“Grand harmony aims at elevating every unit of social and cultural life to the height of heroic majesty”
- Harinder Singh Mehboob (1937-2010)
Revered Punjabi poet, Harinder Singh Mehboob, passed away on Sunday night leaving behind a significant mark on the map of Punjabi literature. Mehboob, who had also worked as Principal of Khalsa College Gardhiwala, had written Sahji Rachio Khalsa and Jhanan Di Raat, a book on poetry which he received an award for in 1991. The Sahiyta Award was not without controversy. Regardless, Mehboob’s work will continue to be appreciated by the community:
Jhanan Di Raat which wins Sahitya Akademi Award for Punjabi is his second major publication. A collection of over two hundred poems, written over a period of three decades, in seven anthologies of poetry now published as one volume, Jhanan Di Raat is a formidable work both in conception and in content. The stylistic range and virtuosity reflected by this 828 page volume is enormous; and while the ideological orientation and the concerns of the age as reflected in the poems change gradually, the poet’s warm humanism is always extent.
The poet’s synthesis of the folk poetic traditions with contemporary trends is a distinctive feature; and a recurrent theme is his deep nostalgia for the past glory of Punjab. For its variety of styles, images and metaphors, its vastness of scope, its amalgamation of modern diction with folk-forms and its poetic intensity, this work is regarded as an outstanding contribution to Indian poetry in Punjabi. [link]
He will be remembered and appreciated for elevating Punjabi literature and for his important contributions to the Qaum.
Last weekend I attended the Sikh Lens Sikh Art and Film Festival in Hollywood. I have attended film festivals all over North America and strongly believe in their need and presence in our community. Many times, however, the events get overshadowed by the glitz and glamour – the red carpet, the photographers, the eccentric outfits… I was therefore grateful that my experience at the Sikh Arts and Film Festival was a fulfilling one – I left knowing that Sikh Arts and Films bring value to our community and need to be supported. In addition, I felt the organizers made a special effort to keep the event focused on the directors, artists, musicians, actors, authors and organizations who were present. They recognized the fact that we are all in this together. Sikh Arts and Films are only beginning to be acknowledged, there is so much potential and growth that will still occur. However, this isn’t going to magically happen overnight, and it most definitely won’t happen without the community’s support.
I was recently told that Sikhs in the UK spend 7 times more on license plates than they do on books (yes, 7 times!). While I’m not sure of the statistic in the US, the point is clear – perhaps we’re not investing in the right places? I think as a community we have begun to establish the need to support non-profit organizations that are working to address human rights, legal, education and activism issues (although we still have a long way to go to enhance our support). However, what goes hand in hand with this is the support and advancement of Sikh Art and Media. Without a doubt, events such as Sikh Lens are helping to pave the path – however, we as a community need to ask ourselves why we are so hesitant to spend money on independent films, children’s books, on historical references and on paintings. When I think about other immigrant communities, I notice that their advancement as a community comes from their support of one another. Whether we like to admit it or not, our community is extremely frugal and competitive with each other, and unless we start to move away from those stereotypes – we will not be creating a better world for our children.
To be or not to be? Well, apparently for Surjit Singh Hans – it is to be. Hans, an academia based in Mohali, is undergoing the feat of translating Shakespeare’s work into Punjabi. Hans retired from Guru Nanak Dev University in Amritsar, where he had once been head of the department of history having done extensive work on Sikh literary sources and in particular the Janamsakhis. He has been working on this task for the past sixteen years.
The translation follows the original line by line—you want to locate line 20, Act II, scene (i), in the Arden edition of Hamlet, all you have to do is look at the corresponding line in the translation. The iambic pentameter of Shakespeare has given way to the chaupai in Punjabi, but what matters is that these lines are almost as resonant in Punjabi as they are in the original English. They work well when read aloud, as Shakespeare is meant to be, and there is little here that a Punjabi can’t take to heart. Indeed, the heavy-headed revelry ‘takes from our achievements, though performed at height’. [link]
As for how well Shakespeare’s work translates into Punjabi, Hans suggests that King John could parallel the story of Aurangzeb and Two Noble Kinsmen could be a scene out of a Punjabi village (two men, one girl – hardly promising).
