BONNE FETE, CANADA

OK, I cannot do it. I cannot ignore Canada Day. Try though I might, I still harbour deeply patriotic feelings for "our home and native land." With all its faults, Canada is beautiful, somewhat liberal (in spite of the silly Conservative
government and that ridiculous, robotic Stephen Harper.)

Ah, well, I shall further disgust myself.

I rarely use the word "hate" because it is so overused for relatively minor annoyances, but...I HATE the attitude of CBC News toward us Sikhs. Negatively biased to the max!. Still, this old CBC sign off is the most beautiful "O Canada" video I have ever seen. So take a watch and a listen. BTW, "O Canada" is really easy to sing, unlike the national anthem of the Barbarians to the South, which can be handled only by a few professional singers.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0jhJA1Hjxk

The words:
(Note: Canada is a bilingual country. Since I was born in French-speaking Quebec, I actually learned the French version before I learned the English.)

(Further note: the meaning of the French words are completely different from the meaning of the English. This is symbolic of the deeper differences between the two groups. BTW, there are very few Sikhs in French Canada.)
Official (English)
O Canada!
Our home and native land!
True patriot love in all thy sons command.
With glowing hearts we see thee rise,
The True North strong and free!
From far and wide, O Canada,
We stand on guard for thee.
God keep our land glorious and free!
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.

And now, mes amis, this song as I learned it. OK I am indulging in a sort of homesickness I rarely allow myself. I am, after all, almost within walking distance of British Columbia, but it's a long way to Quebec. And a long, long way to Tipparary.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=InoieKVMHbs


Official (French)
Ô Canada!
Terre de nos aïeux,
Ton front est ceint de fleurons glorieux!
Car ton bras sait porter l'épée,
Il sait porter la croix!
Ton histoire est une épopée
Des plus brillants exploits.
Et ta valeur, de foi trempée,
Protégera nos foyers et nos droits
Protégera nos foyers et nos droits.


Inuktitut lyrics
Uu Kanata! nangmini nunavut!
Piqujatii nalattiaqpavut.
Angiglivalliajuti,
Sanngijulutillu.
Nangiqpugu, Uu Kanata,
Mianiripluti.
Uu Kanata! nunatsia!
Nangiqpugu mianiripluti,
Uu Kanata, salagijauquna!

A SHORT MENTION OF MICHAEL JACKSON

(Note: This is a slightly revised form of a comment I left in Amrit Hallon's blog, Writing Cave.)

This reminds me of the hoopla when Anna Nicole Smith died. There IS a difference, of course. Michael Jackson was a talented performer who actually did something of note with his talents. He has been at least on the periphery of my life since the late 1960s. Someone who had "always" been there is gone. It leaves a blank space.

Love is a strange thing. I have learned, to paraphrase R. A. Heinlein, the more I love, the more I CAN love. Each love teaches me to love a little more.

I care deeply about poor people, hungry people, cold people, sick people, oppressed people, hurting people - but I have learned that if I don't distance myself a bit, I'll go mad. (Some say I already have.) I do what I can, mostly by alerting people online, as I am physically unable to do much and my financial resources are small and dwindling. Then I do just a little more than I can, push myself.

My friends and doctors insist that I cut down on these 16-18 hour days, the world will go on just fine if Mai takes a nap in the park. They are right. Sometimes I wonder if all I try to do has any impact on anyone. Still, love compels me to try.

Was he a pedophile or simply a strange guy who had an innocent interest in children, being childlike himself? Was he an ogre of immorality or merely eccentric? I do not know. It is possible he did all the nasty things he was accused of. It is also possible that those were all false charges from people who wanted to open their wallets to put in large amounts of Michael's cash.

The death of Michael Jackson is just this: He brought music, dancing and joy into the lives of millions. He gave us a lot to talk about with his weirdnesses and eccentricities. He made our lives a little more interesting, a little less mundane. And that, my beloved readers, (as Martha Stewart would say) is a good thing.

Good-bye, Michael! The human heart is big enough to care about you and all suffering humanity at the same time.


