When I was younger, I would, as some sort of a recurring joke, facetiously ask my mother, what she would do if I were an atheist (although I see nothing funny about this question now.) She would reassure me, quite sincerely it seemed, that she would always respect whatever faith, or non-faith for that matter, I chose to follow. Nevertheless, my mother would quickly follow up with a smug grin: “But you’re not having any ideas, are you?”

Well, I am having ideas right now. I don’t believe that I am an atheist but I find certain tenets of Hinduism much less appealing to reason than certain aspects of atheism.

So how did this transformation occur? How did the girl who once scoffed at atheism as the hallmark of callous, joyless weirdoes learn to celebrate its virtues?

This year, amidst college applications, I’ve been doing some reading. In my English class, we explored existentialism and after learning about it, I revealed to my mother what I knew about the philosophy. I explained that existentialists believe that the world is absurd because (1) human beings have a proclivity to impose order upon the universe and (2) this despite the fact that the inherently chaotic universe resists any such preordained meaning.

This notion might sound grim, however, existentialists believe that the best way to wrestle this absurdity is by living authentically – that is, faithfully to one’s own spirit despite external pressures such as social mores. While I found the existentialist ethos liberating, my mother found it, as a whole, too edgy.

Apart from reading existentialist works, I also read those of noted atheists, namely Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens. They made the case against organized religion and all the atrocities it has and continues to foster by indoctrinating its followers. In April of last year, when The NRI published an article about India’s shameful regard for the late Sathya Sai Baba, I found myself especially irritated. The notion of criticizing a prolific philanthropist just seemed irreverent. Sure, I thought, Sathya Sai Baba promoted religious complacency, but so what? He gifted his docile followers with modern necessities and they innocuously followed his teachings.

It wasn’t until I read the writings of the aforementioned atheists that I saw the urgent danger of grandiose divine claims such as those of Sathya Sai Baba. They encourage a lack of inquiry and deference in the place of spiritual inquiry. This same ignorance, while meek and fawning one moment, turns manically proselytistic and violently intolerant the next.

At this point, I began looking at Hinduism critically. If seeking truth and reason is the noblest endeavor, then the superstitions (vastu shastra, for instance) that Hinduism entails become void. So too do the ideas of reincarnation and vasanas – some sort of karmic remnants of a past life that contour the present – deem themselves false.

My mother is, to put it lightly, upset about these recent changes. But why wouldn’t she be? Wasn’t this transformation something my ancestors would never have been able to imagine? Haven’t I just lost my religion?

The answer is maybe. The Gita, at its crux, makes one claim that it is not religious but rather entirely spiritual. It asserts that the concept “God” is, quite simply, the life source within every living being. Here, it doesn’t claim to know the beginnings of the universe or try to impose some moral order. It doesn’t encourage deference. It holds none of the trappings of religion. Rather it uses the concept of “God” to encourage a respect for the life – the oneness – shared by all living things. In this vein, this version of Hindu spirituality encourages that we conscientiously make the most of our life and our intellectual capacity.

Hinduism – not as a religion, but as spirituality – promotes that which atheism – the inherent celebration of reason and intellect – and existentialism also uphold. It is here where I currently find myself.

But what is the evidence for my position? What is the evidence that the very life inside every living thing is godly? There is none. I know this one detail sounds contradictory to what I have been seeking the entire time. However, what my position is backed by, more importantly, is reason: If the concept of “God” suggests the noblest being, what use is it to endow this stature to some unworldly force? Why not dedicate our time to living righteously for the sake of the life that every creature shares instead of paying paeans to an outside deity? Call this line of reasoning opportunistic. I call it worthy of our effort.

Photo credit: humanistlife.org.uk

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Last week, during a decluttering frenzy, I gave away most of my books and CDs and kept a handful of things neatly filed on my hard-drive. Why, in this digital age, do we still hold onto so much when it’s possible, I thought, to just live with a few items of necessity? Of course I kept a few treasures, but established solid criteria for what these needed to be: things of beauty and wonder.

