Faith

Standing Out and Out-Standing

by KANWALROOP KAUR SINGH

 

 

I was in the gurdwara when I first saw it.

The thought, I mean.

It hung suspended in the air, like a drop of water. Then, it latched on to the bottom of my salwar, followed me home, ran circles around me as I washed the dishes, hid under the surface of my daal, lurked inside the folds of my bedsheets-it was inescapable. Slowly, it began to manifest in different forms.

Sometimes it was the message of an article, sometimes the aura of someone I saw, sometimes the subject of my daydreams.

The longer it stayed with me the more I imagined its feasibility.

And then it was inside my brain: a pearly white bead rolling through dark annals and whirling vortexes, speeding down alleys and over murky bridges, deep into gutters swirling with sewage, and over discarded ideas on empty sidewalks. It navigated the swarming city in my mind with hound-like precision until it finally tumbled past all the filth, clean as a lotus, and out into the cavern of my mouth.

Then it was no longer an idea, it was real. It was an action which Itook, a statement that I made. Such a small thought as this, when finally uttered by unsuspecting lips, wrought complete havoc on my ordinary life.

What it led to was this: I, Kanwalroop Kaur Singh, a somewhat shy Sikh woman, began to wear a turban.

But ... why?

Permit me to answer.

Only fear had stopped me from wearing a turban before. Fear of not living up to the standard image of beauty, fear of others and what they would think, fear of standing out, fear of responsibility.

And fear was not a good reason.

I had not let fear come in the way of my decisions before, so why was I taking the backseat now?

The Sikhs before me were not burned in cauldrons, torn limb from limb, bricked alive, doused in oil, lit on fire, slayed in battle, their children severed and strung about their necks, so that I could sit here today in my cocoon of cowardice unable to do a simple a thing as cover my head with a turban.

As I thought more and more, the contents of my brain churned like butter.

Why is it that when my family is out and about in the world, my father must cover his head out of respect for God, and for me, it is optional? Don't we believe that God is everywhere?

Why is it that my father is easily recognized by others as a Sikh, and I am not?

Why is it that he has become a representative of my religion and I have not?

Why is it that he must deal with the stares and jeers that sometimes come with the turban and I do not?

As a woman, I have the same right to cover my head in the presence of God, to be recognized out of thousands as a Sikh, and to shoulder the burdens that come with being one.

I knew that it would be hard in the beginning. But so what? Studying is hard, exercising is hard, writing is hard, getting up after eating a huge meal is hard. If I can start to wear a turban now, what is there, in the whole wide world, that I cannot do?

So, it has been a week.

I have worn my turban everyday. Sometimes it comes out lopsided, sometimes my dad helps me tie it, sometimes my head begins to itch.

A week ago, no one would take notice of me if I walked through a store. Now, I have received hidden furtive glances, long unashamed stares, shocked double takes, and even two compliments.

I feel that I cannot ignore my religion anymore. I cannot just be a Sikh whenever I feel like being one. I cannot forget who I am at will, blend in among the crowd. Now my identity is written in the bold folds of my dastaar.

I cannot escape it, hide it, ignore it - I can only wear it with grace.

 

[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.]  

August 14, 2010

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