January 22, 2006
The Girl and the Guru
Friday night I was invited to the home of a Sikh family for a special event. Kulveer, the girl at work who has been stalked and terrorized by her ex-boyfriend (his last evil deed was to throw a powder in her face that made her skin burn and turn red for a few days), asked me to visit her home for the birthday celebration of her younger brother and sister, who are twins. More than that however, the Sikh holy book, the Bead as it seems to be called though I don’t know about the spelling, was brought to their home and a guru came to read from the book. This meant that family and friends were invited over from Friday evening to Sunday evening to listen to some of the readings and also to socialize and eat. As this seemed like a special cultural event and Kulveer had invited me, I didn’t want to miss out.
The home was one of those Monster Houses that most white families don’t like to see cropping up in their neighbourhoods so much. I am not a big fan of them either but this was a chance to see inside. There was a living room area once you first walk in but all the furniture had been moved to a corner to make a large clear floor space, where lots of people could pass through to the kitchen, or stand and chat, or the children could run around and play. It was one of those vaulted ceilings or whatever you call them – the ceiling is part of the second floor ceiling. There was a stairway to the left climbing to the second floor and a walkway going all the way around to the front wall on the right. Two doors opened on the right of the second floor and there were also a doorway to a hall both at the top of the stairs and at the back left. Downstairs there were doorways in the same positions. People stood about chatting, saying hello and goodbye, and I was surprised to note that all the men had either modern short haircuts with thin trimmed beards or they had small turbans and short trimmed beards. I had expected to see more of the traditional Sikh men with the long beards and large wrapped turbans. But I saw only one the whole evening. The women were all dressed in saris.
I was introduced to many people in Punjabi and English and Kulveer called me her paji, which is a respectful term that means brother but also one that she uses at work for me in a friendly way. As she is a woman I should call her panji, meaning sister. These are good words to know. You can go up to any Sikh man and say, “Ki hale, paji?” or to a woman and say, “Ki hale, panji?” and you are saying, “How are you, brother?” or “How are you, sister?” It’s all cool and respectful. Oh, and note ‘hale’ is not read with the long English A but as two syllables with the short vowel sounds, ‘ha-le’. The men shook hands with men, clutching my hand with both their hands in a friendly way. I was led in to the kitchen and family area, where people were sitting and eating or chatting. Some older men sat on a couch in the family room talking. Two children were running about the floor. Three young woman in saris – one of red, one of green and one of blue – were sitting at a small table talking together. I met Kulveer’s father and mother and a number of ‘uncles’. I later learned that each family member has a distinct title. There’s a title for your father’s oldest brother and one for the next brother and the next and also a title for you mother’s oldest brother and the next and the next. The same goes for aunts, cousins and so on. But keeping track is so difficult in big families that for simplicity everyone is an uncle, aunt or cousin.
I was given a plate and encouraged to take some sweets from some trays. I had brought a box of Indian sweets, many of which looked really good, but here were some different things to try. I was then ushered into a spare bedroom, where there was a couch and a coffee table, and I sat down to eat. It was a bit weird since no one else was around. I had thought I might have the chance to talk to some of the people but I had noted that many of them had not greeted me in English or simply with ‘hello’. Maybe a lot of them couldn’t speak much English. Kulveer came back with her younger brother, the birthday boy. He was only sixteen but looked more like nineteen. He was quiet but nice enough. One of her younger sisters also came in later. She was very pretty and more talkative than the brother was. The birthday girl was at work however, so I never met her. Once I had finished the sweets I was brought back to the kitchen where I could get some food.
This is the simple tray that everyone got. Clockwise from the patties at the top there was a kind of bean or lentil stew type of thing, a spicy vegetable mixture, a cool white mildly flavoured sauce with beans or something like that, something very much like runny rice pudding, and a sweet desert made of a kind of cheese, sponge cake and rosewater. The rice pudding was what I liked the best. Small pieces are torn from the patties and you fold them over and scoop up some of the food, or you can use a spoon to put food on the patty. When the Bead is in the house you have to eat on the floor because no one is supposed to sit higher than the holy book. I was told that I didn’t have to sit on the floor but I did anyway.