One such item I’ve recently acquired is the The Golden Temple of Amritsar: Reflections of the Past (1808-1959) book. A large, hard backed first edition, this book is the accompanying catalogue to the exhibition I covered last year. The exhibition’s scope was so vast, that it’s no wonder this book was a while in the making. It comes on to the scene now, reminding us that reflections of the past are continually emerging. It chronicles both a testimonial and visual history of the temple from 1808 to 1959, pulling together specially sourced imagery and introductions. Most impressive, however, is its exquisite execution: a gold edged volume, with elegantly reproduced graphic elements, iconography, mapping, legends and indices. The palette is specifically designed to best offset images of the temple throughout the decades.

Alongside the book and the exhibition is the site, www.gt1588.com – where in his blog post, designer Juga Singh, comments that his aim was to ‘produce something that is beautiful, accessible, functional and most importantly, true to the brief’. In this, he succeeds. However, the book goes beyond being a coffee table adventure. Indeed, for most Sikhs, it is a commentary on our cultural evolution – as it reflects on the geographical epicentre of our faith. We learn the Amritsar was more than just a sacred vestige of faith, but a thriving cosmopolitan hub of learning, mingling, trade and exchange.

When I spoke to Harbaksh Singh, a prominent member of the project, we discussed both the book and the site and how they sit together. He explained that through the eyes of others – we’ve seen the temple move through the control of Maharaja Ranjit Singh, The British Raj and finally the SPGC. Though a broad overview of the temple’s history, within these transitions – the temple experienced major aesthetic and social changes. When asked why the coverage of the temple’s history doesn’t stretch to the modern day, the response has been about keeping the focus on the temple’s ‘golden age’. A fitting description for a time when visitors from across the globe experienced the temple with awe and delight. As such, the book begins with the earliest view of the temple through the eyes of a foreign spy, explored further in The Maharaja, the spy & the Temple of Gold. Then, by the end, we’ve moved onto views of the temple through the glossy images in a French travel magazine.

Within this history, we also learn of the dramatic changes brought on through British control and eventually the SGPC. The architecture as well as the environment became more sanctimonious, utilitarian and militaristic. More than the temple, this was perhaps a reflection on the Sikh state of mind, which, for a new religion – is still evolving. However, at its detriment, it saw a certain aspect of Amritsar’s thriving splendour disappear. Fortunately, this book captures some of this, so we re-imagine the secret life of a Gurudwara as more than just a temple of worship. There are, for example, instances of people openly bathing, worshippers with uncovered heads and Amritsar as a commercial centre. The images capture a raw, colourful energy which now in Amritsar feels slightly muted and white-washed. The temple itself is perhaps the only surviving beacon of that former golden age.

For me, some of the enjoyable images in the book are those of temple appearing in unlikely places; the back-drop to regal paintings, on postcards, menus and tickets. Its image was at one time a commercial stamp – representing a glorious emblem of the orient. I fear that today – the very same use of that image may be considered blasphemous, which perhaps says more about us, than the temple.

Harbaksh alerted to me to an incident on Jay Leno, where the temple was featured as part of the satirical joke about the homes of Republican candidates. The SGPC’s backlash against this demonstrated that we’ve perhaps become a prudish, volatile and reactionary culture. Maybe this is an aspect of our militaristic history – or just an inability to accept something in context. Regardless – it’s proved a great opportunity for the temple’s true history to surface. In this book, we have evidence of just how varied and fruitful this history has been, as such, it’s a reflection of a people that have moved along with great change and upheaval.

For me, this book will remain a constant in my collection. Perhaps a lot to consume in one sitting, it offers the reader an opportunity of life-time re-visits, dipping in and out of its pages and thus exploring a new chapter of the temple’s past every time.

The Golden Temple of Amritsar: Reflections of the Past (1808-1959) is available to purchase through Kashi House HERE.

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Bamma is a 72 year old woman who has fulfilled all her responsibilities in life like getting married, propagating her genes, educating the kids, arranged-marrying them and seeing to it that her kids are doing the same as well. Now that she has grown old she has set her eyes on one last milestone – The Kashi Yatra

A Little Background Information

The Kashi yatra symbolizes giving up all worldly possessions and making “the final trip”. In the days of yore, it was often the last item in one’s bucket list because it was a dangerous activity that involved walking for weeks at a stretch (dangerous for a 70 year old), trekking across the Vindhyas (It’s more a  South Indian thing) through the jungle with tigers. A safe return was seldom guaranteed.