In memory of two people who deserve to be remembered, this is my martyred son Sandeep's favourite MJ song. I must admit that there is something endearing about a love song to a (literal) rat!



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aSqo17o2a1w

A Guest Post From My Most Highest Imperial Majesty Queen Gathuku

Yes, the worst has happened. The worst possible thing in the whole universe has happened. The worst insult to My royal majestic Person has happened. This is impossible! This cannot possibly be happening. My Majesty's worst, very worst nightmare.

These people, Dark Man and Fat Lady, have never obeyed my command to provide My Majesty with a fitting consort, a bird of class and distinction and of great accomplishment. They are most wicked and evil and I poop in their hair, especially Fat Lady. She has this thing about her hair, you know, and they simply cry out to be pooped in. Such disrespect! Such perversion! My Majesty has bitten her - HARD!! - on her arm, even today. That fu---no, wait, such language is beneath My Majesty's great and mighty Dignity! O, yes, they have found a consort for My Majesty.

But not even a bird! Oh, perversion upon perversion! Worse then the man who married a goat! Worse even than the girl who married a dog! But that is closer.

My Majesty cannot even bring My Majesty's self to say it, but My Majesty supposes that My Majesty must just come right out and say it!

SQUAWK!! SQUAWK!! SCREECH-SCREECH-SCREECH!!!!

My Majesty's consort. A DOG!! Perversion within perversion within perversion - it is a she-dog, a bitch! Pooping isn't enough! Not even pooping in Fat Lady's hair is enough! There is no punishment fitting to this insult to MY Majesty. What is to be done.

Here are some pictures of the bitch. Her name is Abby ans she's two years old and, further insult! She is not even a purebread, just a maltese-schnauzer mutt. (But she looks maybe like she's part terrier.) My Majesty is no expert on dogs - My Majesty freely admits that. In fact, I despise dogs as much as any Muslim would. Yes, as bad as a filthy pig!

My Majesty HATES these disgusting humans. Perhaps I shall find a new residence. Yes, that is the answer. You who read this consider how wonderful it would be in your life to be the obedient slave of My Majesty, Queen and Empress, Supreme Parrot of All The Universe, Gathuku of the Earth. Just let My Majesty know and My Majesty will fly anywhere to find a fitting home. I await your enthusiastic response.

My Imperial and Cosmic Beyond Al,l Greatness, etc., etc., etc.,

signed: QUEEN GATHUKU THE MAGNIFICENT!

(PLEASE DISREGARD THUKI'S PLEA FOR A NEW HOME. SHE'LL GET USED TO ABBY IN TIME. I WONDER WHAT YOU GET WHEN YOU CROSS A PARROT AND A LITTLE BLACK DOG? MAI)

HOW TO TELL A SIKH FROM A TALIBAN, ILLUSTRATED

Before I start, let me say that in writing about the Taliban, I am not indicting the Muslim community, which has many good, upright adherents, some of whom I am honoured to include among my friends. Please do not construct anything I say about Taliban to apply to the millions of Muslims who are peaceful, constructive and valued citizens of countries all over the world.

Do to a certain shallow, outward physical resemblance to some Muslim extremists, our Sikh community has been under attack since the 9/11 terrorist attacks by those who don't know any better. Now events in Pakistan, where the Taliban has attacked the Sikhs of the SWAT Valley, forcing them out of their homes, make a comparison of the two groups mandatory for anyone who really wants to understand world events. (And to stop picking on innocent Sikhs, as well.)


First, what exactly happened in Pakistan? The government there has effectively turned over control of a region in the north of the country, the SWAT Valley, over to the Taliban. In a region of this valley called Orakzai live - or rather lived - a few Sikh families. These were poor Sikh farmers who had lived in peace with their neighbours for generations, who had chosen to stay in Pakistan when most Sikhs left to move to India in the Partition of 1948. These are people with few material resources who clearly love their homes and simple way of life.




These were destroyed when the Taliban demanded that they pay a tax on non
Muslims, called a Jaziya. I have read that jaziya was originally paid by nonMuslims in lieu of military service. I have also read that it was originally a financial inducement to convert to Islam. Whatever the original purpose, in this instance, it is clearly simple extortion, not unlike "protection money" paid by business owners to organised crime to insure that the Mob will leave their businesses alone.