It might partly be the scarcity of female voices and public female faces in the Sikh community that makes Nikky-
Guninder Kaur Singh’s so distinctive and refreshing. But in addition to her position as one of the few public female voices in the Sikh community, her original and creative work is really what makes Ms. Kaur-Singh so refreshing. As we have discussed in the past, in the context of “Relocating Gender in Sikh History,” the vast majority of Sikh history has been written by men. And thus, despite their best intentions, for the most part, women’s voice in Sikh history has been non-existent. It is silent.
In this realm of mostly male voices, Ms. Kaur-Singh has taken an original position on a much-needed project: to explore a feminist perspective in interpreting Gurbani. Many translations of Gurbani have been written, some of which are quite good, and others that are quite lacking (in terms of staying close to the feeling of the original shabad and being easily understandable for today’s audiences). One of the most popular translations today, if not the most popular, is Sikhi to the Max. It’s heavily used in gurdwaras, at weddings, and by individuals at home. And in this translation, the divine is interpreted as He/Him/Lord. Not only is this archaic, it creates a framework of masculinity that limits our understanding of Waheguru. The Sikh conception of gender embraces as well as goes beyond gender.
In a piece we discovered recently, Ms. Kaur-Singh contrasts current practices of sex-selective abortion with the place of the feminine within Gurbani. In a chapter of “Imagining the Fetus: The Unborn in Myth, Religion, and Culture,” Ms. Kaur Singh orients readers with the history of sex-selection in Punjab. She then goes on to show how Gurbani holds the power to turn today’s practices on their head. In a few short pages, we are treated to a celebration of the feminine, reminded that our spirituality can focus on our source (the physical allegory of which is the mother) rather than its current infatuation with the end, and given a gender-neutral interpretation of excerpts of Gurbani which resonate as closer to a truer meaning than some other more widely used interpretations today.
African American publishing houses were born out of a need – the need to fill a void in the industry. Bookshelves needed to share stories of their struggles and to give children a stake in their evolving identities. In turn, they gave rise to a new generation of diverse voices, with Asian-Pacific and Latino publishers following suit. They all have the same goal – to represent stories of their respective communities and give readers some authenticity and a sense of belonging. Now, consider this, how often did the covers of the books you read as a child have children who looked like you? Did these children’s books offer you a sense of belonging or importance? As our children enter into such a global community, it is clear that having access to authentic literature representing their heritage can only help ease the numerous challenges of peer pressure and to elevate self-esteem. Literature is perhaps the strongest avenue to enable us to realize our commonalities while teaching us about the idiosyncratic nature of one another.
This is why we are so excited to bring you news about a new children’s book that promises to be “a staple on the shelves of young visionaries.” A Lion’s Mane, being released this month, is written by Navjot Kaur and illustrated by Jaspreet Sandhu. The book is published by Saffron Press, an independent publisher, aiming to encourage children to deepen their understanding of positive self-identity.
In this beautifully illustrated story, young readers journey to cultures around the world to explore the meaning of the dastaar, or turban of the Sikhs. Allusive words placed within a vibrant red dastaar help promote our connections as global citizens and encourage dialogue around issues of identity and kinship. [link]
This book certainly moves beyond the traditional in several ways. A Lion’s Mane brings a global perspective to the often misidentified image of the Sikh turban. It is printed on 100% recycled paper as well as displaying an Eco-Libris badge – 625 trees were planted for the first edition! In addition, a portion of proceeds from the sale of each book will support Seva Canada’s work to restore sight and prevent blindness in children. By shopping at Saffron Press, you really will be contributing to a green and ethical experience! We spoke with the author, Navjot Kaur, about the book and the challenges she underwent to have this story published. After the jump is the book trailer and the author’s first interview. As you view the information, consider this – how important is diverse and multicultural literature on the shelves of every library and school? Did you or do your children have access to this type of literature?
