Sikhism and a visit to the Gurdwara

Sikhism has been creeping up into my consciousness the past few weeks. It started with David Cameron’s visit to India back in February, as a kind of follow-up from Boris Johnson’s visit last autumn. As part of his PR exercise, he visited Amritsar – home, of course, to the Sikh Golden Temple – and scene of the 1919 massacre when British troops opened fire, without warning, on 10,000 people holding a protest meeting. Around 400 people were killed and 1000 wounded. Cameron stopped short of an apology but described it as a ‘deeply shameful event’ – condemned even at the time by the British Government. For Amit Baruah, however, this gesture was meaningless as the violence of Empire was too widespread. ‘See,’ he writes, ‘your violence and our shame was embedded in Empire. We can distinguish between the day-to-day and the spectacular, or how one of your predecessors, Winston Churchill, ensured that no grain reached millions of starving Indians during World War II. Here’s a small problem, Mr Cameron. You might find something ‘deeply shameful’ in every city and town of this country, something you may not want to apologise for’ (Open Magazine, 21 February 2013). Colonial guilt is not so easily assuaged then - although you have to have some sympathy for Cameron’s ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t’ situation. [And, let’s face it, independent India also has its flashpoints such as Indira Gandhi’s attack on the Golden Temple in 1984. Not a high point in modern Indian history and one which led to her assassination by her Sikh bodyguards].

Last week then saw the first in a new series on weddings in Britain. The first episode of ‘A Very British Wedding’ on BBC2 focused on two couples. One of the couples, Kami and Dev were Sikh, living in Doncaster. I’m afraid I am with Sam Wollaston on this one, reviewing the programme for The Guardian (14 March 2013) and I quote:

‘There are [a] few Sikh and Punjabi traditions going on. The Guru Granth Sahib gets invited; Dav has a sword that has been passed down the generations; he and Kami can’t see each other for the six weeks leading up to the big day; she makes Indian sweets and blubs some more, before being rubbed in turmeric.... You know what, though, a bit of turmeric isn’t enough. Just about everybody’s got someone making Indian sweets in their family now, haven’t they? That’s sort of the point of the series: this is totally normal in this country. It doesn’t make it either fascinating or entertaining television’.

In the UK today, we seem to project ‘culture’ onto immigrant groups in society. So, Kami and Dav have culture: Dav plays in a Punjabi bhangra band, whose dance moves come from the farming in Punjabi villages of their parents and grandparents. They even imported hay bales into their back garden to try and recreate the farming feel for a pre-wedding party. And it’s all really important to maintain and propagate these traditions within their ‘community’. The flip side to this is that I (white British, non-immigrant) don’t have culture. I did have a thought that if I got married, I could try and recreate the cigarette, biscuit and jam factory feel in my back garden of my ancestors who worked there in Liverpool. Or perhaps a Scottish theme of my maternal grandfather (rollmop herrings in oatmeal springs to mind). Doesn’t have quite the same resonance though as I am deemed culture-less now, an urban Londonite who takes on the shade and cuisine of any number of cultures I am surrounded and influenced by depending on my mood. Real cultures, with traditions worth upholding.

And so to Friday when I was a volunteer parent helper for my son’s class visit to the local gurdwara. This was a first for me as well as my son – never having actually been inside a gurdwara. We all donned our headcoverings (my son looking a bit like a pirate with a blue scarf tied round his head like a bandana) for a tour inside. I was impressed with how all the children, without prompting, just followed each other in respectfully putting some money into the offering box in front of the Guru Granth Sahib and kneeled down, touching their foreheads to the floor.

As far as religions go, Sikhism is impressive. Honestly, the basic principles are like the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, around 500 years before they were actually formulated. Gender equality, no Hindu and no Muslim, no idols or statues as objects of worship and an emphasis on service and looking after others. And practical: the kindly elderly man who showed us round (looking the archetypal Sikh fatherly-type) asked the class why they took off their shoes before coming into the gurdwara. ‘To show respect’ one of them answered, very plausibly. Actually, he said, ‘It’s to keep the place clean’. Of course! In the room where we were sitting, there were some blankets and mattresses in a pile, in case of visitors who needed somewhere to sleep.

