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And The Conversation Continues
by I. J. SINGHMarch 17 holds many fond memories for me. It is my daughter's birthday. When she was born, her mother and I named her AnnaPiar - derived from the names of the two grandmothers. Anna was her maternal grandmother, Piar was my mother. This was our way at blending two very diverse and distinct cultures and traditions, in the melting pot of contemporary North American existence. The merging didn't take; our marriage dissolved when AnnaPiar was barely three years old, and over the years her name became Anna Piar, the more to reflect that separation.
Just days ago, on St. Patrick's Day, Anna Piar became 33, and just three months ago, she became a young mother. She and her husband named their daughter Inara Piar. Now the little tyke has me wrapped around her little finger, much as her mother did in her time, and much as all girls do to their fathers and grandfathers.
I look at Inara Piar and I marvel at what a beautiful mosaic she is. There is Sikh and Czech heritage in her from her mother, as well as Scot, French, and German from her father, and God only knows what else. Perhaps, as she matures into a young woman, she will curiously explore what civilizations, traditions and cultures shaped her. After all, we are largely products of our cultural memories and roots.
What intrigues me is that now my mother's name lives through little Inara Piar Moncrieff.
Many readers know that for several years now I have been exploring Sikhism in the diaspora and how our new cultural realities away from our Punjabi roots make us what we are. I have been pursuing my muse through essays that are, in essence, conversations with my daughter that could not occur - that's how I labeled them in my very first collection of such essays. And now I see that much of my writing has been a continuation of that conversation.
"Piar" in the language and culture of Punjab means love, and little girls are nothing but that, except for when they are cranky.
My mother, however, was the embodiment of unconditional love. Well-educated for her time, she could understand simple English and speak it somewhat haltingly. Her command of Punjabi literature - poetry, fiction, exegesis of Guru Granth - was extraordinary. She was an excellent storyteller, but all of her tales came exclusively out of Sikh scripture, history and hagiography. My mother gave us the fundamentals of Sikhism, but hers was a deeply rooted attachment to Sikhi. It was unquestioned devotion; hers was not to reason why.
My father's take on Sikhi, though not any less, was a more seasoned and reasoned belief system; his heart was in it but it was driven by his head. It has taken me almost a lifetime to see that Sikhi demands the dual lenses of both the head and the heart, faith and reason, and the questioning loyalty that defines integrity; either one, by itself, remains singularly insufficient.
My conversations with Anna Piar were sporadic and interrupted, sometimes they were wrenching; there were far too many silences in between, simply because her mother and I parted when she was so young.
My mother died a couple of years ago, but now she speaks to her great-granddaughter through her name. Inara Piar will surely wonder about the woman whom she never met and whose name she carries into the fourth generation.
May the conversations continue unceasingly!
[Top Image: Detail from photo by Christy Guest. Bottom photo: "Grandpa & Child at the Qila Raipur Games". Second from bottom: Detail from painting, "Generations", by Barbara Lavallee.]