Going on a Kashi Yatra is making a statement. It is telling the world that you have seen enough of it, and that you’re ready to move on. To celebrate that otherworldly spirit, the custom is to renounce the one thing you like the most thereby letting a small part of you die as a token of respect for the God of Destruction.

This custom, despite very noble intentions, had a glaring loophole. Soon old men started renouncing the one thing they swear they love the most – their wives! To plug this loophole, the rules were made more specific. It can’t be “anything”. It has to be a food item – favorite fruit or vegetable to be more precise.

Bamma’s yatra

Cut to the 21st century, the tigers have been poached, the jungles mined and the Vindhyas are crossed by snoring in a sleeper class compartment. Bamma like all other Bammas has packed eight pieces of luggage for a three day journey. She is accompanied by her young grandson who is going through that awkward, indifferent, just-out-of-teenage-but-still-didn’t-get-laid phase where he thinks he is the sole victim of a 5000 year old civilization!

Bamma is very stout about following these sorts of customs and so she gave up the thing she loved the most – mangoes. (She is diabetic and is not supposed to eat them anyway)

Things have changed a bit.

For centuries, Renounce-your-favorite-fruit service was the monopoly of the Kashi-Vishwanath temple! Worse, renouncing was exclusive to senior citizens. However, neo-liberal policies of the last 20 years have rubbed off a little on religion too. You want to renounce your favorite fruit but do not have the time to go all the way to Kashi? Don’t worry, you can now avail the benefits of renunciation without even activating your roaming. You can do it anytime, anyplace. All you need is a face!

Yes folks, Shiridi and Tirupati offer some excellent plans. Their devotee-friendly staff is there seven days a week to help you renounce something you really like. Even the favorite-fruit-or-vegetable-only rule is relaxed.  I have a friend who at the age of 17 renounced meat in Tirupati. Something that was unimaginable 20 years back! Awesome, huh?

Note: Renunciation is still limited to food items. You can’t dump your wife in a temple yet!

Speaking of Wives

The Kashi Yatra is also an important aspect of South Indian wedding too. It’s a nice fun pre-wedding ritual which is acted out like a one act play.

The story goes something like this. Immediately after his student life, the young bachelor (the groom) has two choices – married life (grihasta) or an ascetic life (sanyasam). The eligible bachelor having been exposed to various ideas of post-modern masculinity (mostly through American sitcoms) is naturally commitment-phobic and thus prefers Sanyasam.

And so he embarks upon his journey to Kashi searching for the ultimate truth with the help of his The Essential Sanyasam survival Tool Kit which includes a pair of slippers, an umbrella, a bamboo fan, a copper jug with a handle (Telugu: mari chembu) and an Android Google Maps app (you know, for directions!)

And so, the groom begins his remarkable journey to Kashi.  In Tamil weddings, he is stopped on the way by the father of the bride who advises him on the superiority of the married life compared to the life of an ascetic (conveniently skipping the tribulations of marriage) and to prove his point, he offers his daughter for marriage.

In Telugu weddings, it is the brother of the bride who persuades the groom to marry his sister. And he persuades by placing a small piece of jaggery under his chin.

Now back in the days when weddings were memories, a small piece of jaggery sufficed. But in the modern photo-op weddings of today, the small piece is not very photogenic. So they had to increase the size of the piece of jaggery and it is now approximately the size of a brick!

The disproportionate size of the brick can be quite confusing for an outsider who doesn’t have this cultural context. It looks like the groom just cheated on his girlfriend and is running away from the village but her brother catches him and says, “You think you can dump my sister and run away? Marry my sister or else I will bludgeon you to death with this sweet yummy brick!”

In short, a pure veg. shot gun wedding!

Image: Painting by Manish Khattri http://www.paintingsilove.com/image/show/179492/varanasi-ghat

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It’s a cold, foggy Sunday morning and I’m sitting on a boat with thirty other Indians floating along the river at Kingston upon Thames. We’re not a bunch of tourists on a sight seeing trip, far from it. We’re here to scatter a dear relative’s ashes and see closure on a fortnight of grieving.