The amount demanded by the Taliban, was beyond the means of the community and when it was not paid, the houses of the Sikhs were razed and Sikh businesses were occupied. The Sikhs, seeing yet another massacre looming, fled with little more than the clothes on their backs and a few meager possessions.

In summary:

Lahore: The Taliban has expelled at least 50 Sikh families from the
Orakzai Agency in the Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA) after
they failed to pay 'Jazia'. The Taliban had demanded 12 million rupees ($242,840, GBP 161,271)
as protection money from the Sikhs, who have living in the region from
hundred of years, but they could arrange only 6.7 million rupees.($135,586, GBP 87,355)

Later, it was reported that the extremists occupied houses and shops
of the Sikhs in Qasim Khel and Feroz Khel areas of the Agency and
auctioned their valuables for 0.8 million rupees ( $16,190, GBP 10,750), The Daily Times
reports. Earlier, the Taliban had also demolished houses belonging to
the Sikh community in the region.

The Taliban's Orakzai Agency chief Hakeemullah Mehsud ordered the
demolition of the houses after the Sikhs failed to meet a deadline
fixed for payment.

Having established, I hope, that Sikhs are not Muslim extremists, who then are Sikhs? Briefly, a Sikh is a follower of Sikhi or Sikhism, a panentheistic (look it up!), monotheistic religion that originated in Punjab, in what is now northeastern India and southwestern Pakistan. Rather than summarise the beliefs, which is really beyond the scope of this article, I suggest you go to about.Sikhism and look around. It's interesting and educational.

The religion sprung up and developed at a time when Mughals (Muslims) had imposed a brutal dictatorship on the people of part of what is now called "the Asian subcontinent," that is India and Pakistan. I will now compare some aspects of Taliban and Sikhs.

Since people are generally more visual than verbal, I have included a picture gallery of major differences between the two groups below.

There is a certain superficial physical resemblance. The men of both groups grow beards and wear turbans. The majority of members of both groups are brown. The Taliban, however, are by and large Arabs, with Middle Eastern origins. Although there is a growing number of Sikhs of European and African descent, most Sikhs today are still either Punjabis or descendants of Punjabis.

Taliban discriminate against women in many ways: imposing Muslim dress which completely covers her, denies her education, restricts her movements so she is not allowed to go outside unless accompanied by a male relative. (I wonder what happens to a woman who has no male relatives?)

Sikhi teaches that men and women are equals. In fact, the Sikh Rehat Maryada - the Sikh Code of Conduct - forbids a woman to cover her face.

Here is an example of Sikh music, a sort of hymn called a kirtan. Notice that it has a happy sound and is a joy to hear! Also notice that it is sung by a woman!
.

I cannot give an example of Taliban music, since the Taliban ban music entirely, even to the point of killing songbirds when they controlled Afghanistan.

I cannot give a current example of Sikh government, since the Sikh Empire (1799-1849) governed by Maharaja Ranjit Singh is no longer around. However, two big differences between Sikh rule at that time and Taliban rule now are that capital punishment did not exist in the Sikh Empire, while it is common among the Taliban. And a huge difference, different religions were not only tolerated in the Sikh Empire but were actually respected, while the Taliban not only lack respect or tolerance for other religions, but also condemn all other forms of Islam, their own religion.

But enough of words. I have written enough to tell about the differences, now a few pictures to show the differences.

Note: Should anyone wish to reproduce this post, I will be happy to send you the html to make it easy for you. Just leave your e-mail in a comment or e-mail me at simayanan [at] gmail [dot] com. MHK

FAILED COUP COOKIES, 2nd Ed.

I don't usually publish recipes here; I put them in "Dis Fud Iz Gud," my recipe blog. However, it is a private, by invitation only blog and this is, in my opinion, close to the perfreccookie recipe. For taste, that is, not nutrition.

So I decided to share it with all my readers. These are not cakey cookies or hard cookies. Properly made, they fall and are rather gooey and chewy and sweet...

