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SWEET & SOUR

Societal emblems and liberalism

By Khushwant Singh

I was hoping that after worldwide protests the French government would withdraw its fiat against Muslim girls wearing head scarves, Sikh boys wearing turbans and Jews wearing skullcaps in schools. No other country in Europe or north and south America has found wearing such community emblems objectionable. The French plea that different kinds of headwear indicate they are in some ways different from other students. Indeed they are — religion, colour (mostly brown) and names: Ali, Singh, Levy and so on. What does it really matter when learning grammar, mathematics, science, history, geography etc. in classes or on playing grounds? It smacks of racism unworthy of France’s traditional liberalism.

Recently the Danish government imposed a fine on a Sikh carrying a kirpan. My views on the obligation of every Khalsa to carry a kirpan differ from those of the orthodox Sikh clergy ensconced on the Akal Takht of the Harimandir in Amritsar. They are empowered to issue hukumnamas binding on the community. At the best I can offer my suggestions for their consideration.

When Guru Gobind Singh created the Khalsa Panth in 1699 AD he had every justification for exhorting his followers to be always armed with a kirpan to wage dharmayudh. He fired a small band of followers to fight against heavy odds. He gave birth to a militant fraternity which ultimately brought down a mighty empire.

What I am not sure is whether Guru Gobind Singh meant the kirpan obligatory for times to come. As a weapon it became obsolete long ago when firearms came into vogue. Even Bhindranwale who claimed to revive ordinances of Guru Gobind Singh carried, besides a kirpan, a revolver strapped to his body.

It is time the jathedars prescribed the size of kirpans and when they can be put away for a time.

Elinore no more

Her son Mark Sinclair rang me up from London to tell me his mother aged 90 had died. And would I give the sad news to her innumerable Indian friends. That is a daunting task, as Elinore and her husband Sinbad Sinclair spent most of their lives in India till he retired as Head of Burmah Shell. Wherever they were — Bombay, Calcutta, Madras or Delhi — they mixed only with Indians; I hardly ever met an Englishman or woman in their home. Even after they returned to England, in their home in Albion Street where I always stayed, their visitors were largely Indians: Tamils, Bengalis, Maharashtrians, Punjabis — rarely English unless he or she was also an India lover. So how do I go about telling so many people that Elinore is gone?

I vividly recall my first encounter with her. It was in Khan Market where she was doing her shopping. I asked her: “Mrs Sinclair before I finish counting 10, will you tell what is it that you dislike most about Indians?” I began to count. She was nonplussed and lost for words. Before I finished counting she replied: “For the life of me I can’t think of anything I don’t like about them, but can think of many things for which I do.” We became friends, close friends.

In London we went out shopping together, did the rounds of pubs, restaurants and theatres. She always threw a party for me. All my invitees were English; all hers Indians.

We wrote to each other regularly. Her letters to me became shorter and shorter and then stopped altogether. On one of his visits to Delhi her son Mark told me she was stricken with Alzheimers and fast losing her memory. Her younger daughter Margaret kept me informed about her health.

Five years ago when I happened to be in London, I rang up Margaret and asked her to take me to her mother. I received a warm embrace from Elinore. She had not forgotten me nor names of my children and friends. She showed me my books in her bookshelf and said she had read all of them.

The last few months Elinore Sinclair had to be moved to an old people’s home where she could get medical attention round the clock. Her three children Vicky, Mark and Margaret visited her in turns everyday. The end came on Tuesday, April 19, 2005.

Ode to spring

A pall of gloom descends on the earth

What with personal tragedies, national sorrow and woes of the world

What with a thick dense fog blocking the eye

And passing into the mind unobstructed.

A winter of cosy comfort, no

A winter of chilling bones awaits

A flowery field, a yellow mustard ocean, and a fragrant breeze,

A cold winter awaits warmth in the heart,

O spring

I see you are already smiling,

Keep smiling on us, and for a change

Not on our fond and foolish hope, O!’

(Courtesy: Kuldip Salil, Delhi).

Children’s science

Q: How is dew formed?

Ans: The sun shines down on the leaves and makes them perspire.

Q: What happens to a boy when he reaches puberty?

Ans: He says goodbye to his boyhood and looks forward to his adultery.

Q: How can you delay milk turning sour?

Ans: Keep it in the cow.

Q: What does the word ‘benign’ mean?

Ans: Benign is what you will be after you be eight.

(Contributed by Vipin Bucksey, New Delhi).