As the boat floats along the river, a flock of wild ducks, two majestic swans and members of local rowing club pass by, oblivious to what’s going on aboard. The skipper eventually moors the boat near a small pier and gives the go ahead.

A priest reads aloud a final set of prayers as my cousin releases a white cloth bundle into the cold, still water. His father’s ashes gently pour out and drift away and you can’t help but shed a tear, the floating and eventual sinking of the cloth symbolic of the passing of a great life.

For many Hindus and Sikhs in the UK, it’s traditional for the ashes of dead relatives to be immersed in one of the many holy rivers back home in the motherland. However, more and more Indian families are finding their connection to the subcontinent severed, be it through migration, marriage or family feuds. Inevitably, it has become more common place and acceptable for individuals to perform the last rites for loved ones right here in UK.

Specially designated sites like the ones in Kingston upon Thames, Windsor and Brighton have been created in order to accommodate the growing number of South Asian (and non-Asian) requests. Not surprising considering the thousands of second and third generation Indians born and raised in the UK who never stepped foot on Hindustani soil, despite what the Bollywood films would have you believe.

The disposing of human remains is a sensitive subject. While some Indians may feel the need for their spiritual journey to end in their country of origin, others may not. For many, their country of origin may now be Africa, Australia, North America or Europe.

But what if you are suddenly faced with the death of a loved one who didn’t express their wish on where and how they are to be laid to rest? Is it acceptable to forgo the journey home and arrange for their remains to be dispersed locally? Common sense dictates it’s a personal decision that should be made without outsider interference.

While a fair number of UK Indians may have seen their connection to the home land erode over the years, some, like Davender Ghai, have not. In February 2010 the 71 year old Hindu grandfather from Gosforth, Newcastle upon Tyne, won right to be cremated on a traditional open-air funeral pyre in Britain. His controversial case was reported to have cost him £100,000 (only a small proportion of which was covered by legal aid) and left him ‘virtually penniless’.

Nevertheless, the landmark ruling meant thousands of Hindus, Sikhs and anyone else wanting ‘natural cremation’ can have their dying wishes legally carried out. As the founder of the Anglo-Asian Friendship Society, Mr Ghai’s tenacity opened the way for building crematoria with a hole in the roof to meet the requirements of the faiths and British law. “I believe a person should live and die according to his own religion,” the Uganda-born man told BBC news, despite having lived in the UK since the 1970s.

While some UK citizens may not like the idea of open air cremations taking place in their neighbourhood, the law can no longer prohibit this. Mr Ghai’s historic win means a cultural ritual that dates back some 4,000 years can now be carried out in modern day Britain. Before that the burning of human remains anywhere outside a crematorium was prohibited under the 1902 Cremation Act.

As the saying goes, ‘time and tide wait for no man’. Having been born in London and spent the past thirty seven years visiting the Punjab and other regions, my heart remains Indian even though my residence may not. I’d like to think that when my time comes, my family will be able to split my remains between both my true homelands and make two boat trips instead of one.

Photo credit: Remi Bridot

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It was nearly fifteen years ago on a pleasant March evening when he asked me to marry him. We were on the ramparts of a crumbling old fort at a place called Tranquebar. To say that I was surprised would be a lie. I had been expecting something like this. All that mattered to me when I said “yes” was that I was going to share my life with someone who loved and respected me.

Unfortunately, some people around us did not share my view. Some of our friends were openly skeptical while others were plain shocked – the reason being that he was Christian and I was Hindu. “How does it matter?” was what we asked these so called “well wishers” who were intent on discouraging us. They probably thought that we had gone crazy. Actually, a lot of people thought that way because religion, we realized soon enough, was for many an important source of identity.

Our parents, after the initial hiccups agreed but again we had to deal with this issue of how were going to survive as two individuals with different religious identities. My mother-in-law wanted me to convert to Christianity. My parents though not very happy with this suggestion, felt that it was probably the most practical idea because “a woman in our country is after all defined by her husband’s identity”. Just as she changes her surname she can change her religion too at the time of marriage.