FAILED COUP COOKIES, 2nd ED.

The picture? Just what popped up when I googled on failed coup cookies. That is, by chance, however, the failed coup that the title refers to.

My secret recipe for my favourite cookies. Secret no more!

So what makes these 2nd Ed.? These are vegan. Eggs are easily replaced; they're gross anyway. Believe it or not, almost all commercial egg substitutes are made from - EGGS! I kid you not. If you are either a vegan or a non-egg eating vegetarian of another sort - this include most Sikh vegetarians - be careful to use only egg substitutes labeled "vegan."

I will be honest. For taste, nothing will replace butter. Vegan margarine, however, is - to me - an acceptable substitute. Aside from saving the planet and being kind to animals, it doesn't clog the arteries quite as much.

These cookies can be very sweet, almost like candy, depending on goodies used. For less sweet, concentrate on nuts and raisins and eschew the candies. (Still, I am Indian enough to like my sweets very sweet.)

Ingredients (American, metric to follow):
3/4 cup vegan margarine, preferably unsalted (replaces butter)
1 1/4 cup brown sugar
2T. flaxseed, simmered in 1/3+ cup water (replaces 2 eggs), cooled * (See below, if you've never done this before.
1/2 cup liquid, cool - tea, coffee, fruit juice, water

Cream together by hand, if a purist who doesn't want to use any more electricity than absolutely necessary, or in food processer, adding

1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt

Spices - all are better if freshly ground, of course! (vary according to your own taste)
1 Tablespoon ground cardamon
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon black pepper OR 1/2-3/4 teaspoon cayenne
1/2 teaspoon allspice
1/4 teaspoon cloves
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
(I sometimes add a little powdered ginger)

Add

1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1/2 cup oatmeal

In a bowl combine 2 cups of mixed goodies (suggestions follow)


**************************************************

Ingredients (metric):
180 ml vegan margarine, preferably unsalted (replaces butter)
300 ml cup brown sugar
30 ml. flaxseed, simmered in 80 ml water (replaces 2 eggs), cooled * See below if you've never done this before.
120 ml liquid - tea, coffee, fruit juice, water

Cream together by hand or in food processer, adding

5 ml teaspoon baking soda
5 ml teaspoon salt
Spices - all are better if freshly ground, of course! (vary according to your own taste)
15 ml ground cardamon
5 ml cinnamon
5 ml black pepper OR 2-3 ml teaspoon cayenne
2.5 ml allspice
1+ ml cloves
1+ ml nutmeg
(I sometimes add a little powdered ginger)

Add

360 ml whole wheat flour
120 ml cup oatmeal

In a bowl combine 480 ml of mixed goodies (suggestions follow)

*****************************************************************
Combine everything well using whatever method appeals to you; I usually use my hands, slightly moistened with water. Form into small balls for baking (Does anybody ever actually "drop by teaspoons onto ungreased baking sheet"? I wet my hands a bit and use them.) onto ungreased cookie sheet.

Bake about 7 minutes in 400 degree F (200 C) oven, or until bottoms are lightly browned.

Yield (depending on what size you make them, I prefer them rather small) approx. 4-5 dozen)

Goodies suggestions:
mixed baking chips: chocolate, butterscotch, vanilla/whit chocolate, carob
nuts: any kind you like except walnuts (I have a great aversion to walnuts. If you use them, please call these cookies something else, maybe Successful Coup Cookies)
other stuff: any dried fruit in smallish pieces, flaked coconut

(My favourite combination- subject to change, of course:
1/2 cup white chocolate chips (120 ml.)
1/4 cup carob chips (60 ml.)
1/2 cup flaked coconut (120 ml.)
1/2 cup chopped cashew pieces (120 ml.)
1/4 cup dried cranberries (60 ml.)
1/4 cup dried mango) (60 ml.)
OK, that's more than 2 cups (480 ml.), get over it!

****************************************************

Flax seed "eggs" (This works well as a binder. Of course, it doesn't work at all as leavening.)

Per egg: Combine 1 Tablespoon (15ml) flax seed with 3 Tablespoons (45 ml) water. Bring to boil, then turn down the heat and simmer a few minutes until grossly slimy, like raw eggs. No need to take out the seeds; they actually add a little nutrition to whatever.

