Poetry
The Coronation
A Poem by PARVINDER MEHTA
The image of the Sikh in the mirror,
so appealing, so handsome,
a young prince receiving coronation,
getting ready to face the world.
His freshly-bathed beard,
with curls like wavy clouds
caressed with admiration and care.
His long hair embracing him,
a royal cape of responsibility.
Bowing in admirable and loving service
he gathers these cascades of
black wisps from back to front,
combing out the tangles
through caution, care and affection.
Like life, the Sikh man loves his hair,
with obedience and pride,
following this daily ritual
of remembrance and affirmation.
The soft, shining hair, go with the flow
of his tender, guiding hands.
The strands surrender their movements
kneaded together in unison.
His long beard twirled in grasps
of firmness and glued conviction.
His hair - like faithful subjects
follow the king's wishes,
no rebellion, no insurgence,
a simple complacency
of honor and respect.
The curls and twists and turns
give up to his hand’s beckoning.
The tugs strengthen his commitment,
rolling into a confident
knot of circular solidarity,
reminding him of his promise
to cherish God’s gift.
The tied band on the forehead
prepares him for this coronation.
Five meters of muslin meanwhile,
caressed and stretched
between him and his wife
affirming their unbreakable
bond, an unwavering commitment.
Twirling the folds inside,
unwrinkling the wraps
with patted caresses,
he glances at his wife
as she twirls the folds on the other side.
She smiles back like a blushing bride
concealing emotions in wrapped layers.
The quick pulls and tugs and folds
bring them closer as they meet
with layers and folds of the crowning,
waiting eagerly to be placed
on the proud head.
The mirror shows him ready for the moment,
he smiles at his beautiful empress.
He reminds her of their wedding
day when she saw her glorious groom
eyeing secretly his new bride.
The first fold embracing his neck,
a corner clenched tightly,
like a child learning to hold with his teeth,
moving up from the back to the forehead
and then sloping down back.
His crown emerges amidst
this affectionate perusing,
these multiple folds
of dedication and tradition
inheritance and reverence,
commitment and allegiance,
a disciple’s acknowledgment
of his Guru’s edification.
Remembering his Guru’s baptismal call,
he imagines that spring morning
when followers accepted the regal form
to bear and acknowledge the ambrosial
nectar of commitment and promises.
No fear in their hearts,
only a passion for obedience,
valiant soldiers, bold in thought
and actions, they learned to embrace
equality, drinking sips of pious
sweetness immersed with the Guru’s love.
The Sikh man’s smile reveals
the same pride of ancestral promises
as he sifts through his mirror-image
getting ready to face the world
that knows not yet of his cherished inheritance.
The proud wife wonders if
the world will ever know about
the hidden tunnels and histories
of arduous persecutions.
Will they ever unearth these
grandiose, invisible rubies of faith and
jewels of optimism adorning his crown?
Bidding wishes and love
to her handsome prince,
she hopes they will understand
perhaps someday… if not today
surely someday.
Dr. Parvinder Mehta is a writer and an educator. She has
taught English writing, literature and film courses at University of Toledo,
Wayne State University and Davenport University. She has presented at various national and
international conferences. Her publications have appeared in Sikh
Formations, South Asian Review and South Asian Diaspora.
Parvinder Mehta ©
November 16, 2011
Conversation about this article
1: Baldev Singh (Bradford, United Kingdom), November 16, 2011, 2:11 PM.
To be a Sikh is an extraordinary experience. Today on a bus in Leeds (United Kingdom), a young five or six year old Muslim (Pakistani origin) boy with his mother and two brothers and young female cousin, pointed to my dastaar and asked me why I wore it and I explained to him that it was a 'Crown' and a Sikh was a Sardar!
2: Basanti (Singapore), November 16, 2011, 5:56 PM.
I have watched my father and brothers tie their turbans every day for years. But today, you have added new meaning to this daily 'ritual'. It'll never be the same again ... and I'm going to savour every swirl, every fold, every crease, like never before. Thank you, Parvinder ji, for this delightful description.
3: Sangat Singh (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia), November 16, 2011, 6:20 PM.
What a lovely and incomparable imagery, resplendent in full glory with 'saabat soorat' and with the Guru's crown - the turban. They stand out in millions as they were meant to be.
4: Roopali Sircar (Noida, India), November 18, 2011, 10:53 AM.
Even to the uninitiated, this poem has unravelled with every swirl of the muslin and every twirl of the beard the sacrificial initiation of a people our nation is so proud of. In my travels and travails around the world it is the compassionate hand of a Sikh, the extended warmth of his/her home, the affection and regard offered to others, the preservation of a belief in its tangible form that I have experienced. we of the army look with pride towards our Sikh battalions and regiments to defend the integrity of the nation. Thank you, Parvinder, for writing this commendation.
5: Pashaura Singh (Riverside, CA, U.S.A.), November 22, 2011, 4:43 PM.
I missed this beautiful poetic rendering on the significance of the turban. What a wonderful way to cultivate pride in the uniqueness of the royal Dastaar! Maybe the author can further develop this theme.