Showing posts with label Sikh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sikh. Show all posts

Sunday, December 12, 2010

A GOAT MAKES A LION SHEEPISH

For the last few months, my creative endeavours have been mostly concerned with visual arts instead of writing. I’ve been working with Photoshop and gif and, most recently, with Windows Movie Maker. I have also been teaching myself to knit Estonian lace, an accomplishment for those with two usable hands. 




My writing has kind of fallen into the bin of things I just don’t make the time for. A couple of dear friends have really been pestering me to write something, anything. Today, there is a heavy rain and I feel like a change, so I will write about an incident on our lovely little farm many, many years ago when life was simple and generally a lot of fun.

I’m not sure I can write this. It’s about the funniest thing that ever happened to me and even thinking about it I can’t stop laughing. It concerns a grumpy, cantankerous nanny goat – they are all grumpy and cantankerous, but this one seemed to have some special chip on her goat shoulders – and a strong, dignified, self-possessed Khalsa lion who was always in control of himself and never let anything discombobulate him.


A lovely Saturday summer’s day on the farm. Mani had decided that I needed a break from my usual routine and that he would milk the goats. I admit I wasn’t too sure that that was a good idea. Mani was a great doctor and very good at doing almost everything, but he was a city boy right down to his cellular structure and the farm was an alien environment to him. I was, of course, raised in the city, but parts of our summers in India had been spent on the family farm, always a welcome relief from the filth of the city. I sort of caught the farming bug then and felt at home on our little farm.

 
Back to milking the goats. Mani, of course, looked perfect. He had decided to play nihang, I guess, and was wearing a blue chola and a perfectly tied turban. I knew the goats wouldn’t be impressed, but, to be honest, I was. He always – almost always – impressed me. So he took the milking bucket and all 6’ 3” (191 cm) of himself out to the barn.
 
I sat down in the kitchen to work on my knitting and enjoy a cup of tea and some homemade bread and jam.

For a time all was peaceful. I could hear the happy little birds chirping and the sound of Sandeep and Rosa’s kids playing happily in the back ground when—

Mani came running full speed into the kitchen, screaming as I had never heard him scream before, in a complete panic – (Sorry, I have to stop for a laugh time) – “Shut the door! Shut the door!”

[Freeze frame] Before I continue with the action, I must describe my thoroughly discombobulated husband. His chola had somehow come completely open, his turban was loose and disheveled and goat milk – my wonderful goat milk – my dribbling from his drenched beard. What milk had managed to make it into the bucket was slopping and spilling all over the floor.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t shut the door. All I could do was laugh helplessly. Normally I am a kind person who wouldn’t just laugh at someone in such panicked distress, but this was my imperturbable Mani, the always calm, always perfect Mani Singh with goat milk dribbling down his beard onto his naked hairy chest.

[Resume action] Immediately behind him ran one very determined nanny goat. Determined to catch him and do God-only-knows-what to him. Needless to say, I could not close the door. I was laughing too hard. I think ROFL had not yet been invented, but I was laughing so hard that I was bent over double, unable even to breathe, and actually fell out of the chair onto the floor. ROFL. So there I was, helplessly laughing on the floor – which by now was slippery with goat milk, my husband first glaring down at me and then at the goat and one nanny goat standing, smiling triumphantly at the whole scene.




Goats Don't Belong In the Kitchen!




“If you can stop laughing long enough, get that damned beast out of our kitchen!” Poor Mani just didn’t see the humour of the situation yet. (He would later, of course.) I struggled to my feet and slid over to the goat while Mani made his way to one of the chairs. He was almost there to safety when he slipped and that whole big body crashed to the floor. He grabbed at the table and managed just to catch the end of the tablecloth, pulling jam and bread and tea onto his prostrate body. I am sure that someday, in some remote corner of hell, I will pay for this, but I couldn’t resist saying, “Lo, how the mighty are fallen,” as I picked myself up. The goat meanwhile had started nibbling at a flower pot on the counter and had pooped on the floor. I managed to get her out of the kitchen and back to the barn. She liked me well enough and I suppose that she was content to return home, having had her triumph. 

Still barely in control of myself, I quickly ran back to our house, to the kitchen, hoping to get to a camera before Mani regained his senses. I was too late. He had already run off to the shower. Not before disposing of the goat poop, though.

I started to clean up the mess, leaving him to nurse his wounded pride. After a time, he returned, looking again like Mani, calm, self-possessed and all that, although he was very, very red from blushing embarrassment. Rather sheepishly, he insisted on finishing cleaning up the kitchen, which was very sweet of him. I made another pot of tea and ate my jam and bread and knitted and burst out laughing every time I even glanced at him.

