The Colour Of Faith

Kahai Nanak gur parsad jina lagi tin wiche maia paia(Those who are attached in love for God by the grace of the Guru realise Him even in the midst of Mammon) —Guru Nanak

IT'S 6 pm and senior students of Miri Piri Academy in Guru ki Wadalai near Amritsar clamber onto a school bus. Their destination: the Golden Temple for the evening rehrass. Girls in churidar kurtas with long hair tucked under their turbans and boys in banas and cholas. But for the colour of their skin and accents, nothing can distinguish them from the thousands who make their way to the holiest Sikh shrine. Says Hardev Singh as he drives us to the academy: "They may be White but they are more Sikh than many of us."

 Welcome to Amritsar's only school for "foreign" Sikhs, set up in 1997 at a cost of Rs 1.5 crore. Says Kirpal Singh, Miri Piri's academic director, an American: "It all began when we started going to Yogi Harbhajan Singh's classes in America in the '60s." The yogi's kundalini classes were a rage where he often narrated the life and teachings of Guru Nanak. "I met Yogiji in 1969. I was a long-haired student at the University of Colorado. After a year of yoga, he brought a group to India. That was the turning point." It took Kirpal Singh two years to shed his American identity, including his name, before he adopted the Sikh religion.

Today, there are 10,000 and more committed turban-wearing White Sikhs all over the West. A spinoff from Sixties-style neophytes to eastern spiritualism, many of them, like Kirpal, are no longer young rebels. Ironically, for a generation that told its parents to get out of the way, many are sending their kids to the code-bound life at Miri Piri. Says principal Panch Parvan Singh, an ex-US Marine who incidentally is not a turban-wearing Sikh: "We had students coming to various schools in India but that didn't meet our requirements so Yogiji decided to build our own school." The academy has 97 students on its rolls—the youngest eight, the oldest 18. By the time the school is fully set up, it will admit as many as 500 pupils.

Harbhajan Singh's dream plan took time to take off because of the reign of terrorism in Punjab in the '80s. But once the SGPC leased out a 16-acre plot to the school for 50 years in the mid-'90s, work started in earnest. Located near the Chheharta Sahib Gurdwara, the school derives its name from the sixth guru, Guru Hargobindji. The story goes that he possessed two large swords, Miri and Piri, signifying the physical and the spiritual. Says Brig. K.S. Virk, director: "It was a challenge. This is in the middle of nowhere and we've had to develop our own sewerage and water system."

At Miri Piri, the day begins at 5.30 am, and by 6 am, everyone is expected to be at the morning sadhana. Dressed in shorts and T-shirts, but with their heads covered, the senior students follow their yoga teacher Hari Jiwan Kaur as she takes them through the kundalini yoga. Must they always keep their heads covered? Well, explains Panch Parvan Singh: "This helps to keep the kundalini shakti centred." Kripal Kaur, Panch Parvan Singh's secretary and Kirpal Singh's wife, offers an amusing aside: "The turban for the girls is almost like a fashion statement. They make a great effort to tie it differently."

AFTER prayers, the students undergo rigorous physical training. If it's a dose of physical education theory on Thursdays; they have to go sprinting on Mondays, learn gatka (traditional sword fighting) on Tuesdays; self-defence on Wednesdays; and go marching on Friday. Saturday is a fun day; Sundays are for resting.

At 9.15, it's assembly time: the entire school turns out in blue, the colour of the 10th guru, Gobind Singh. With kirpans, made specially in Damdama, slung by the side, and white turbans, the students are now ready for a full day of, yes, American curricula. Then, there are classes on Sikh dharma and kirtans.

We walk into a Sikh dharma class for standard V where Guru Deep Kaur, an Indian Sikh, is trying her best to interest her class in Lehana, Guru Nanak's disciple. Hargobind Singh, 10, last year's Chakra (a type of gatka) competition winner, wants to leave the class on some pretext or the other. Another student, Gurumukh Singh, pipes up that it's lunch time. But what nearly breaks Guru Deep's patience is Gurumukh's cheeky query about whether she is an amritdhari Sikh (a Sikh who has taken the pledge to follow the rigid tenets in toto). The proverbial bell, this time to announce lunch, saves the teacher from further American inquisition.

