Turban here to stay

Manavjit Mann Kang

I WAS born into a Jat Sikh family and a proud one at that. My father, an erstwhile chief of Punjab adorning the title of Sardar Bahadur Saheb, was an erudite Sikh. My mother hailed from an aristocratic Singhpuria Misl. I, along with my siblings, was brought up with rich Sikh values. We were sent to the country’s best boarding schools, right from pre-nursery till we graduated. Although we would be away from home for more than nine months a year, our Sikh values and traditions remained intact. 

I am reminded of a particular incident when I was studying at St Vincent Hill in Mussoorie. I had chewing gum stuck in my hair and the nuns snipped it off. When my mother learnt of it, she was infuriated and shot off a strong-worded letter to the principal. The school management was made to apologise. That was that. 

Years later, my younger brother entered his teens and started tying his dastar with the precision of an artist. It added to his good looks and charming personality. I would swell with pride looking at him tie his turban meticulously. I was the first to get married. My parents found a young recruit in the IFS as my life partner. A handsome turbaned Sikh with a charismatic personality. I, too, brought up my children with rich Sikh values. My daughter studied at prestigious boarding schools in the hills and later passed out from St Bede’s College. It was time for her to tie the marital knot. Rishtas from elite families knocked at our door. Rich businessmen, entrepreneurs, so-called ‘royals’ and what not. But our hunt for the elusive turbaned Sikh continued till we found a fine-looking debonair gentleman for our daughter. A young probationer in the IAS and a Majhe da Jat. God had answered all our prayers. 

The turban is a part of the Sikh identity, signifying spirituality, honour, responsibility and courage. There are many Punjabi idioms and proverbs that describe how important a dastar is in a Sikh’s life. Bhai Gurdas writes about an incident highlighting the importance of the turban — A man, after taking a bath during winter, forgot his dastar at the well and came home bareheaded. The women thought someone had died and they started to cry. 

Guru Gobind Singh said, ‘Khalsa mero roop hai khaas. Khalse me hau karo niwas’ (Khalsa is a true picture of mine. I live in Khalsa’).

Today, my grandson, a ‘turbantor’,  feels disheartened to see his peers shun the Sikh identity and laments — ‘Woh Sardar hi kya, jiske sar par taj nahi?’