in becoming one. In fact, the process of becoming an independent scholar starts when the degree is granted. I believe that it is therefore fitting that the art of performing and administering medicine is referred to as a "practice", for it truly begins once the MD degree is awarded.
The same holds for the "practice" of law.
My thoughts on Amrit are similar. I see all Sikhs traveling on the same path of Sikhi - discovering the Ultimate Reality within us, and nurturing the universal connectivity that binds us all. There are many stages in one's progress along the path and, for the serious practitioner of the art of becoming a Sikh, Amrit would indeed become a monumental step and a rite-of-passage, but it may not always be the crown we often take it to be. We remain on the same path, even the same journey; only - hopefully - at a different juncture.
Taking Amrit, for a Sikh, would be very much akin to the Commencement that defines an important phase in education at school or college. What becomes important then is not that one is a Sikh, but that one is on the road to becoming one. And that remains the critical reality.
For me, Amrit is like the graduate's degree or the marriage license - the foundation stone of a life of commitment, not its capstone.
Top photo (and Thumbnail) - The Minar-e-Muktae, a memorial in honour of the Chaali Muktae (the Forty Immortals), at Muktsar, Punjab. Courtesy: Sonia Dhami.
Bottom photo: Mother & Child - Mahan Kirin Kaur and GuruAmrit Hari Kaur. Courtesy: Gurumustuk Singh.
Second from bottom: The preparation of Amrit (literally "nectar" or "elixir") - a baata ("bowl") made of sarab loh ("all steel"); water; patashas ("sugar cakes"); stirred with a khanda ("double-edged sword"), accompanied by the recitation of bani ("liturgy").