Mark your calendars- the Kaur Foundation and the Asian Division of the Library of Congress have 
teamed up to undertake a unique initiative, to institutionalize knowledge by and about the Sikh community for future generations. The Library of Congress is the oldest federal cultural institution in the US, the largest library in the world, and the research wing of Congress. (LOC). The Sikh Collection Initiative is an effort to ensure that knowledge of and by Sikhs is collected and preserved for future generations. Given the tragic loss of valuable cultural and religious artifacts, manuscripts, and books from the Sikh Reference Library in the Darbar Sahib complex during Operation Bluestar, an initiative such as this begins to ensure that collective knowledge of our community will be preserved somewhere.
As our nation grows and becomes more diverse, it is critical that we appreciate and understand the different backgrounds of all that make this country great. Sikh Americans have significantly contributed to every field of human endeavor from technology, commerce, health, science, agriculture, to the arts – further enriching the cultural fabric of this land of immigrants.
This week, Peter Bance published “Sovereign, Squire and Rebel: Maharajah Duleep Singh and the Heirs of a Lost Kingdom.” It includes some little known and interesting information on Rani Jindan- the youngest of Maharaja 
Ranjit Singh’s wives. While the tale of her son, Duleep Singh, has been well documented, less has been known about Rani Jindan.
While researching a tome on the Duleep Singh family, which lived in exile on a sprawling country estate near Thetford, Norfolk, Mr Bance stumbled upon the gravestone of Jind Kaur in the catacombs of the Kensal Green Dissenters’ Chapel. Historians had assumed that the Maharani’s cremation occurred in India but here was a simple white marble tombstone in London with her name on it. [link]
So who was Rani Jind Kaur? Some things were previously known- that after the death of her husband, she became the Regent (acting head of state because the ruler is a minor) for her son, Duleep Singh.
To say that Jind Kaur was a thorn in the side of the East India Company would be an understatement. She was born into humble origins, the daughter of the Royal Kennel Keeper at the Sikh court in Lahore, but she was ravishingly beautiful and soon caught the attention of the Punjab’s greatest ruler, the one-eyed Ranjit Singh.
Having kept the British at bay for decades, Ranjit’s empire began to crumble with his death in 1839. Following a series of bloody succession battles, Jind emerged as regent for Duleep who was less than a year old when his father died. [link]
Rani Jindan was instrumental in organizing Sikh resistance to the British in the First and Second Anglo-Sikh wars.
Last year we discussed Satnam Sanghera’s memoir, If You Don’t Know Me By Now: A Memoir of Love, Secrets and Lies in Wolverhamptom, and dialogued around the issue of mental health in the Punjabi Sikh community. The memoir was recently awarded the Mind Book of the Year Award for its literary contributions to raising awareness around issues of mental distress. The Boy with the Topknot, as it is now known, was picked from 110 entries by Mind, a non-profit organization in the UK committed to creating a “better life for everyone with experience of mental distress”.
On winning the award last night, Sathnam Sanghera said:”It was such a strong shortlist, and this award is judged by some of the greatest authors in the UK, so this is a real privilege. There are hardly any books about Asian communities’ experiences of mental health problems, so I hope people read this book and it leads to more understanding.” [link]
I would highly recommend this book as I found the story to be sincere and enlightening. However, I would add that while it is important to provide this type of insight to the English-speaking literary community, it is just as (or perhaps even more so) important to ensure this type of literature is accessible to the Punjabi-speaking community. Perhaps we can strive to have these types of memoirs translated into Punjabi or made available via audiorecordings?
He locked the washroom door, unravelled the nine-metre turban, took a pair of scissors and started cutting. Ten minutes later, three feet of hair lay in a pile and Charanbir Singh sat down and cried.
Outside, his parents and grandmother were in tears. Two friends persuaded him to come out, but Charanbir, his head wrapped in a towel, rushed to his room.
That was a year ago. Charanbir, now 17, still shudders at the memory. “I had to cut my hair.” (Link)
One of ironies of life in the 21st century western world is that despite an unparalleled degree of freedom of religion, the majority of people seem to be opting for freedom from religion.
Last week, Raveena Aulakh, a reporter from the Toronto Star, put a Canadian twist on the worldwide issue of apostasy amongst Sikh Youth.