After tasting some of the karah prasad (sweet, blessed food), we went to the Langar for lunch. Now this is where Sikhism is seriously admirable. We were told that they served around 300-400 free lunches each weekday and between 700–1000 at weekends. Amazing. Of course, as a white, blonde English woman I am assumed to have no knowledge of Indian or South Asian culture at all. I have the opposite of what Susen complains of – that he is assumed not to celebrate Christmas or Christian festivals by virtue of being brown-skinned. So, I sat down and one of my son’s classmates sitting next to me, of Indian parentage, helpfully told me what the dhal was, and how to eat it with pieces of the bread (chapati) – assuming I didn’t know. I just thanked her for helping me.

I have always had one slight gripe about Sikhism, in that one of the founding principles is to reject all sorts of blind rituals as well as any idol worship. All well and good, but what about all the rituals surrounding the Guru Granth Sahib? – a book of teachings, revered as a living God, wrapped up and kept under covers like a bed, a brush wafted over the top to keep it cool, only carried on someone’s head. It all seems.....well a bit like blind rituals to a book that is, after all, a book with words (albeit holy words) written in it. On my bookshelves, I have copies of (among others): the Bible, the Qu’ran, the Holy Teachings of Vimalakirti, the Sutra of Golden Light, the Dhammapada – I could go on. Yes, I try to look after them and not throw them around – but no, I don’t wrap them up in cloth, carry them on my head or fan them with a brush.

I confronted this objection of mine with one of the school teachers, who was Sikh herself. She said it was just a sign of respect, and that it was the only thing or ritual that was practiced – everything else (from Hinduism) had been abandoned. Actually, I felt OK about this. After all, in my Buddhist youth (another story), I had no problem in ‘bowing’ or ‘saluting’ the shrine with the symbols of the Buddha, candles, incense and flowers – as paying homage to the ideals which they embody, rather than the inanimate objects themselves. So to with the Guru Granth Sahib, it seems to me.

Another problem I encounter with Sikhism is it’s adherence to, and identification with, Punjabi culture. The language of the gurdwara is Punjabi, the hymns are chanted or sung in Punjabi, the script of the Guru Granth Sahib is a form of Punjabi. The food in the Langar is Northern Indian. This makes it extremely difficult for any non-Punjabi to consider becoming (I hesitate to say ‘converting to’) a Sikh. This is a shame as it has so much to offer – and may also alienate 2nd or 3rd generation Sikh immigrants to the UK as they identify less with Punjabi culture, and their knowledge of the Punjabi language decreases.
So too with Sikhism’s professed gender equality. Why was it therefore that all the musicians and hymn singers in the gurdwara always (or predominantly) seem to be male, whereas the chefs and servers in the kitchen were female? Gender stereotypes are easy to dispel with in words, but harder to do in practice.

It also seems to be the case that, despite its proclaimed equality, Sikhism still has a caste system which operates in the diaspora as well as in India. This seems to be particularly salient among ‘ex-untouchables’ or Dalits who converted to Sikhism as a way out of the discrimination encountered in India to being an ‘untouchable’ Hindu. The discrimination experienced as Dalits in India seems to have been, in some instances, carried into the UK and continued as a source of discrimination both within the Sikh community, gurdwara and even employment (including within the NHS). Such high ideals always seem to become compromised in practice among fallible human beings.

Sikhism is not without its Western converts. I noticed, in my research, that Alexandra Aitken, daughter of the former government minister Jonathan Aitken, had become a Sikh. She claims to have visited Amritsar and seen her future husband (an Indian Sikh) at the Golden Temple. Apparently she just ‘knew’ – even without having spoken to him – that he was the one she was going to marry. And so she did, becoming a Sikh – complete with outer trappings of white turban – with the enthusiasm that only new converts can demonstrate. Let’s hope it lasts and she continues to practise and find spiritual fulfilment. Others have come to Sikhism through the practice of Kundalini Yoga – although not strictly Sikh in origin itself.

It is, however, hard to become or practise Sikhism as a Westerner. The gurdwara remains inaccessible in language and culture and Sikhism’s reluctance to proselytise makes it a difficult religion with which to have a dialogue – in contrast to, say, Christianity or Islam. To my mind, however, it remains the most plausible, sensible and compassionate religion I have come across – at least in its ideal. Let’s hope it’s influence extends far beyond the gates of the gurdwara.