Two things I learned from this:


  1. Bana is not appropriate attire for milking goats.
  2. Goats do not belong in my kitchen.

Mani never offered to milk the goats again. 





 

Picture credits can be found at:    Goats Don't Belong In the Kitchen

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

FREE PAL SINGH

How would you feel if someone you knew to be a dedicated humanitarian who left a wealthy, comfortable life to work among the poor was framed as a terrorist, arrested and tortured?  Please add to that the fact that he is 60 years old and in frail health.  What would you do?

This is the case with Pal Singh of France.  I wrote this post primarily for Sikh readers.  I am condensing it considerably.  For the rest of the story, please go to Free Pal Singh. 

Bhai Pal Singh Ji
The illustrious Punjab police are at it again. Once again an innocent Sikh has been framed, arrested and tortured by the protectors of the law in East Punjab.  This time it was Bhai Pal Singh, 60, a French citizen, Sikh preacher and humantarian worker, especially among the poor farmers of Punjab.

Although the cops say that they dug up weapons, ammunition and explosives, the neighbours say that nothing was dug at all.  Is it possible that the Punjab police, not noted for their good intelligence (pun intended), have mistaken "Tat Khalsa," a religious movement with "Babbar Khalsa," a proKhalistan group, believed to be terroristic by some.  Here is one instance of what seems to be such confusion:   Tat Khalsa supporting activities of Sikh terrorists, claims Punjab police.

Don't be fooled by the turbans;  these are not friends of the Sikhs!
There is so much I would like to say, but words fail me.  We all know about the excesses of the Punjab Police.  They would not hesitate to torture even to death an innocent Sikh man who has done nothing but good.  France has done nothing, although he is a French citizen.   It falls on the shoulders of the worldwide Sikh Sangat and other people of good will to champion this dear brother and make his case known to the world.  Is this not one more argument that we need our own country to respond to such things? 

One of the men arrested with him has been severely tortured and is near death. Pal Singh's health is very frail and it is mostly likely he could not survive torture at the gentle hands of the Punjab police.  Harminder Kaur, in the Facebook page, Free Pal Singh, reports that "a familly friend has visited Pal Singh and said he was very weak."
 

So what can any of us do, other than sit and wring our hands?  The first thing to do is to be informed.  Here is some help to get you started.

Information is not easy to come by.  This in itself is suspicious to me.  I am relying primarily on two Facebook pages, Free Pal Singh and Voices For Freedom.   I ask you to go there and join these two pages.  Facebook is sometimes silly and frivolous, true;  it is also very powerful. 

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Who is Pal Singh?   This article tells a bit about who he is and what he's about.
 


What is the official story of his arrest?  This is a lot of nonsense, but it is useful to know the official story.

Click on picture to see larger, readable page.
A photo from Times of India of their story.  


Here is a list of human rights organisations that we would like to mobilise to help Bhai Pal Singh ji.  Please visit each of them asking for help for Bhai Pal Singh.


Amnesty International
http://www.amnesty.org/

Avocats Sans Frontières
http://www.avocatssansfrontieres-france.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=173&Itemid=129&lang=en

The Advocates for Human Rights
http://www.mnadvocates.org/

Giste
http://www.gisti.org/

Human Rights Watch
http://www.hrw.org/


International Coalition against Enforced Disappearances
http://www.icaed.org/the-coalition/


UN Watch
http://www.unwatch.org/site/c.bdKKISNqEmG/b.1277549/k.D7FE/UN_Watch__Monitoring_the_UN_Promoting_Human_Rights.htm

World Organisation Against Torture
http://www.omct.org/


Asian Human Rights Commission (Asia)
http://www.ahrchk.net/

Asian Centre for Human Rights (Asia)
http://www.achrweb.org/countries/india.htm


All pictures are from the Free Pal Singh Facebook page except that of the Punjab Police, which is from in.com.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

A Late Entry For International Women's Day

This is a part of the Sikh morning prayer, prayed daily by millions of Sikhs.  It is from our Sacred Book, Our Eternal Guru, Shri Guru Granth Sahib.

It is appropriate for International Women's Day, I think.  It would be nice if this respect were really practiced and not just mouthed.



From woman, man is born; 
within woman, man is conceived; 
to woman he is engaged and married.
Woman becomes his friend; 
through woman, the future generations come.
When his woman dies, he seeks another woman; 
to woman he is bound.

So why call her bad? 
From her, kings are born.
From woman, woman is born; 
without woman, there would be no one at all.
O Nanak, only the True Lord is without a woman.
That mouth which praises the Lord continually is blessed and beautiful.
O Nanak, those faces shall be radiant in the Court of the True Lord. ||2||

Picture:  Are Going To Battle courtesy of Simmal Tree