Columnists
No Shortcuts to Glory
by I.J. SINGHOnly the other night, it was New York University's annual convention of Omicron Kappa Upsilon (OKU), a prestigious Honor society. It was a black-tie induction dinner for our top students and selected faculty.
I was inducted almost thirty years ago, and all these years have been the lone Sikh at these dinners. But for the first time, this year, three of the graduating Seniors who were inducted were Sikhs.
Two were women who brought along their turbaned Sikh husbands. A third graduating inductee is also a keshadhari Sikh. Counting me made four recognizable Sikhs circulating among a very select crowd of about 130 University administrators, faculty, students and past honorees - the elite of the profession.
Each faculty member may escort only one inductee, and I had the honor of introducing Meeta Kaur Grewal.
I remember Navtej Singh for the excellent student he has always been.
Jasmine Kaur Hanjra was initially somewhat miffed, and I was literally mortified, because I could not quite place her when I met her at the function - she was so flawlessly and beautifully attired. But when, during the awards ceremony, they flashed a mug shot of her from her earlier days as a student, even my rusty, aging neurons immediately made the connection, and I was able to retrieve my dignity somewhat.
My thoughts first switched to a time when women made up no more than two percent of the entering medical or dental class, and then back to only 40-odd years ago, when recognizable Sikhs found difficulty in being accepted at medical and dental schools. I remember when excellent Sikh surgeons were discouraged from entering operating rooms because of their turbans and beards. Now women make up nearly half the class, as they should, and one can find Amritdhari Sikh surgeons all over this land.
Looking back, I also see that when I joined the faculty at New York University in 1972, only one other recognizable Sikh was on the faculty - in the department of mathematics. He left for greener pastures soon thereafter, but I remained. We have employed Sikh part-time instructors from time to time, but now 35 years later, I remain the only Sikh tenured full professor at the University.
Keep in mind that barely sixty years, the doors of citizenship were closed to Sikhs, and indeed to all Asians. Now, by the quality of their work, Jasmine, Meeta and Navtej have carved their names in stone in the annals of their profession, as well as in the hearts and minds of their mentors and peers.
Their contribution towards defining Sikhs as equal members of this complex society is much, much more tangible than a myriad of lectures. In an immeasurable way, they have opened many more doors to incoming generations of Sikhs who will strive to find a foothold in the mainstream American society. Their sense of self is defined as Sikh-Americans or Sikh-Canadians, and only minimally connected to Indian cultural realities.
Quality speaks loudly, clearly and enduringly. There is no substitute for excellence, and no easy shortcuts to it. I salute these young Sikh-Americans and others like them.
Today I, too, bask in the sunshine of their achievement.
Conversation about this article
1: Jas Kaur (New York, US), May 08, 2007, 7:28 AM.
Congratulations to the young Sikhs. They are a source of pride for us all.
2: Harman Singh (Philadelphia, PA, U.S.A.), November 21, 2007, 3:07 AM.
There are, indeed, a large number of Sikh surgeons in the U.S. I have been in the neurosurgery profession now for some years, and being a keshadhari Sikh should by no means be a deterrent for young Sikhs to pursue this wonderful field. Staying true to one's bana does mean sacrificing 15 mins of sleep every morning, or enduring through those long days of call; but surely, it's a small price to pay for the privilege of being a Sikh. It inculcates self-discipline like nothing else - an essential quality for a surgeon.