But a change of that nature was not something that we were going to impose on ourselves. I tried to reason with his mother about the futility of changing one’s religion just so one could marry. “Will this not be an insult to your religion? I should believe in a religion when I adopt it” was my argument. I seemed to convince her and we went on to get married in a civil ceremony. Neither did I change my religion nor my name!

People sometimes want to know how we manage to co-exist as two people from different religions. We used to find these questions very silly when we were younger. But now that we are older and wiser we introspect on the people who ask us these questions and wonder why is it that they ask them. .

Though it is actually a contradiction to the secular principles on which our country is founded, in practice religion continues to define people’s identities. I never noticed this until I got married but people often refer to others thus “that muslim lady, a Christian gentleman” etc. Interestingly, nobody refers to themselves as “the Hindu aunty next door”. Here it is a caste identity that is used to define the person. In a place like Chennai caste is an important determinant of who you are once your religion is established.

One of the things that we realized in our fifteen odd years of marriage was that religion has the power to be a divisive force only if we allow it to become one. Neither of us are actually religious people though we do practice the religion in a very loose sort of way. My husband goes to church every other Sunday – he usually goes alone. I used to go too when my mother in law was alive but it was more by way of enjoying the peace and tranquillity of the heritage church building than for anything else. My husband on the other hand often comes with me to temples – sometimes like me to enjoy the beautiful architecture!

People are often curious to know the religious affiliation of our daughter. They find it hard to believe it when we say that religion is not something that we are going to leave for her as a legacy. If she decides to follow a religion it has to be a conscious choice that she makes. It does not have to be the religion of her parents and could well be something totally different.

She seems quite comfortable with that. Unfortunately others do not seem to let her live with that. There are often occasions when people assume that she is a Christian because she does not put on a “bindi” and her middle name is her paternal grandmother’s name – and therefore Christian sounding. For a thirteen year old it can be quite daunting when adults jump to these conclusions. She does not feel why she has to explain to people what festivals she celebrates. “I also like to buy new clothes for Eid” she once told a very nosy neighbour! She finds it very difficult to explain to people that she is not an atheist. She cannot understand why people do not make that simple differentiation between religion and god – that one is all pervasive while the other is man made.

Both my husband and myself feel that we are lucky to be part of two different cultures. We celebrate Christmas and Diwali with equal gusto. In both these festivals we try to highlight the cultural aspects and play down the religious overtones.

It is not to say that it has been roses all the way for us. We have had our share of troubles, arguments and fights, but none of these have been about religion. Religion continues to exist in our lives but does not consume our day to day existence. People who know only my husband are surprised when he tells them his wife’s name just as people known to me give a start when they hear my husband’s very Christian sounding name. Sometimes they are not sure if we are even married!

Both our extended families have kept away from intruding in with their brand of religion – if anything they have only tried to be inclusive. So, as my daughter used to say when she was younger “Don’t mess with me. I have Gods from two religions behind me”!!!

Photo credit: examinethetruth.com

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I had once written a series of articles to bring into notice, how diversified the epic tale of Ramayana is. On my teacher’s recommendation, I conducted exhaustive research on the several ways the story of Ramayana has been told. My research also included reading one of A K Ramanujan’s popular essays “Three Hundred Ramayanas”. I concluded that a different telling of Ramayana exists in every village of India, and extends internationally to Persia, south east Asia, Sri Lanka, Maldives, and into the west. Over time people have drawn different inferences from the legend. And hard coding it into a singular version is not really appropriate.

Recently, a controversy erupted in the capital of India relating to the same essay by A K Ramanujan, which was a part of the undergraduate course in history at Delhi University. The university authority suddenly decided to drop the text. This decision was immediately challenged and soon followed by a huge halla amongst students. As expected, the incident was eventually exposed by the media. While some people described the move as unfortunate, others claimed that the removal of the essay was a victory for the right wing. The leftists fought hard to bring it back into the curriculum.

The popular essay had not gone down well with sections of the right wing, some of whom called it blasphemous. In fact, in 2008, a group of ABVP (Akhil Bharatiya Vidyarthi Parishad) activists went on a rampage, attacking the University’s Department of History, in protest.

