Gurudwara

Sikh communities everywhere are known for their enterprise and faith. Small communities of Sikhs everywhere in the world quickly become closely knit and establish a prominent presence for themselves in the community. They also integrate quite well with the native communities. I have myself seen this in Mysore where most Sikhs I have met speak excellent Kannada. Of course Bangalore is a different matter because nobody there speaks Kannada.

The Sikhs of Columbus are no exception. Though they are quite small in number, they have succeeded in setting up a Gurudwara for themselves and are running it quite well. For most immigrant communities, the establishment of a religious institution is an indication of their progress in society and also of the closeness of the community.

This particular Gurudwara is in the nearby town of Worthington. NK, a classmate in the MBA program, has a Sikh as a colleague at his office. Samarjit Singh is an undergrad here at OSU and is a very polite and affable young man. His use of the suffix “Bhaiyya” after our names is quite endearing. Since he wanted to go to the Gurudwara and did not have a car, he asked Nilesh to take him. The carrot he held out was the weekly langar that is a tradition in all Gurudwaras. Word got around to other Indians in our group and it was soon decided that all of us would go to the Gurudwara that Sunday. The fact that the reason for our visit was more temporal than spiritual did not bother us.

It was a drive of about twenty minutes to the Gurudwara. This was going to be my first ever visit to a Gurudwara. Many of my friends who are north Indians had been to Gurudwaras before. Indeed, in north India, it is quite common to see both Hindus and Sikhs visit Gurudwaras on a regular basis, which I feel is, but an example of our inclusiveness.

Having parked our cars, we made our way to the Gurudwara, which had a table set up at the entrance with a big container of a drink called Roohafza. This is a popular rose flavoured north Indian drink that is very refreshing. Volunteers offered each visitor a glass of the drink with a smile and a “Sat Sri Akal”.

We then entered the Gurudwara and Samarjit reminded us that we could not enter the prayer hall in uncovered heads. There was a place with scarves for people like us and we were required to tie it around our heads. Having done that, we entered the prayer hall where the priest was singing the Gurbani – hymns in praise of the Sikh gurus. Men were seated to one side and the women on the other. Almost all the men were wearing turbans and the few that were not had scarves like ours.

Once the service was completed, a volunteer made several announcements in Punjabi, which apparently were related to administrative matters. This was also the occasion when members of the gathering pledged the sponsorship of future langars. What I found remarkable was that the young man who was making the announcements was speaking fluent Punjabi even though (as I found out later) he was a third generation Indian. In fact, Samarjit warned us before we started out that any use of Hindi would be frowned upon and only Punjabi or English would be acceptable. As I noticed later, most of the notices on the boards were in English and Punjabi (in Gurumukhi). Ever the pessimist, I looked for signs of support for Khalistan and felt a bit guilty for doubting them when I didn’t find any.

After the prayer, many members of the congregation went downstairs to prepare for the serving of the food. In the meantime, Samarjit took all of us to the priest – an old man with a magnificent white beard and sparkling eyes – and introduced each one of us. He blessed us in Punjabi, the only word I could understand being “puttar” i.e. son.

The langar was served in the basement and the backyard that opened out from it. It was like any traditional Indian meal with all the devotees sitting on the floor in neat lines. Since the basement filled up quickly, we went out to the backyard where a few tables were set up, which was just as well because the weather was glorious. Right behind the Gurudwara was a dense clump of trees on ground that sloped down away from us. In the distance could be heard a stream.

Volunteers started serving the food and it was a wonderful spread to say the least. It was all home made and comprised of typical Punjabi vegetarian fare. There were parathas, rice, raita, rajma, potatoes etc. To make it more interesting, we had middle aged women coming to us to urge us to eat more, taunting us with words like, “Look at you – so young and you can’t even eat well. Shameful. Here, have two more parathas.” One lady came and declared that we had to eat well and also that we were welcome every week. What would our mothers think if we went to them looking underfed? Another man on hearing that we were students at the university related to us his own experience of going to the langar every week when he was in college. Dessert was a generous serving of delicious mango ice cream. Again, a woman came to us and ordered us to have seconds and went away muttering, “What is the world coming to when young men can’t eat properly”, quite disregarding the fact that all of us were stuffed so full we had to loosen our belts.

After lunch, some of the more adventurous among us proceeded to play some volleyball on the front lawn (no doubt encouraged by the presence of a group of very pretty girls standing nearby) while the lazier sorts (myself included) sat down under a tree happy to be spectators. After the enthusiasm of the volleyball players waned (which strangely enough coincided with the departure of the said girls), we started on our way back home.

This was my first experience of Punjabi hospitality and it was wonderful. I had never before been made to feel welcomer at a new place, and never before had perfect strangers served me with so much warmth.