I am Alice

I am Alice

in Wonderland;

diving down the rabbit hole,

plunging into a place unknown,

falling.

I pass by grandfather clocks

and pretty little teapots

on my endless drop

into darkness.

I understand the clocks;

their hands ticking away,

snatching dear moments off

like breadcrumbs

as I watch them crumble and spill

into the swelling pile of sand

on the bottom of an hourglass;

this is where I sit,

desperately trying to claw my way out,

drowning in my incessant fate,

helpless.

I am a prisoner of time.

…but what’s with the teapots?

I am Alice

in Wonderland

and I am free-falling

into an abyss.

At first, I feared the end,

when I would suddenly crash

into the cold ground,

but now

I’m afraid that the end

will never come,

that I will never stop falling.

Eventually, I will wake up,

gasping for the air

that will flood my lungs.

But for now,

I am Alice.

Come find me in Wonderland.

We’ll have some tea.

A Crime of Hate

a file piled upon a wooden desk

attached to a barely pronounceable

ethnic name

soon to be forgotten,

faded away,

worn out,

immortalized as a plus one,

nothing left but a mere statistic.

neglected was the

warm honey skin

that stretched across her beautiful curves

with a hint of incense,

the touch of orange henna

when the light would hit her hair,

tied neatly into a long winding braid

travelling to her knees.

she’d drink her morning chai with cardamom,

no sugar due to doctor’s orders.

her eyes were dark chocolate brown

outlined with black kohl smudged from overexertion,

superwoman to her two children,

fingernails often stained yellow from the turmeric

she’d use to fill okra, her husband’s favorite.

disregarded was the

smile that revealed cavities,

an unfortunate consequence

of her sweet tooth;

her laugh was melodic,

creating deep lines around her eyes.

she believed in God,

and would spend many hours

singing along with hymns on old cassette tapes

that she brought with her from India,

where she left her job as a history teacher

to fly to a land of opportunity, of hope,

to dream of a better life for her children.

she spent her days scrubbing the expensive granite floors

of old white women

who praised her for her good work ethic,

and she was happy.

they replaced her when she was gone,

no questions asked.

she will only be remembered by her family

and the man who shot her.

her death was not important enough to make the news;

what would they say anyway?

hate crimes don’t happen to people who look suspicious.

she will forever remain a barely pronounceable

ethnic name

on a file,

the contents of which will be faded and battered

by the tarnishes of time,

as she goes down in history,

immortalized as a plus one,

nothing left but a mere statistic,

a crime

of hate.

Tolerating Ignorance

I am almost always selected to be "randomly searched" at security checkpoints when I'm in a U.S. airport. 
It's not because I look threatening. 
It may be because of the color of my skin. 
But it is most probably because I am traveling with my father, and he wears a turban. 

It's not a coincidence that out of a whole line of people, the TSA officers always decide to make "friendly conversation" with me, inquiring about the nature of my trip, how long I'll be traveling for, and where I'll be staying. If they asked my father, it would obviously be racial profiling. So they ask me, the brown-skinned girl traveling with the "suspicious" man in the turban. I find it incredibly sad that here in the 21st century, in one of the most ethnically diverse cities in the world, the mere presence of an article of faith will immediately arouse suspicion. 

The suspicion is not derived from hatred. It stems from simply not knowing. 

It is often argued that ignorance is a byproduct of a lack of education. I could not agree more. But when I refer to ignorance, I do not mean the blatant disregard for learning or lack of desire to be educated. I mean the absence of an opportunity to learn. 

People like to point fingers when it comes to ignorance. I hear it time and again – "Sikhism is the 5th largest religion in the world. If people don't know about it, it's because they are ignorant." But let's get one thing straight - you can't expect someone to understand your beliefs if you don't give them the opportunity to learn. Did you do your part in educating them? If we all sit here silent, expecting other people to figure it out for themselves, we're going to be stuck here for a very, very long time. 

Fortunately, most people in America do practice tolerance when it comes to religious beliefs. They don’t go around protesting or persecuting people who follow a different religion. But tolerating and understanding are two different things. Tolerance and ignorance can coexist. Understanding and ignorance cannot. So the only way to really eradicate ignorance is through education. 