Wallpapers and Blog Headers - and a Granddaughter

It has been a while since I have sat down and actually talked to you, my gentle and beloved readers, so today's the day.

My first order of business is my new wallpaper. As many of you know, my dear, sweet husband has a, er, uh, drinking problem. He only drinks beer, but - you know a chain-smoker who lights the next cigarette from the last? That's how he drinks beer, never stopping, except to go to work. Yes, somehow he is a functioning alcoholic; he does work, somehow. Anyway, at home, the beer drinking is unending. Even at night, he wakes up and drinks beer. I am way past complaining about this. He is going to do what he is going to do; there's nothing I can do about it.

The problem is that he has taken to using my computer. Every night he checks the Sitemeter to see who has visited his blog. He goes through each page, scribbling down information about each reader. This is annoying to me for a myriad of reasons. So I have devised a means for getting him away from my compy. A new wallpaper. I thought long and hard about what might work. I thought of the obscene, the blasphemous, the just plain ugly and offensive. There are problems with each of those, the main one being that I would have to look at the darn thing, too. Of course, I don't drink alcohol, but there was a time I did. What would I have been unable to tolerate for even a moment?

Op-art came to mind. I found a classic piece, called Movement in Squares (see below)



Almost, but not quite. I fiddled with it and finally created this:


I call it "Many Squares. I'll let you know if it works. Or not. If you'd like to check it out, use the image above or go to and use the large size from my flickr account. Please let me know if you try this.

My second topic is my header. I have been using Singhni, my beautiful, relaxing lioness, always with some quote I like across her body, for quite a long time. Recently, I tried her on the prowl. I disliked that one because it looked a bit dark and dirty to me. I have revised it and may use it at some time in the future. I had thought about using the picture of me, turbaned, relaxing on a big, male lion, although that does seem just a bit egotistical.


Discussing this with a friend, he thought that maybe it was just a bit too silly. Then he wondered about my fascination with lions (Lionesses, actually). Why not flowers


or stars


or rivers (five of them?) This River, by the way, is the Ohio River photographed by
my good friend and little sister, Lin,


or a nice landscape?



Why not? I may create such a picture with flowers and stars and rivers in a nice landscape. I will not guarantee that there won't be a lady lion in there somewhere though.

And last, did you hear about the grandpa in Orissa, India, who beheaded his nine year old grand-daughter to ensure a bountiful harvest? No joke. No punchline. I have put the story of the beheading in Weird Stuff blog.

OF KHALSA AND SAMURAI

A few weeks ago, we visited the San Francisco Bay Area, courtesy of one of my husband's nephews. I was the first time I have been to San Francisco, Mani's favourite American city, since the events of 1984. Such memories, it brought back! I can't really share these with anyone here, so I'm sharing them with you, my online friends.



One year, I think it was 1978, but I'm not sure, we decided to celebrate our anniversary/my birthday by taking a holiday in San Francisco. Very unusual for us, we decided to leave Sandeep in the safe hands of the family and set off for nine days and eight nights in The City By The Bay. Family had our hotel number, of course, along with a promise not to phone unless it was a life-altering emergency. No such emergency occurred and we had a wonderful time. OK, I'll fess up. We called home each evening to say hi to our Sikhling.

One of the few things Mani and I could never agree about was our manner of dress. His appearance was very important to him. His clothes were always perfect, his turban beautifully tied, shoes, when he wore them, perfectly shined. He even ironed his jeans! (I refused to do that because I thought it was stupid.) I, on the other hand, insisted only that my clothes be neat and clean and cover me decently. And be comfortable. They must be comfortable. Beyond that, I really didn't much care what I looked like. We did agree on a few important points. No high heels, no dresses, no make-up.


On the farm, my appearance didn't matter all that much. He expected me to be a bit messed up, mucking around with the cows and goats and chickens (kept for fertiliser) and also with our various crops. I usually indulged him in the evenings by showering or lounging in the Jacuzzi for a while and then putting on a Punjabi suit, a salwar kameez. He usually lounged around evenings in kurta pajama. We might not have been a Punjabi couple, but except for his grey eyes and my brown hair and pasty skin, we certainly looked like one.