While eating we were joined by a cousin Jerry (his English name) and his wife Jaz. Jerry came to Canada when he was ten and spoke English with only a hint of an accent, although at times he suddenly sounded British. I asked him about it and he said that it just happens; he doesn’t try to fake a British accent. He was also very funny when he did the stereotypical exaggerated Indian accent. Somehow it was funnier to hear an Indian person do it and make fun of his own people than to hear a white person do it. White people just make it sound so mocking. Jaz was born on the Island and spoke English as any other western Canadian would. If you were to hear her on the phone you wouldn’t guess she’s of Indian descent. She can, however, speak Punjabi. Jerry and Jaz use Punjabi when speaking to their children but the kids always answer back in English. They see their language fading out with the next generation. It’s the same, I told them, as my case, where my parents spoke Danish to my sister and me when we were kids but we always answered in English. Today my sister has very little spoken language ability in Danish and I have some but still don’t know a lot of basic things. Kulveer had a lot to say to Jaz but she spoke in Punjabi. It seemed she was complaining about something, though she laughs when she complains, so it’s hard to say how much of it was really upsetting. I commented to Jerry that she speaks Punjabi when she complains, and Kulveer said, “Don’t worry – I’m not complaining about you.”
After eating and talking for a while, Jerry and Jaz said they had to get going soon. I was invited by Kulveer to go upstairs and see the guru. First I had to cover my head with a kerchief. I was lead to a room that had been cleared of most of the furniture. White table clothes were spread on the floor and a single lamp stood to one side of a low table covered with a long dark blue felt cloth. The cloth had words of the Sikh language stitched on in silver sparkles. An elderly Sikh man with a long white beard, black turban, white robes and large glasses sat behind the table with a big book open in front of him. Over his head hung an impressively large ornament of coloured shiny paper and a blue cloth. To his right was a small table in the corner with napkins and a tray of some edible substance. To the back right of the room were a couple of dressers with images of the Gurus on plates or paintings.
Kulveer sat down with her legs folded under her – the Japanese seiza position – clutched her hands before her with closed eyes and invited me to sit next to her. The guru looked up when we entered and did a double take with his eyes when he saw me. His reading was mostly monotone and almost chant-like and he never faltered when he gave me a second look.
I sat in the same position next to Kulveer and felt awkward. I didn’t want to do anything out of place, especially as this was a very significant religious event here. From what I gathered, Sikhs don’t have a copy of the holy book in every home as we might have the Bible. So when the book is brought to the home it’s a big deal and an honour to be the one to bring it from the temple to the house. The guru sits and reads continuously for two hours while people come in and listen for a bit and then leave when they feel like it. But he is not the only person to read from the book. From the moment the book arrives at the house to the moment the book leaves the house (48 hrs) someone must be there to read from it. Everyone who reads gets a two hour shift, no matter what time of day or night. So all night people have to wake up and sit down to do their part in reading. I am sure that many night-shift readers have no visitors. And you don't have to dress like a guru either. Even Jerry, with his modern Indo-gangsta-style of beard (he's not an Indo-gangsta, I heard) and Harley Davidson bandana could sit and read if he was scheduled to do so.
No one was there while we were and Kulveer left the room for a moment while I sat. I looked around a little and tried to listen to what the guru was reading. Alas, my Punjabi is limited to five phrases and I didn’t hear the guru read, “What are you doing?” or “What’s up, brother?” so I didn’t understand anything. Kulveer came back and said I could take photos so I took a couple, though I was concerned that it wouldn’t be appropriate. I didn’t use the flash anyway.
After taking a couple of photos I bowed to the floor with my hands placed palm down in front, closed my eyes and clutched my hands together before my chest as Kulveer had done and got up. Kulveer gave me a bit of some sweet, oily cake called ‘pasha’. Then she showed me around the upstairs. I noticed a wooden plaque with paintings of The Ten Gurus on it. Kulveer explained that there were ten gurus who wrote the holy book. The first was born in 1469 and died in 1539 and the others followed until the last died in seventeen hundred and something. The holy book was then complete. I wondered why they stopped there. Had there been an eleventh guru who came along and tried to write further but saw the words ‘The End’ and then discovered that the authors’ rights prohibited any sequels?
She showed me her room and when we entered someone who had been sleeping on the bed propped herself up to see who had come in. It was another aunt taking a rest from all the commotion. Kulveer's room had a big mirror and two boxes with at least 30 different lipsticks in each. She pointed out wire coathangers, five in total, that were full of bangles. I noticed an large cassette collection, all of which had Punjabi writing. Not a Britney Spears or Madonna cassette in the whole collection.
Finally, I had to get going. I thanked her mother and father, saying “Danay Waade,” which made her mother smile, and said goodbye to a couple of other people I had met – uncles and cousins. Kulveer was very happy that I came and invited me to come with my family on Sunday. I had other plans, however, but thanked her for an enjoyable and educational evening.