Soon, a prominent Indian newspaper, The Hindu, published an interview by Romila Thapar where she shed some light on the whole issue. She supported Ramanujan’s essay, and from a historian’s perspective, she advocated that the essay be brought back into the syllabus. Naturally the leftists strongly supported her point of view.

Today the issue hangs in suspended state as a standoff between the right and left wing groups. However, my opinion differs from both groups. There is a critical point that they are missing.

Let me explain. When there is an interesting cricket match, hundreds of newspapers and media houses cover it. Next day each has a different style of reporting the match. This is what makes the discussion beautiful. We all will agree that reading only the real picture the next day will be extremely boring. How many of us will read the newspaper report that has only the scorecard to offer?

Well, the point is this – Ramayana actually happened! Every language and dialect of India has a version of it. Every village has a folklore based on it. These are living testaments of the fact that it actually happened – maybe not in the way it is depicted today, but in some form. It actually happened. This is one point the leftists are missing. Well, it is a known fact that many prominent leftists are atheists. It is high time you must acknowledge that religion is the greatest binding force of all. This is one thing civilization has taught us. Religion is important – at least from a cultural perspective.

The right wing traditionalists need to acknowledge the fact that knowledge has to be questioned. You must not claim that an event occurred in a specific way. You cannot enforce your reporting of the cricket match to be the ultimate one. A legend grows, so they say. And a legend cannot grow when bound in shackles. You must understand that the multiple interpretations of Ramayana shows the inherent strength of our religion and our all encompassing world view. How can the study of a text by Ramanujan hurt your religious sensibilities? Are our belief systems so fragile?

Ramayana has become a second language of a whole culture called India. The coexistence of the both leftists and right wingers is of utter importance in the democratic process of India. Let’s acknowledge that, and live in harmony. The events of Ramayana happened in some form or the other. It is a legend, and a legend grows. Now, we cannot question that. Can we?

The other aspect that needs to be addressed is the Indian education system. Higher education in India is still based on studying prescribed texts. A subject should ideally identify broad themes for study. A student should be tested in examinations for his understanding the subject. With prescribed texts being given to them like medicine, the student’s scope for demonstrating his intelligence and knowledge is limited. Our education system should neither prohibit, nor compel a student to read the essay. Freedom to question and choose, is as important as freedom of speech. Let’s not compromise on that!

Photo credit: Jeet Sen

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It’s a cold, overcast October morning. The mist created as I exhale dances in front of me. As I follow it, captivated by its movement as though it were the first breath I ever saw leave my body, my eyes settle on the house that was my destination two hours ago. It’s an ordinary house, in an ordinary street, in a city like any other. But as I walk towards it, today seems anything but ordinary. The man that lives in that house is a man like no other. He is a master of traditional North Indian battlefield arts, the last Sikh master swordsman. He is Nidar Singh Nihang.

I knock. Not loudly – I’m careful to not appear obnoxious – but loud enough so he thinks I’m nonchalant, indifferent to the reputation that precedes the lord of the manor. As I have never knowingly before tried to knock on a front door in an indifferent and nonchalant fashion, I’m unsure whether or not I’ve managed to pull it off. No matter. A figure I see through the glass appears with such swiftness that it feels as though it has arrived even before my knuckles have announced my presence. The door opens. In the first few moments I am aware of nothing but a pair of eyes. Piercing. Cold. Inquisitive. Demanding. Eyes framed in a physique as imposing as could be imagined. This man is tall, barrel chested, and with powerful shoulders. He is adorned with menacing weapons and crowned impressively with a turban of cotton and steel. His knees are bent slightly and he is leaning towards me a little, as though ready to spring into action.

‘Nidar Singh?’ I enquire. ‘I’m Jagjit. We spoke yesterday.’

The cold frozen brown eyes instantly melt into welcoming amber. He ushers me in and leads me into a room at the back of the house and offers me a seat. He brings me tea and we waltz through the initial pleasantries with an urgency that betrays both our desire to get to the real purpose of today’s meeting: the Sikh martial tradition and the unique role that Nidar Singh plays in it.