In its own way, Miri Piri Academy does try to maintain links with its environs. Last year, the students were introduced to Queen Elizabeth and the Duke of Edinburgh, on their visit to the Golden Temple—they were the only ones allowed on the parikrama. Besides, on the 6th of every month, the students sing kirtans at the Akal Takht. Art teacher Hari Jiwan Kaur, 43, an American who converted two years ago, is painting the ceiling of the Takht's second floor. Before the school closed for its annual three-and-a-half month summer break, it participated in a gatka tournament. Says Panch Parvan Singh: "Culturally, we guide the students to be as close to Punjab. We stay away from politics—as it's difficult for us to understand."

They don't really have to because most of the students are here for their school years and will duly go back to the US or other parts of the West. Says 17-year-old Jai Jagdesh Kaur, who wants to be an actress in America. "I think I'll face problems. I know of another girl who wanted to pursue acting and was discouraged, but I will do it. I will follow Sikhism but not as strictly as many do."

So, why have they adopted a new religion? Take Hari Jiwan Kaur's story. She was raised as a Lutheran, but delved into other forms of religion, including Zen Buddhism. "I wasn't looking for Sikhism, but it's joyful," she says of her new faith. Six months after converting, she landed in India and turned her back on a lucrative career as an illustrator. Others say they converted simply because "Sikhism is a better way of life".

For many of these teenagers, Sikhism has meant a rejection of the American lifestyle. They are expected to stay away from intoxicants; pre-marital sex is frowned upon—they prefer not to hug or hold hands with members of the opposite sex. In case a relationship blossoms, the two are encouraged to marry. As it happened with the head girl, 17-year-old Guruamrit Kaur. After a brief courtship with an ex-student, Guruamrit is all set to settle down. "We are not supposed to divorce. If the thought of divorce never crosses your mind, then it won't happen."

The students are also discouraged from watching violent or prurient films like Pulp Fiction and Basic Instinct. Panch Parvan Singh says all students are tested for drugs, but admits he can't vouch for their actions during the break. "There have been a couple of minor incidents with alcohol," he says.

 Most of these children have been born into the faith and have known no other way of life. Some take the religion so seriously that they vow to follow the rigid tenets when they are too young to understand what it entails. Harmandir Jot Singh, 17, became an amritdhari when he was all of 12 years old. "My parents didn't know about my decision. I took amrit twice." Having said that, he admits that he often wonders why he chose the difficult path. "It's hard to follow all the rules, but these are obstacles—the tests of life," he reasons, philosophically.

A typical day for Harmandir would mean reading the Guru Granth Sahib at least once a day. Besides, he has to wear the five 'Ks'—kachcha, kangha, kirpan, kesh, kada—keep his hair long, desist from 'altering' his body in anyway, eat out of steel and marry a Sikh. Ambition—his parents own a very successful jewellery business in America—is unimportant if it interferes with his faith. Most of these students do not seem to mind the strict regimen. For some, salvation means a 40-day seva at the Golden Temple.

That these students try to straddle two cultures is evident in that there are Halloween and Valentine Day bashes as well as bhangra fests. You can hear rap; and the shabad. A pair of Nike shoes fits in perfectly with the traditional chola. Recalls Guru Simirat Kaur, a 17-year-old from Oslo, the in-house bhangra expert: "One summer back home, I taught some Indian girls how to dance the Indian way." Guru Simirat's dancing is only rivalled by her interest in Hindi films. Dinner at a dhaba is enriched because a poster of Dil Se.. is handed over as a birthday gift to a friend, Siri Atma Kaur.

But then, these students often suffer from an identity crisis—the different dress code leading to all sorts of awkward questions. Twelve-year-old Niranjan Kaur is grappling with the crisis: "In India, people laugh at me because they think I am a boy since I wear a turban. In America, I feel weird when I wear a turban. I feel bad when they laugh and stare at me."

For many, one solution is to cling together. Some work in the various businesses run by members of the following; others marry into the clan. Says 12-year-old Guru Sahabad Singh: "I like it here as I don't have Sikh friends in America." Panch Parvan Singh puts it another way: "We are 100 per cent Sikhs, and 100 per cent Americans." Whichever way you look at it, these "foreign" Sikhs have found their own curious blend.