Yes, ignorance is a problem. But it’s not just their problem. It’s your problem too. 

Let’s do our part in educating the public before we play the blame game. 

Here’s to a better tomorrow, unclouded by suspicion. 

Candlelight Vigil at at Sikh Association of Staten Island

A sea of candles

washed over the pavement

as we turned one by one

to our brothers and sisters

to spread the warmth;

A sea of love.

And in our moment of silence,

the only presence was Light.

A memorial service/candlelight vigil was held at the Sikh Association of Staten Island on Wednesday, August 8th, 2012 for the victims of the mass shooting at the Oak Creek Gurdwara.

About 125 people, including individuals from various faiths, came down to show their support.

Among those in attendance and/or speaking were: Rep. Michael Grimm (R-Staten Island/Brooklyn); democratic congressional candidate Mark Murphy; Tahir Kukiqi, the Albanian Islamic Cultural Center; Gonzalo Mercado, Staten Island Immigrants Council, NYPD Community Affairs Detective Santana Rivera, and Hesham El-Meligy, Islamic Civic Association of Staten Island.

Photos from the event by Jasleen Ahuja:

Speak. Educate. Donate.

I will probably never forget this day. My mother woke me up to tell me that there was a shooting in a Gurdwara in Wisconsin.

A shooting in a Gurdwara? I cannot express the disbelief I felt in that moment – the Gurdwara, a Sikh place of worship, was forever to me the safest place in the world. It is where we meditate and pray, cook together in our community kitchen, sit and share a hot meal. Everyone is welcome. It is a place filled only with love and kindness.

A shooting in a Gurdwara? I am speechless.

My heart aches for the victims of this horrific tragedy. Please keep them and their families in your prayers.

I cannot say that any good can come of such a day, but what I do know is that news stations around the world are reporting this tragedy, and my social media pages are overflowing with posts about Sikhism.

So let us realize that in this moment, rather than becoming wrapped up in anger, or trying to understand the motives behind the shooting, uniting to create awareness is of utmost importance. We must make sure that we never see a day like this again.

So please, share your thoughts, speak, and educate.

Let us also have a moment of silence for the six innocent lives that were lost today, and pray for the incredibly brave police officer that risked his life to save those that were in the Gurdwara.

What can you do to help?
Please visit this link to support the families of Sikhs and police officers wounded or killed in the Wisconsin Shooting. Any contribution will make a huge difference: www.indiegogo.com/Milwaukee-Sikh

To learn more about the Wisconsin Shooting, please visit this link.

Some facts about Sikhism:

“Sikhism is the world's fifth largest independent religion. It originated in northwest India, and its central tenets are belief in a single God, equality for all people and a commitment to community service.

Sikh men wear a turban and keep an uncut beard, among other articles, as a sign of devotion to God and to keep a strong identity. This uniform identity ensures equality and discipline. Unfortunately, this appearance is often incorrectly confused with Al-Qaeda, Taliban, etc.

The Gurdwara is the proper name for a Sikh Temple, a place of peace. Members of all faiths are welcome. Sikhs sit together humbly on the floor while praying. After services, Sikhs and non-Sikhs sit as equals on the floor while eating a meal donated and prepared by members of the congregation.

Sikhs believe in the validity of all faiths. To that end, they have fought to ensure religious freedom, not only for themselves, but for members of all communities.

Sikhs continue in that struggle today, despite today's horrible injustice.”

(Source Unknown)

And the Lioness Roars: Voices from Behind the Veil

(*Please note that the pictures do not correspond to the writers.)

“It became clear to me when I was a little girl that being a Sikh girl and an Indian girl is a contradiction. When I was a child, my mother told me saakhis of incredible women like Mai Bhago and Rani Sada Kaur. I wanted to be warriors like them. But the Indians that surrounded me told me otherwise. I was expected to lower my gaze, be obedient, and stay silent. Instead, I decided to step out from behind the veil of silence and be extra loud because the women around me didn't have a voice. I don’t care if the older women in my community look at me funny, whispering behind my back about how unladylike I am. I’m standing up for the gender biases in my community. After all, it’s what my Gurus would have wanted.” – A Fearless Kaur