As a consequence of the socio-political climate in late 15th and early 16th century India, and in particular Punjab, a new religious movement emerged. This movement was founded at a time of great conflict between the prevailing Islamic and Hindu faiths of the time. Its tenets and teachings were not claimed to be original or revolutionary but were said to be those already in existence but that had been forgotten by the masses, doing away with hypocrisy and fanaticism and building bridges between people. This movement was Sikhism and its founder was Guru Nanak Dev Ji. Over the years this peace loving faith had, through prejudice and persecution, been transformed into a martial creed. The vanguard of the newly militarised Sikhs became the Nihangs. Fast forward 300 years and we arrive here, in this room at the back of an ordinary house, in an ordinary street, in a city like any other, in the presence of a modern day Nihang.

My first question to Nidar Singh is the most obvious one. Waving my hand up and down in his direction I ask, ‘How?’

‘I was born and brought up in England’, he begins. ‘At the age of 17 during a family holiday to Punjab, I had a chance meeting with a 70 year old man. This man claimed to have intimate knowledge of a very special art and to be skilled in its practice. This art was Shastar Vidiya, or The Science of Weapons, and the man was Baba Mohinder Singh, the last surviving master of Sikh battlefield arts.’

After initially seeing in Nidar Singh a natural strength and athleticism, Baba Mohinder selected Nidar Singh to be his sole student. Over the course of the next 7 years he was to impart to him the almost extinct combat art which the Sikhs had used to defend the oppressed peoples of Punjab from, amongst others, the Mughals of 17th and 18th century India, the invading Afghans of the 18th century and the 19th century British colonialists. At the time of their meeting Nidar Singh had no religious or ideological biases and the Baba saw in him a blank canvas on which he could paint the traditional, pluralistic form of Sikhism, which was by that time being seen and acknowledged all too rarely.

‘After our time together, during which I had become proficient in the Vidiya, Baba Mohinder Singh sent me to seek out other masters across India so that I might learn from them and go on to improve and further develop my technique’, says Nidar Singh. After I had completed my training, I was proclaimed as being the next master. Aged 28, and after 11 years in India, I returned home to England with a wife, a daughter, and one of the most deadly combat arts in the known world. The year was 1995.’

When Nidar Singh began his training in 1984 it was a time of great confusion and chaos in Punjab. Political events had overtaken the Sikh community and Punjab was essentially in a state of civil war. The culmination of all these events was Operation Blue Star, the storming of the Golden Temple, the holiest shrine of the Sikhs, by the Indian Army. After completing his education in Shastar Vidiya in secret, partly to avoid the avaricious eyes of those that had been denied the Vidiya by Baba Mohinder Singh, and partly to avoid arousing the suspicion of the Indian security forces, Nidar Singh arrives back in England to find huge conflict within the Sikh community. Traditionalists, extremists, pacifists, all vying to get their voices heard. It was in these difficult and tumultuous times that Nidar Singh began to teach the Vidiya.

‘I am wholehearedly opposed to extremism.’ he says. ‘I know that I cannot live forever and that I must teach the Vidiya – I am willing to teach anyone that wishes to learn. I can, if I choose, spend hours alone, developing my technique further but, if I want this Vidiya to survive I must teach, and I must have students that are willing to perform the necessary sacrifices and devote the necessary time demanded to learn it. I will teach any person from any background but as an enemy of extremism I have one condition: I only teach students that are able to display a discerning intellect.’

I ask Nidar Singh about the origins of Shastar Vidiya and how the Sikhs in particular came to master it.

‘Shastar Vidiya’, he explains ‘is traced back to Shiva, whose conceptual form we revere, and the sages of Shiva. This knowledge was then transferred from generation to generation through the ages. Guru Nanak Dev Ji was then said to have learnt this vidiya from Nath babas. The sixth guru, Guru Hargobind, establishes the Akaalis, or immortals, who became the foremost exponents of the vidiya. Under the tenth guru, Guru Gobind Singh, these Akaalis become known as Akaali Nihangs. It is these Nihangs that worship the Goddess Chandi as the form of The Formless One. It is Chandi that rides her Singhs, i.e. her lions, into battle.’

