Columnists
Invisible in New York
by T. SHER SINGH
New York City, N.Y., U.S.A.
I am strolling along, slowly making my way back along Madison Avenue to my hotel from the MoMA on the 53rd Street.
It’s a week-day mid-day. The pavement is jammed with tourists … New York always is, rain or shine, winter, spring, summer or fall.
I veer off to the next Avenue … the 5th. Yes, I can now window-shop with a little more ease, with reduced risk of bumping into other pedestrians every few seconds.
I have gone but a block or two when I notice, not too far from me, a tall middle-aged man walking in my direction. His tanned complexion, his height, his gait, and the tailor of his bush-shirt and trousers catch my attention. I watch him closely as he comes closer.
His hair is cropped short, and he is clean-shaven, just like most of the other men in sight … I being the only one who can be spotted from a mile away, because of my beard and turban.
He’s but a few feet away when I catch the metallic gleam of the karra on his right wrist. Our eyes lock for a second, no more, and he looks away.
As he passes me by, I offer him a loud “Sat Sri Akal!”
I hear him shuffle to a stop, as he turns towards me and mumbles a barely audible “Sat Sri Akal” in return.
He has a generously wide smile on his blushing face, as I too stop, turn around and take his proffered hand in a firm, Punjabi hand-shake.
“How are you, ji?” He is warm and jocular. “Are you visiting?”
I nod.
“Where are you visiting from?”
I tell him I’m from Canada, in town for a visit.
“Wonderful! Welcome to New York, then!”
We’re both trying to figure out what to say next, or how to go our separate ways, when he asks, bursting into a smile once again:
“Tell me, Sardar Sahib, but how did you manage to figure me out to be a Sikh?“
I shrug my shoulders, trying to decide if I should say anything.
“You know,” he continues, “it’s so wonderful that Sikh brothers greet each other so warmly no matter where we come across each other … anywhere in the world … in the remotest of places, no matter how far from home! This is such a great trait we have. You have made my heart sing by greeting me, though a total stranger.”
He has taken the bait, and I simply can't help reeling him in.
“Oh, it wasn’t difficult,” I say. “But before I tell you my secret, you tell me yours. Tell me, how did you manage to look me straight in the face, and not figure out that I was a Sikh? You were simply walking away when I stopped you.”
His smile flickers, on and off, a few times in quick succession. He is trying to say something, I can see … but then, no words emerge.
I wave him good-bye with a “Sat Sri Akal”, nod a smile as I turn, and head towards my hotel.
August 16, 2011
Conversation about this article
1: Gurmeet Kaur (Atlanta, Georgia, U.S.A.), August 16, 2011, 7:07 AM.
You are so wicked!
2: Sangat Singh (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia), August 16, 2011, 7:39 AM.
For me it was the other way around - to have the turban spotted so often. In 1953, I was in Ahmedabad together with my nephew Inderjit when we heard that Pandit Onkar Nath Thakur was to sing. He was counted among the topmost classical singers of the day. He belonged to the Gwalior gharana that included other famous names like P.V. Paluskar and Vinayek Rao Patwardhan. We didn't have money even for the cheapest seats - so we stood at the back. Just then Thakur Onkar Nath came on the stage, and he spotted us, the only two turbans, hovering on the horizon. He took the microphone and said "Sardar ji, aagay aa kar baithie-ay." - "Please come and sit in the ront row!" We were immediately ceremoniously escorted by an usher to sit in the VIP enclave.
3: Harman Singh (California, U.S.A.), August 16, 2011, 1:30 PM.
Ha..ha..ha! Great story. Talk about putting him on the spot. Whenever I see Sikh families in the hospital, I always end up stopping and chatting with them. In the few seconds that we spend together, they feel a world of ease that they have "one of their own" here. My nurses are always asking me: "How do you know each one of them?" This is Guru Gobind Singh's legacy: The gift of the Khalsa, a familial bond between all Sikhs, which is very real and palpable when you are in the sangat of another Sikh. I am proud of it. Next time you see a Sikh, there is no need to shy away. Rejoice in the instant human connection that your Guru has facilitated for you.
4: R.S. Minhas (Millburn, New Jersey, U.S.A.), August 16, 2011, 7:13 PM.
I have a 9-yr-old relative who plays soccer for a pretty good club. Usually he is the only boy with a joorrah on the field. Once there was another Sikh with a joorrah on the opposite side. After the game was over, players lined up and shook hands with a "Good game! Nice game!" kind of pleasantries. When the two Sikh boys came face to face with each other, they said something that none of the teammates understood. So his teammates inquired, "What did he say? What was he saying?" worried whether it warranted a collective response. He replied: "No, nothing. Not to worry1" The two boys had said "Sat Sri Akaal" to one another!
5: Dupinder Kaur Sidhu (Jersey City, New Jersey, U.S.A.), August 17, 2011, 6:21 AM.
Great story from such a simple incident! Guru Sahib gave us an identity for the purpose of connecting with everyone in the community. A story comes to my mind also - My parents came to visit U.S.A. for the first time in 2003. We went to New York City for sightseeing. In the middle of Times Square, there was another Sikh family. My dad and the dad of that family immediately acknowledged "Sat Sri Akal". They shook hands like they were lost friends meeting after a long time. In the middle of the crowds, noise, glaring lights and billboards, the first thing one Sikh saw was another Sikh. We all talked for a couple minutes, a few more pleasantries were exchanged, and then everyone went on their way.
6: Gurmeet Kaur (Atlanta, Georgia, U.S.A.), August 17, 2011, 1:11 PM.
The poor guy was probably ashamed of himself to not greet you to begin with. He was elated when you greeted him, nonetheless only to find out that he had run into a not so simple, making-you-heart-sing-with-joy, Sardar. I feel bad for the dude.
7: Devinder Singh (India), August 19, 2011, 5:50 AM.
The exuberant hand shakes are a natural and healthy outcome of being a minority.
8: Gurjender Singh (Maryland, U.S.A.), August 19, 2011, 8:47 AM.
One time my brother and I were visiting his friend in a town, Sonepur, in north Bihar, India. In the evening, his friend took us to see a Ram Leela celebration. We were the only two Sikhs in the whole gathering, instantly identifiable by our turbans. There were no seats available, so we were standing in the back. Then, suddenly, one of the organizers approached us and said: "Sardar ji, come on to the front!" and offered us front seats on a sofa. He told us later that could never forget that when he once visited Punjab, he was offered free food by a Sikh stranger.
9: Naveet Pal Singh (New York, NY, U.S.A.), August 20, 2011, 9:59 AM.
Nice article. But unfortunately I notice this in many Sikhs, both keshadari and non, prefer not to acknowledge this connection. I do however often see it amongst many first generation Sikhs ... but less true for the 2nd or 3rd generation.
10: Harmander Singh (London, United Kingdom), September 09, 2011, 3:32 AM.
Fantastic story. I can relate to it as Sikhs that I come across while running along the streets are startled by my Sat Sri Akal greetings to them - particularly when I am wearing my Bennie running cap - unlike Fauja Singh who always wears the turban. Sadly, it is also true that ordinarily, at all other times (when wearing the turban), I only get a mumbled response from turban-wearing elders - the younger generations are far more receptive, I find. "The Sikhs In The City" (SITC) team look forward to meeting Sikhs (and non-Sikhs alike) when we are visiting your neighbourhood (Toronto and Frankfurt in October, Hong Kong in February 2012). Come and join Fauja Singh on his team!