“As a child, I would secretly scoff at the elders who led Gurmat camps and discussions. I became disillusioned with the constant, familiar banter of little Sikh boys, confused about the nature and purpose of their patkas. I didn't understand the point of presenting the same, stupid Powerpoints year after year, explaining what to do if someone called me a "terrorist". No one had ever called me a terrorist. I didn't have any problems. I later realized that my obstacles as a Sikh woman were far from nonexistent. I had been blind to them because no one had ever thought to bring them up. Living in this world as a Kaur requires a bit of sacrificing of pop culture. I just needed someone to tell me this. I needed the support of women who had once experienced my confusion. I didn't know if such women existed. Because they never spoke.”
– A Kaur without Reason

“Sikhi speaks to me like no other.  Whenever I feel sad and lonesome, I remember Guru Ji is right by my side, and my mind is instantly at ease.  However, this comfort didn’t come to me so easily before. Throughout my adolescence, there were many times when I questioned my faith and beliefs. I even questioned the Guru’s existence. After all, if he really had my best interest in mind, why was he testing me like this? Why did everyone else seem to have it so easy? Why did everyone else’s lives seem to be over-filled with joy, while mine only pain? I resorted to alcohol to numb the pain, to lose control, to forget. A fatal experience was my wake-up call. I mended my ways, began to recite Bani – not just for the heck of it, but to understand its depth and allow myself to enter the vulnerable state of tranquility which overcomes me during the recitation of paath and kirtan. Questioning my faith is not something easy for me to admit, but doing so has shaped me into the woman I am today, and the woman I aspire to be.” – An Ambitious Kaur     

“I come from a legacy of strong Kaurs. Both of my grandmothers and my mother were pillars in the Sikh community; all three of these beautiful women have passed away, but in their time, they made significant impacts on the Sikh community. Losing these women, and especially losing my mother at a young age, has caused me to constantly feel the pressure of being a strong Kaur. I come from a loving, supportive, and strong Sikh family who I always want to make proud, and this leads me to feeling that I have to be like the Kaurs before me. Since losing my mom, I have also felt that my community is either placing me into the mold of the Kaurs before me or waiting for me to fail. That pressure forces me to question who I truly am on a daily basis and fight an inner battle to find the truth within me. To me, being a Kaur is being strong in knowing who I am and what I believe in and staying true to myself. I will continue the beautiful legacy that I come from, I will make my mother proud, but I will make my legacy my own.” – An Independent Kaur

“When I hear the name Kaur, I picture a Sikh woman. A strong woman. A fearless woman. A woman who is not afraid to make sacrifices. A woman who will give up her own personal desires out of love for her Guru. After all, that's who a Kaur is supposed to be, right? But sometimes I can't help but wonder whether I am deserving. What if I am not entirely fearless? What if I don't make the sacrifices that I can, even though I owe my life to my Guru? Do shaving my legs and shaping my eyebrows make me any less of a Kaur than a Sikh woman who does not? Am I living my life contradicting my own image of who a Kaur should be? But I consider myself a Kaur because of my unconditional love for my Guru. It may not be obvious through my outer appearance, but isn't love an emotion? My surname Kaur tells the world that I am a Sikh woman and symbolizes my identity. It makes me my Guru's princess, and is a symbol of my faith. It's not just a label. It's a blessing.” – A Not-There-Just-Yet Kaur

“Stories. It's always about people's stories. My story is compiled of many things - great things - that have shaped me to be the woman I am today. All the great stories that are credited to who I am today always revolve around my faith. When I was old enough to start questioning life, I came across two ways I could direct my life. One path could lead me to living a mediocre story that wasn't much different than other people's stories. The other path would lead me to a story that I knew would make me stand out in the crowd and be true to myself. One thing is for sure; great stories go to those who don't give into fear. Fear of being in outcast in the community and to your friends and family are just a few. Fear was the only thing that could drive me to the more mediocre path. With the help of positive sangat that included strong Kaurs, I'm glad that since I chose the more difficult path, and I am able to maintain it too.” – A Loud Kaur