For our trip to San Francisco, we reached a compromise. During the day, while we were walking, hiking, goofing off, I would wear jeans - ironed by him! - and something colourful and attractive on my top. This was necessary because walking shoes look really stupid with dressy clothes. When we went out in the evenings, I would dress to the nines, looking every inch the proper lady, while he also dressed up - in full bana! He looked really cool in bana - what Sikh doesn't? - and he looked somehow silly in a suit.

We quickly found out that many fine San Francisco restaurants had a dress code that men had to wear jacket and tie. We avoided those. As Mani said, "They probably don't have decent vegetarian food anyway. We had a glorious time, walking from the Embarcadero to the Pacific Ocean - one side of San Francisco to the other, rambling through Golden Gate Park, exploring those strange, little neighbourhood shops that San Francisco seems to be full of. We spent a whole day at Fisherman's Wharf, watching the tourists shiver. Most people don't realise that San Francisco is quite cool most of the time, and so dress inappropriately for the weather. We also went hiking in the Muir Woods amidst the giant redwoods and hiking up Mt. Tamalpais across the Golden Gate Bridge in Marin County.


I really want to write about one particular afternoon and evening. We decided to go see a Toshiro Mifune movie playing in a theatre in Japan Town.




Mani gave me those cow eyes and asked me to dress up, even though it was only afternoon. I said it was too early, if I had to dress up I'd wear bana, too. He grinned at me and agreed. We ended up dressed exactly alike except he had a saffron turban, while I used a chunni. (We should have tied a turban on me, I now realise, but for some reason, we didn't think of it.) And, unlike him, I carried the more usual short kirpan. I admit we made a grand-looking couple, him in a dark blue chola, saffron-coloured gatra containing a full-length kirpan, and, of course, his perfectly tied turban, me similarly clad. Him tall and towering and masculine, the perfect Khalsa warrior, me short and slender, yet with the full figure of a fertility goddess, also the perfect Khalsa warrior, except in a battle, I'd have to ditch the chunni. As he said, "We look goooooood!"

We arrived for the afternoon matinee and, much to our surprise, there were only a very few others attending. I guess weekday afternoons don't bring out the samurai crowd. A very lovely Japanese lady, clad in traditional kimono, not only sold us tickets, but also tended the refreshments counter and acted less like an usher than like a hostess. When we first came in, she looked at Mani shyly, but still with open curiosity and perhaps a bit of apprehension. She was even shorter than I am; he must have seemed a giant to him. "Sir, "she asked in a heavily accented voice, with that high, squeaky voice that Japanese women traditionally affect, "may I ask you a question?" She waited for him to answer, which he did in the affirmative.


I just knew she was going to ask if he were an Arab, but she surprised me. "I see you have a sword. Are you some sort of a samurai among your people?"

We were both startled at that question; I was very curious how he would answer. "We are Sikhs who have been initiated into the Khalsa Knighthood, so I suppose you could consider us a sort of samurai." He went on to explain a bit about Sikhi, which she had never heard of. When he finished, she was grinning broadly, obviously happily impressed.

Then she turned to me and said, "Great lady, you are also this Khalsa?"

Great lady! I could live with that. I smiled at her and replied, "Yes."

Her smile faded briefly as she asked, "Then why do you have such a small sword?" I didn't really have a good answer, so, on the spur of the moment, I came up with the explanation that I was so short that it would drag the ground., Actually, that is close to the truth. The answer seemed to satisfy her and her smile returned. She also wanted to see them both unsheathed; we were happy to oblige.

She was obviously impressed and asked if there was anything she could do to make us comfortable. She clearly wanted to do something, so one of us suggested that some Japanese tea would be nice. I mentioned that we were visiting San Francisco to celebrate our wedding anniversary as well as my birthday. She brightened up immediately. "Then you must have long noodles for long life to celebrate." He explained that we were vegetarians and ate only "Buddhist food." (We had learned that was the easiest way to get correct food in what used to be called Oriental restaurants.)