Sikhism dates back to 15th-century India. Adherents are required to not cut their hair, considered a visible testament to their connection with their creator. The turban was adopted to manage long hair and make Sikhs easily identifiable.
For many young men in Greater Toronto, that is the problem: They don’t want to stand out.
Like other new or second-generation immigrants, many Sikh youngsters are desperate to fit in with the school crowd, while others complain of racism because they wear the turban. Add to that cultural influences, peer pressure and the desire to assimilate.
The end result? Many youngsters cut their hair, leading to family friction and, in some cases, lasting estrangement.
As a counterpoint, in the article and video above, Pardeep Singh Nagra (of boxing fame) presents his thoughts on why he’s decided to keep his hair.
Fear & Guilt
I’ve often wondered why so many Sikh youth keep their hair through high school but cut it as soon as they feel free from their parent’s control? From my perspective I see this as symptomatic of a great challenge facing Sikhs around the world today. Somehow, someway, we have fallen into the trap of pushing Sikhi to the next generation with fear and guilt, rather than sharing Sikhi through love.
Take your typical Sikh family; actually take mine. My now 25 year old cousin in Punjab had wanted to cut his hair since he was a teenager but two things stopped him. He was afraid that if he cut his hair his dad would beat him and then disown him. Secondly, he knew that if he did get a haircut and shave he wouldn’t be able to look his crying mom in the eye.
Unfortunately, there was little positive reinforcement around Sikhi in his life. Sure there was Sikhi by osmosis: visiting Gurdwaras, gurbani playing in the background, the odd sakhi told by our visiting grandfather. However, my cousin had little exposure to the aspects of Sikhi (nitnem, kirtan, seva, simran) that would have connected him with his faith on a deeper level. Most of the discussions with his parents were a flavour of the famous Goodness Gracious Me clip. So not surprisingly, upon entering college, he too cut his hair. And sure enough, he became our family’s black sheep, making a kid with already low self-esteem, feel even worse.
“A young woman scarcely had time to weave the fragile fabric of her dreams in our town.”
This is one of the opening lines of Bhira Backhaus’ debut novel, Under the Lemon Trees. The novel – published this month – is set in a small town in Northern California, and tells the story of two generations of a Sikh family facing difficult decisions about love, cultural traditions, and familial ties. The story focuses upon the life of 15-year-old Jeeto who stuggles between embracing her heritage and fitting in as an American and journeys through her reconciliation of the possibilities of freedom and love (I’m sure many of us can relate to one or all of these!). The publisher describes the novel as part Bend it Like Beckham, part Monsoon Wedding.
The book is based on the author’s own experiences growing up in a small-town Sikh community in California’s Sacramento Valley.
“It’s a story that I’ve [always] known I wanted to tell,” she said.
Dealing with cultural disconnect is one of the story’s driving forces, Backhaus said, but many of the novel’s themes, such as the search for love, identity and dignity, are cultural universals she hopes appeal to people of all backgrounds. Although she said she hopes “Under the Lemon Trees” will have similar success to the string of popular tales of the Indian experience, such as “Slumdog Millionaire” and the novels of Jhumpa Lahiri, Backhaus said her work is different. “Under the Lemon Trees” tells the story of Sikh Indians immigrating to California from lower-class villages in India, she said – a story that has not been told by other successful media depictions of Indian life. [link]
I’d be interested in doing a full review of this novel once I’ve finished reading it. In the meantime, here’s an excerpt from the first chapter.
I was excited to come across information about the Jaipur Literature Festival which will be held January 21st through the 25th in Rajasthan (mainly excited because it will coincide with a trip I’m planning to take to the area!). The festival is directed by author and historian, William Dalrymple.
Entering its fourth year, the festival will be hosting some of the best-known national and international writers including Vikram Seth, Michael Ondaatje, Pico Iyer, Simon Schama, Colin Thubron, Patrick French, Tariq Ali, Tina Brown, Mohammed Hanif, Rajiv Chandrasekaran, Coleman Barks, Pankaj Mishra, Chetan Bhagat, Ahmed Rashid, Charles Nicholl, Hari Kunzru, Michael Wood, Nandan Nilkeni, Paul Zacharia, Prasoon Joshi, Shashi Tharoor, Sunil Gangopadhyay, Tarun Tejpal, Wendy Doniger, U R Ananthamurthy, among many others.
