Columnists
My Earliest Adventures in Sikhdom
FATEHPAL SINGH TARNEY
Religious conversions tend to be serious affairs, but there are humorous moments.
I would like to share two of them from my own experience as a convert to the Sikh faith.
About forty years ago, I made my first visit to a Gurdwara Sahib. This was in New York City and it happened to be a place of worship a short bus ride from the place where I spent my formative years.
Of course, back then, there were no gurdwaras where I lived and very few Sikhs in the city.
Whilst sitting for the langar, an Amritdhari sevadar in Nihang bana -- replete with a long kirpan and impressive ‘daarrha parkash‘ (flowing beard) -- was passing out hurri mirch (green chillies) and he gave one to an elderly Sardarni Sahiba sitting directly across from me.
She ate it as though it were a piece of candy.
The sevadar then offered one to me and I asked him if it was at all spicy. The Sardar just smiled at me and said “Chardi kala!”
I interpreted his smile as meaning “No problem!”
I bit into the green pepper and immediately had to rush out of the Langar Hall. Paani (water) was of no avail.
I have not as yet taken Amrit, but this was no less than a baptism of fire!
Years later, in Florida, after becoming a Sikh and wanting so much to belong, I tried very hard to learn some Punjabi.
I confess that there were times when I did make believe that I understood conversations at our local Gurdwara Sahib. For example, after the langar, groups of Sardars would chat in rapid-fire Punjabi and I would understand perhaps one in every ten words.
I would smile and say ‘changa ji‘, or ‘thheek hai‘, or ‘haan ji‘.
One day, I asked a dear friend, a wonderful Sardarni Sahiba: “Timmi ji, kirpa karke madad karo (please be kind enough to help me), what can I say other than my three standard Punjabi words when listening to a conversation?”
“Well, Fateh ji, if you think someone has said something particularly insightful, you can say ‘Balle, balle!’”
So, an occasion came when a group of Sardars were talking excitedly about something that I did not completely understand, but they all seemed to be in agreement and were quite enthusiastic.
I was, however, nervous and instead of shouting out “Balle, balle!” I said “Billi, billi!”
I wondered why all these fellows began looking at the floor …
[A Sikh for almost 40 years, the author is a combat-wounded Vietnam War veteran and a retired prep school history teacher and coach. He is a president emeritus of The Sikh Society of Florida, which serves south Florida. He is actively involved in interfaith programs both in Florida and in Michigan where he shares a summer home with his wife.]
November 18, 2014
Conversation about this article
1: Karan Kaur (London, United Kingdom), November 18, 2014, 4:06 PM.
Enjoyed this piece very much -- gave me a couple of much needed laughs! Welcome to sikhchic.com as a regular columnist. Looking forward to reading more from you on a regular basis.
2: Sangat Singh (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia), November 18, 2014, 6:39 PM.
Fatehpal Singh ji, what a lovely surprise to see to see you on sikhchic.com. We have exchanged sporadic mails in the past. It would be nice to have some biographical notes to tell how you got drawn into Sikhi. You are an example that will inspire others sitting on the fence. Looking forward avidly to your further postings. Bless you.
3: Bant Singh (New York City, USA), November 19, 2014, 4:44 PM.
Fatehpal ji: That's a great story and brought back memories of my fresh off-the-boat, early days in the US of A. My first day at high school in suburban Chicago, barely 2 weeks after setting foot in the US, is one I clearly remember even 32 years later. I was surrounded by a sea of white faces who looked the same, spoke the same and in an accent that was hard to understand even though I thought I was pretty good in English. Little did I know that the 'Hinglish' I learnt in India was highly influenced by British words and expressions that made no sense to an American. My first class was gym where the coach had started soft ball. Coach Ferguson pulls me aside behind home base and wants to know how I pronounce my name. After trying half-heartedly 2 times, he gives me a new name. "You're in America now, boy, your name is Mike," and it stuck through my college years. He then tried unsuccessfully to explain the game and finally gave up - "Boy, go to the dugout and observe the game." I did not know what the dugout was so I stood next to the catcher. After a few innings he yells from 1st base, "You Indian, you bat next." My first time up at bat, I took the stance of a cricket batsman with the back bent forward over home plate and the bat held down by my legs. There was a roar of laughter from the guys on the field. Coach Ferguson jogs back from 1st base, his eyes glaring at me, snatches the bat from my hands, takes the batter's stance and says, "This is how you stand, f@$#ing raghead." I'm a pretty good study. I take the batter's stance and whack the ball deep into center field. However, instead of running to 1st base I stay put, thinking the ball is so far out there, I'll definitely get 4 runs if not 6, as in cricket. The guys from my team and the coach start yelling, "RUN! RUN!!" I then realize I have to run. Instead of running to 1st base, I run like one would on a cricket pitch, towards the pitcher with bat in hand. For those unfamiliar with baseball, the only time a batter charges a pitcher is when they want to fight and having a bat in hand after the ball has been hit is a big no-no. This usually ends in a brawl between players of both teams. Seeing me come at him with a bat in hand, the pitcher quickly runs out of range but I continue running past the pitcher's mound to 2nd base. I turn around, fully confident that my impressive feat has proven to Coach Ferguson and every one snickering that I too can play as good as any American. Only to find, everyone is laughing hysterically. That was my first class on the first day in high school in America.
4: D J Singh (USA), November 20, 2014, 8:48 PM.
#3 - Bant Singh ji: You certainly are gifted. Excellent!