Art
Dear Waris Ahluwalia
by KANWALROOP KAUR SINGH
Dear Waris Ahluwalia:
A while ago, when I was in a hotel room in Toronto with my two sisters, we decided to watch Inside Man. We were squished together, the three of us on one mattress, when we first saw you.
"Hey look, it's a Sardar guy!"
"Oh my God!"
"Wow! He's actually talking!"
By the time we got over the initial shock and quieted down, your part was almost over.
So we rewound and saw it all. We saw when they surrounded you, when they pulled off your turban, when they questioned you and made a crack about the ubiquity of Sikh taxi drivers. And we heard you when you demanded where your civil rights were, when you complained in frustrated expletives about the very issue which has irritated my father so many times, the very issue
for which I have seen petitions signed, hearings held and voices raised - the so-called "random" airport security check.
With those few lines that you delivered so beautifully, you raised more awareness about Sikhs and the problems that we face than ever before. I was proud that of all people, you were representing our community.
Recently, I saw you on The Sartorialist, in your velvet coat, in your cocoon of epic style; and you seemed so suave and knowledgeable that I thought I would ask you the question that has been on my mind for quite some time.
What happened to art?
Long ago it bloomed at the forefront of our religion, during the time of the Gurus - now it cowers in a corner beneath all the doctors, lawyers, and engineers. Respectable professions, no doubt, but what is a community without its artists? It is like a piece of decaying passion fruit with no passion left.
Once upon a time, all of the Gurus were poets. Guru Nanak essentially embodied the archetype of the starving artist, traveling on foot to spread his message through poetry and preaching. What is the Guru Granth Sahib, if not a collection of poetry laden with metaphor, simile, rhyme, allegory, allusion, and analogy? Like all literature, it is meant to be analyzed and interpreted by the individual.
But unfortunately for me, it was never taught that way.
When I was learning gurbani, the adults were always interested in quantity, in how much could I memorize. Bani was never treated as a literary text - I was never taught to probe, to dissect, to analyze, to discuss the author's intentions, to get at the essence of its meaning. I was simply told what the meaning was, and that was the end.
In order to teach art, one must appreciate it. And this is where I believe we fall short - when a parent will tell a child that they can listen and read and see art, they can even make it, but they cannot dedicate their life to it.
Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan's parents wanted him to be a doctor. They were soundly ignored. But if he had listened to them, he would have been Dr. Khan instead, working in a dingy hospital with a job he hated, listening to miserable patients spew their troubles at him. Instead, he took a risk.
Despite the mutterings and narrowed eyes, he became what you know him as today. Still, the cynics will say, he was the exception, not the rule.
So Waris, where does that leave you and I? You, who traveled from one type of art to the next, who indulged in your creative whims, who let the cynicism of others bounce off of you like a basketball. It seems you took your paintbrush and dipped it in everything - music, film, literature, and jewelery design - and you succeeded far beyond what could be imagined.
But you're just another exception, not the rule. And our community doesn't like exceptions. Exceptions are messy, they cross boundaries and create hubbub, they change things and they don't fit inside the box.
Maybe one day I will be an exception too. Right now I am just an indignant teenager engaged in a futile effort to break barriers with my pen.
Sincerely,
Kanwalroop Kaur Singh
P.S. In the hope that you will read this some day, I would love to eat roti with you.
[Kanwalroop is 17 years old and resides in Cupertino, California, U.S.A. She has written for Stanford University's weekly newspaper, is the founder and editor-in-chief of her school literary magazine, and the copy editor of her school newspaper. She looks forward to attending college in the fall.]
July 17, 2010
Conversation about this article
1: Taran (London, United Kingdom), July 17, 2010, 3:34 PM.
Waris is one in a million. He truly is an icon. He is a true vagabond. He stands out with his Sikh identity and uses it constructively rather than shying away it. May be, the Akal Takht should honour him? Why not? I would ...
2: Aryeh Leib (Israel), July 19, 2010, 3:10 AM.
Dear Kanwalroop, you are not the first nor will you be the last to come up against the problem of having to deal with the fears of an earlier generation that sees "respectable professions" as the necessary ticket to financial security. The truth is that there are no guarantees in life - not to mention livelihood. Understand that you will have to make temporary compromises along the way, as almost all of us do, to maintain a good and peaceful relationship with those members of your family who love you and want what's best for you - according to their own understanding. Pursue your dream and passion, while also picking up skills that will make them happy, i.e., editing, which is a skill that will be ever more in demand with the proliferation of web-based articles and magazines, and which will, at the same time, enrich your own writing skills. And know that pushing against this glass ceiling is great isometric exercise; you'll only come out stronger for having expended the effort! Finally, I hope Waris gets in touch with you. I'm sure you'll have a lot to talk about - over roti or otherwise! I look forward to your next literary efforts. I thought your 'Crossing the Border" displayed wonderful plot and character development. Know that you already have a loyal fan club out here, and may it help give you the patience and perseverance you'll need along the way.
3: Harvind Kaur (Chicago, Illinois, U. S..A.), July 19, 2010, 10:09 AM.
Love it! Waris, I hope you answer her here! I'd love to read the response. I'm sure you have time to break some bread with an aspiring writer.
4: Amardeep (U.S.A.), July 20, 2010, 1:06 PM.
What there to complain about? Even Guru Nanak faced a strong resistance to go against his Dad's chosen profession for him. May be here lies a test, whether we want to please our Creator or people around us? I guess our parents want us to pick that fixed-paying profession to have a strong anchor. If not a profession, at least one needs to make the Guru as your anchor and do whatever pleases you and acceptable by the Guru. Like death, it is the fear of the unknown! Only few people can handle it that well.
5: Manpreet Singh (San Jose, Califonia, U.S.A.), August 10, 2010, 10:49 PM.
Beautiful article from a talented writer. Media is the biggest platform we Sikhs can use. We always have an obsession regarding careers in engineering and medical. We should look beyond these boundaries. Well done, Kanwal. May Almighty keeps you in high spirits. There is one coincidence here: we both watched it in Canada, you watched "Inside Man" in Toronto and I watched it in Vancouver :)
6: Shanu Kaur (London/Oxford, United Kingdom), September 30, 2010, 6:00 PM.
I'm an artist. I know a number of other Sikh artists. A lot of us are still amateurs (myself included). But, we're around. We're just hiding beyond our masquerades as lawyers, doctors, engineers ... (hahaha!) To Waris Singh: I Loved "Darjeeling Express". Keep it up.