While perusing through their list of authors, I was surprised by the small number of Sikh writers who will be in attendance leading me to ask which (if any) other Sikh authors were invited and whether Sikh authors were, in general, being recognized for their work. While we attempt to address these questions, I wanted to use this space to highlight a couple of Sikh authors who did show up on the list.
The digitization of books has created a whole new way for Sikhs to access their history. I’ve stumbled onto a lot of historical Sikh literature that I had never heard of. For example, through Google’s Book Search function, I discovered a tourist guide to Punjab from the 1880’s (here’s an excerpt on visiting Amritsar).
Over the holidays, I found a scanned version of a first edition of The Life and Teachings of Sri Guru Tegh Bahadur. It was written by Puran Singh and published by The Khalsa Agency in Amritsar in 1908. Puran Singh has a way with words like no other Sikh author I’ve ever encountered. His books The Spirit Born People and The Ten Masters are essential readings for anyone interested in Sikhi. In his book on Guru Tegh Bahadur he writes:
He looks upon the world with that far-seeing vacant eye with which a mariner, having lost his boat, looks upon the broad sea, seated on a rock in the middle dashed by the waves of the angry sea. The world to him is lost in the constant vision of the higher Reality of its soul. There is an intense spirit beating within his heart, which weeps ard cries at the sight of a man who is lost in the tempest of passions and remembers not the glorious life of his beyond this little life and the glorious inheritence of his in ideals of God, Love, and Truth.
He is a high abstraction in the love of God, and whenever a single thought of the world lowers his consciousness from those ethereal heights, he at once sings of God-consciousness and soars again.”Remember thy God, remember thy Lord, this is thy one duty, thy only duty,” says he.
However, what I really want to share is his opening introduction. The words are 100 years old, but just as or probably more relevant today.
A fellow blogger (thanks Jodha) sent me a link to an incredible new animated movie to be released across North America in May 2008. Sundri the movie, based on Bhai Vir Singh Ji’s masterpiece (and yes, my namesake), is the third animated Sikh movie released by Vismaad. Many of you may have seen the notable work they did with Sahibzadey and Rise of Khalsa. This movie looks similarly impressive:
The film salutes Sikh women and presents a piece of history which celebrates equality and respect. From the site,
Singhs ought to respect Kaurs.
Kaurs ought to live as true daughters of Guru Gobind Singh ji.“Gender equality” may become a genuine practice than a mere rhetoric.
For anyone in the D.C. area interested in Jhumpa Lahiri’s writing- she is on a book tour and will be speaking at Sixth & I on Wednesday, April 23 at 7 pm.
Tickets are available at Politics & Prose for $6 or you can buy the book for $25 and get 2 free tickets with it. Contact P & P at 202. 364. 1919.
Jhumpa Lahiri’s stories about the Indian-American diaspora vividly evoke both the ambivalence of the older generation – appreciating their adopted nation, but feeling dislocated – and the freedom of the younger generation, unfettered by their South Asian origins, except for parental expectations. Lahiri won the Pulitzer Prize for The Interpreter of Maladies, and her second novel, The Namesake, was adapted to a film in 2007.
A little more info: Lahiri’s new collection of stories (as well as her older works) elegantly capture the way we navigate dual cultures.
Assimilation, in Lahiri’s fiction, is about coming to terms with disorientation. It is about not fitting in or settling down, not starting over from scratch and freely forging a new identity or destiny. Her characters balance precariously between two worlds—not just Asian and Western, but inner and outer…
When an author chooses to write a memoir, they take the risk of unveiling a plethora of secrets that otherwise (and perhaps preferably) would remain buried. And when that author is Punjabi Sikh, it is almost guaranteed that issues will be brought up that make people uncomfortable. 