"No meat. No egg. Tofu is OK?" She asked.

"A bit taken aback, we agreed.


"I be right back. You go sit down, enjoy watching the people stab each other." She disappeared into a back room and we went into the theatre and watched "the people stabbing each other."

After a time, she returned with a large tray of not only with tea and noodles (in miso soup), but also a sumptuous feast of vegetarian sushi, inari sushi, norimaki with vegetable and tofu filling, and small mounds of vinegared rice with various thinly sliced vegetables on top where normally there would be raw fish. And lots of wasabi, ginger and shoyu.


We were both overwhelmed. She ignored our reaction and arranged one tray on the seat to Mani's left and another to my right, dividing the food between us. "Now eat and enjoy while you watch movie." She smiled, bowed and walked away. What could we do? We ate and enjoyed and watched the movie. And wondered what was going on. After the movie, we found out, while eating some vegetable tempura that she brought in.


"I am Shinto," she told us. "I worship Amaterasu-no-Kami, the Sun Goddess, foremother of our Emperor.


"Last night, she sent me a dream that I would meet some great warriors, not Japanese, but worthy to be samurai. I saw you and knew she had blessed me with your holy presence, so I could have the honour of serving you. I am descended from a very old samurai family that was impoverished when the samurai class was outlawed. They took all our swords and melted them down. You know, all our women were also taught martial arts and sword fighting, so we could protect our homes and our honour, if need be. Without our swords, what could we be?"

She was clearly speaking from deep in her heart, speaking as if these things happened recently, instead of in the previous century. I wanted to see your kirpans" - she stumbled over the word - "so I could honour my ancestors." We didn't quite understand that last statement and didn't ask. Somehow asking seemed cold. "There is one more thing, please." She pulled out a small book and handed it to me. (Why not him? I do not know.) This is the Bushido Book, The Code of the Warrior. I think you do not know Japanese, but please accept it as my gift." We were quite overwhelmed. The book was obviously quite old, probably a family heirloom. Still, it was unthinkable to refuse it. We took it and kept it always among our few treasured possessions.


A most important note: As usual most of these pictures are roached from the Internet, compliments of Google Search. Two are not. That strange-looking being on the Golden Gate Bridge is me, as a giant Nihang. Why not?

That very handsome Sardar Ji I have used to illustrate bana is the father of my little sister Kamal Kaur. His name is Sarbjeet Singh Ji and he, like my own Dad, is a Canadian from Punjabi. Notice the twinkle in his eyes and that lovely smile.




Irene (see previous post) pointed out to me that if he is my sister's father, then he must also be my Dad. An interesting idea, as I believe he is somewhat younger than my 57 years! My thanks to these two for letting me use this picture.

I WANT A KAUR!

After 2.5 years of fuddy-duddying, the government of the great State of Washington at last decided that, as someone 100% disabled, I need not only decent medical care, but also a personal caregiver, called a "medical caregiver," although her duties are all nonmedical. She is, in fact, a sort of cross between a housekeeper and a personal maid. So I am now, sort of, living like a lady of leisure.

I was able to designate any qualified person - except a family member - as my caregiver, with certain restrictions. The most restrictive was that the person had to agree to an exhaustive background check. Would you consent to that? I know I would not! Of course, I wanted a Kaur, but couldn't find a single one both willing and able. So I had to let the agency just send me one.

Because of anti discrimination laws, I could not ask for a person of a particular ethnic background (I don't care about that anyway) or a particular religion (I wanted a Sikh). I was able to specify gender, as the caregiver's job includes personal care of my physical body.

So it was pot luck. They sent me Irene. In most ways, she is great. She is here every day and works hard. She is pleasant and loves my silky hair. OK, she's never here on time and I usually send her home to her kids early, as long as everything is done. I think if I insisted, both of those would be corrected.