“Once, I was the only girl sitting in a room with a few Sikh guys, and I heard them talking about how they didn’t want to marry a girl who didn’t shave her legs because “that was gross.” These were turbaned Sikh guys, by the way. As I listened to them laugh about it, I felt invisible. The strong, brave woman inside of me was yelling out “Hello! I’m sitting right here!” but I just sat there, numb. I don’t keep all my kesh, but I’d like to think about taking Amrit one day. And I can’t help but feel like I wouldn’t have the support of some of my brothers. It’s hard enough as it is living in a society where body hair is not seen as beautiful but to have to feel unwanted by your own? I think that’s just the most heartbreaking thing ever.”– A Frustrated Kaur

“Growing up in a Sikh and Punjabi household, my morals, values, and outlooks about everything were woven with the thread of Sikhi. Going to Khalsa school every Sunday, attending Sikh camps every summer, and staying connected with my sangat was what being a Kaur meant to me. I was confined to make decisions based on what my community would expect. My sangat was my protective shell in which I felt safe and loved. But as I grew up and headed off to college, I was thrown into a new environment with unfamiliar views and perspectives. Everything I was surrounded by no longer revolved around the concrete rules I followed as a child. I was forced to crack open my shell and face the changes that were breezing through my life. But it was not until that moment of cracking open my shell that I realized the true meaning of being a Kaur. I was always taught to never question my faith, but as I took a turn in my life I realized that as a student, I must raise questions. I became more open-minded and learned to deconstruct my personal values and the norms of society. Instead of basing all of my decisions off of what the Punjabi community would think, I try my best to make smart decisions in terms of what I believe is right and wrong through the eyes of Waheguru. Still keeping my core values in tact, I have gained confidence in myself and identify myself as a smarter and stronger woman, who is not just one-dimensional.” – A 3-D Kaur

“I am two halves of a whole. Two separate entities that on their own exert a very strong force within me, that when clashed with each other can express turmoil in my heart, but when joined as one can offer a view on life unique from everyone else's. If you were to ask me if I would choose to be born into another cultural identity, I would deny the opportunity to do so, but there are times when I find the ways of Sikhism and an Indian heritage trying. As a child growing up we are already faced with confusion about our minds and bodies. Different environments add to that disturbance. What is acceptable in one culture is not in the other and vice versa. So where do we stand? The first step is making ourselves knowledgeable about both sides. This intake of information, however, will never end. But as we gather more insight, the next step is to use that towards formulating the character that defines us. It is we that make up a culture, not the culture that tells us who we are. Then we can take the knowledge that impacted us, combined with how we molded it to fit ourselves, and put that back out in the society we are part of to better it and ourselves. If I were to offer a piece of advice to fellow first generation Sikh women, it would be to find a balance between the two identities that YOU are comfortable with, rather than having them dictate your life.” – A Balanced Kaur

“As I grew older, I started to realize that even though I was born a Kaur, others didn’t identify me as a one…at least not a “real” Kaur. Apparently there's a difference between being a Kaur and a “real” Kaur. It took me some time to understand other people’s definition of what a Kaur is. They would take one look at me and decide that I wasn't as good as the others. They judged me based only on my appearance. I didn't realize that hair defined someone to the extent where they’re treated unfairly. I was insecure and tried to hide who I truly was because no one would take the time to understand the real me. But today I know that I am a Kaur. I’ve grown into a strong Sikh woman who doesn't care what others define her as. Because I am the only one who can truly define myself. I am the only one who can sculpt who I want to become. I can’t say there is one definition of “Kaur.” But I do know one thing: I am a Kaur.” 
– A Strong Kaur

A special thanks to all the incredible ladies who shared their stories; you are all inspirational women. Also, thanks to the girls who posed for and helped take photos! 

 

Beauty

He once told her

that her soul was beautiful.

She looked at him in amazement

because she thought that all this time,

he had been admiring her mask.

Her disguise was perfection,

she was told, time and again.

Beauty,

meticulously depicted.

It didn’t matter that it was an illusion,

a flawless guise

that made her

the victim of adoration.

As she glided gracefully across the floor

of the masquerade,

hypnotizing onlookers,

she smiled for the cameras.

Sometimes the flash would capture

the bit of reality that she exposed,

and what lay underneath the layers

was broken.

So when he told her

that he could see her soul,

she cringed

because on this shallow earth,

she was determined

to be nothing

but a masterpiece

until her body finally unleashed

and her soul rose up as a silhouette

and drifted away.