For our parents’ generation, secrets remain in the family and they are never discussed in public – we are raised to uphold the family izzat (honor). But at what cost do we remain quiet? A new memoir by Sathnam Sanghera, If You Don’t Know Me By Now: A Memoir of Love, Secrets and Lies in Wolverhamptom, opens up the dialogue around being raised in a working-class Punjabi immigrant family and being a child living in a family paralyzed by schizophrenia. Some of these experiences can be felt universally throughout the Panjabi community and others are more personal, but what is clear is that there is a great need in our community to dialogue about these issues.
I clutched my schoolbag tightly as I walked along with Dad, as if my life and dignity depended on its contents (which, in a way, they did), mumbled the Japji Sahib, the beginning of the Guru Granth Sahib Mum had taught me, and watched Dad hum to himself – Hindi songs I didn’t recognise from Bollywood films I’d never seen – click his fingers to some beat I couldn’t hear, and smile, at people going past, at nothing in particular. [Link]
While I haven’t yet read the memoir (it is being released in March), several articles discuss his story at length. It wasn’t until he was in his twenties that Sanghera realized his father was a paranoid schizophrenic and his older sister also shared the condition. Intermingled within that tale is Sanghera’s own story of being a young Sikh boy growing up in Wolverhampton (one of the most densely populated Sikh communities in the UK).
Love lost, love gained, and love yearned for … HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!
Some of the first things that comes to my mind when thinking about Valentine’s Day are thoughts of carnations, roses, scobby-doo miniature valentine day cards, and those sugary heart candies with statements like “Be Mine” and “Page Me”. With the “expression-of-affection- through-consumption” aspect of of Love Day aside, let’s take this time to think about the idea of love. As I think about the depth, significance, and longevity of the emotion and meaningfulness of love … thoughts of Heer/Ranjha, Sohni/Mahiwaal, shyaari (poems) by Shiv Kumar Batalvi, and Guru Nanak Dev Ji’s love poetry come to mind. These works share the complications, nuances, selfishness, self-lessness, and spirituality of love.
Even though the ending in some of these works is not “happily-every-after”, I think beauty lies in the process and meaning of their love … how their actions expressed it … not so much the outcome! Let’s take Love Day to think and appreciate the expression of love in Punjabi and Sikh literature !
Dedicated to “The man on the bridge in Modinagar and the victims of Air India Flight 182,” Can You Hear the Nightbird Call?, is said to be one of the recommended reads for Sikhs everywhere. While there are numerous historical accounts of the Partition, Operation Bluestar, and the Delhi riots – this is one of the few fictional accounts I have come across where the same feeling and emotions rise to the surface as they do when we think back to those events.
The author, Anita Rau Badami recalls,
[It was] just after Indira Gandhi was assassinated by two of her Sikh bodyguards. I’d been married two weeks. My husband and I were traveling back to Delhi after our honeymoon. In Modingar, a town close to Delhi, we saw a Sikh man standing on a bridge… his turban removed, his long hair unbound, his arms pinned to his sides by a car tire, surrounded by a group of hoodlums. Somebody tossed something at him and the next moment the man was on fire. [Link]
This event is the seed for the novel. The story spans over half a century, from the Partition in 1947 to the Delhi riots following the events of 1984 and finally to the explosion of the Air India flight in 1985. It’s the story of the intersection between personal concerns and larger ethical and political ones. Bibiji, Nimmo, and Leela are the three main characters of the novel – three women whose lives merge and diverge by chance yet are linked through the political turmoil and destruction in Panjab, first during the 1947 partition and then again during the events of 1984. Bibiji grows up in Panjab and as a teenager manages to steal her sister’s husband-to-be and moves with him to Vancouver. Leela, a half-German woman from Banglore, also follows her husband to Vancouver and befriends Bibiji. Nimmo, my favorite character, remains in Delhi and is a direct witness to the partition. She is also Bibiji’s niece and in a twist of fate, she reluctantly agrees to send her oldest son, Jasbeer, to live with Bibiji in Canada. It’s a heartbreaking decision that Nimmo will come to regret. Interestingly, Badami’s three heroines were partly inspired by a collection of survivors’ testimonies published by People’s Union for Democratic Rights in 1984 about the impact of the Delhi riots.