But everything in this life has a price. Not only is Irene not a Sikh, she's a Christian, a born-again Christian, filled with the holy spirit and a zeal to share her beliefs with the whole world, actually to convert any nonChristian who crosses her path. It is an integral part of her religion to proselytise anyone and everyone. It is also an integral part of her personality. Every time she opens her mouth to speak, she says something about being filled with the holy spirit and how that makes her sooooooo joyous. In all honesty, she really is joyous and I wouldn't take that away from her. Luckily for her, my religion respects her beliefs, even if her religion doesn't respect mine. Of course, I could ask for another caregiver, but she does her job and is extremely honest. Besides, I like her. I must hasten to add that she is not a "Church Lady," I see no hypocrisy in her.

My Dad, saying we live in a Christian country (Canada, not the USA, and Quebec, at that!) insisted that I study and know the Christian Bible, even after I managed to get myself permanently thrown out of the Catholic Church. (My mother was Catholic and managed to pry a promise from Dad to raise me Catholic. Obviously, that didn't work, but it makes an interesting post. See The Day I Became A Sikh.). The result is that I know the Bible better than most Christians. This includes Irene.

I puzzle her. How can anyone know the Bible as well as I do - and not see that it is obviously the first and last words of absolute truth? How can anyone not believe what is so obviously - to her - the word of God for all people? She has asked me point blank why I don't believe in it. I, wanting to show the utmost respect for her and her beliefs and wanting to show her that Sikhs really don't feel the need to prosletyse, would say only that it doesn't make sense to me. When she pressed me, I told her, truthfully, that my religion precludes me from showing disrespect for her beliefs, and there is no way I could explain without trashing Christianity. She accepted that, I suspect because she really doesn't care why I don't accept her faith.

Once, I asked her, "Do you really want everybody in the world to believe exactly what you believe?"

"Oh, yes, that would be wonderful!" Then, after a pause, "Wouldn't you like to live in a world where everyone was a Sikh?"

Truthfully, I'd love to give that a try, but I answered, "I like you. I'm glad you're part of this world. And you have a religion that brings you great joy, that is the very centre of your being. What kind of person would I be, if I wanted to take that away from you?"

She understood only the surface meaning of that, not realising the hidden message that that was exactly what she was trying to do to me, to take from me the centre of my being, the source of my joy and strength, the source of my chardi kala, among other things.

My approach to violence also baffles her. "You mean you actually killed someone? I could never kill anyone for any reason."

"Not even to protect your children from being murdered?"

After several minutes of thought, "God would not put me in that position."

Maybe not. I don't know.

Or how about this one. "What are you going to say to God when you stand before him to be judged and he asks you why you rejected the gift of his son?"

Not gonna happen, Irene. The truth is, if I were ever to stand before God, how could I face my beloved as a liar and a hypocrite, pretending to belief a lot of - to me - nonsense. I didn't say that, though. Instead, I simply said, "I suppose if it came to that, I would have to tell him (the Christian view of God is definitely masculine) that I used the intelligence he gave me and just couldn't make any sense of that."

She just gasped.

One last comment on this. I told her the Sikh attitude of "If you are a Muslim, be a good Muslim. If you are a Hindu, be a good Hindu," and I extended it a bit, "and if you are a Christian, be a good Christian." She couldn't get her mind around that at all. "But what I believe is TRUE!" At least she had to courtesy and good sense not to add "and what you believe is false."

I admire the depth of her belief and her love of God. If she were a Sikh, her presence would make me happy to the depths of my being. But she isn't.

Back to 1950. Way back before even I was born:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CGkRBprxJvk

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME

This is actually a bit early, my birthday is on Thursday. If it matters (and it does, IT DOES!) I will be 57 years old. Not a very interesting number. It sort of looks like a prime until you realise it can be divided by 3. (Not to worry. In a couple years, I'll be 59 and that is prime. ) Fifty-seven is it's 3 X 19.. So I guess, I'm at the end of the teen years, 3 times over. This has nothing really to do with anything.

What it is really about is that I got my first birthday card; it's from my li'l sis, Lindsey. I share it now with you.

Except - mt dear friend and li'l sis, Lindsay, just sent me a card early. So I will share it with you.

SQUARES - Weird Stuff

WEIRD STUFF ALERT - Squares

To see what wonderous miracles science is up to, go to Squares, above.