After taking me on an historical tour de force spanning thousands of years, we arrive at the question of the future. What does Nidar Singh see as his role in the world today with all the staggering knowledge and skills he has accumulated?

‘As Nihangs we are linked to The Timeless One through our vidiya. The practice of it is our form of worship. All aspects of our technique, every movement, every action is linked to The Creator. It is through shastar vidiya and understanding the science behind it that we, as a people, are able to appreciate our traditions. Only by understanding our traditions will we be able to value them. Once we comprehend the importance of them only then will we have the desire to uphold them.’

Sitting with Nidar Singh one quickly realises that he is not just a warrior. He is infinitely more: a philosopher, a poet, a theologian, a humanist. He is also a historian having co-authored a secret history of the Sikhs, ‘In the Master’s Presence’, available to purchase at www.kashihouse.com and www.gt1588.com. Foremost, however, he is a master of his art. His Shastar Vidiya classes run across the UK and he can also be found giving lectures and performing demonstrations countrywide.

Nidar Singh is single-handedly keeping alive this ancient art and passing it on to the next generation of masters.

And he also makes great tea!

*

Nidar Singh is the subject of a forthcoming radio programme on the BBC world Service, entitled ‘The Last Sikh Warrior’. In this this extraordinary documentary, the British writer, radio & television presenter Hardeep Singh Kohli tells the story of how this Sikh master is striving to keep his ancient martial tradition alive. The programme is due to be broadcast as part of the Heart & Soul series at 1230 (GMT) on Saturday 29th October 2011 (to be repeated on Sunday 30th and Monday 31st).

Photo credit: Raj Hundal – click here for more images www.beyondexposure.co.uk

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What a weekend it’s been! At The Rugby World Cup semi-final in New Zealand on Saturday morning 15 French men and a referee contrived to break my heart. Our brave boys in red couldn’t have given any more. Every muscle strained, every blade of grass covered, every thunderous tackle made, every high ball taken, and by the end of the eighty minutes every cheek salted and tissue sodden. Who would’ve imagined that dejection and deepest depression felt as a result of events down under could almost have overtaken the delight and fervour caused by what had taken place at The Nehru Centre in Mayfair 24 hours earlier?

As part of the DSC South Asian Literary festival, The Nehru Centre played host to the launch of United Kingdom Punjab Heritage Association’s latest publication: The Golden Temple Of Amritsar, Reflections Of The Past, the book designed to be the accompaniment to the triumphant success that was the The Golden Temple exhibition, recently held at The Brunei Gallery, SOAS, London.

The image of The Golden Temple is one which is instantly recognised by millions across the world. The epicentre of the Sikh faith and a place of pilgrimage for countless numbers, this much loved place of worship has a hidden and intriguing history which is spectacularly brought to life in a publication which was in fact the source material for the recent exhibition. The book presents the rich history of The Golden Temple from its spiritual beginnings as the site where Lord Buddha is said to have meditated, to its acquisition by the Sikhs and the construction of the temple complex, then on to its becoming the glistening golden structure that we know it as today courtesy of Maharaja Ranjit Singh, and through to its turbulent history under British rule.

The authors Parmjit Singh and Amandeep Singh Madra have brought together 500 of the rarest and most beautiful images of the temple along with a selection of what are considered to be the most important eye witness accounts covering each decade from the 1800s through to the 1950s. Commentaries from memsahibs, travellers, rogues, raconteurs and spies are used expertly to bring the sketches, paintings and photographs to life. The collation of these images and accounts into a marvellously ornate binding of ivory decorated with gold and deliciously textured and encased is down to design guru Juga Singh. What an accomplishment they have made. And they know it!

UKPHA is non-profit organisation founded by Parmjit and Amandeep whose mission in part is to foster an appreciation of Punjabi material heritage in Britain, and my how they have done that here. At the Nehru Centre throngs of fascinated and appreciative clamourers could be seen jostling members of UKPHA and their army of dedicated and passionate volunteers, eager to get an insight into the ideas and concepts behind the book and keen to show their appreciation of it. In the midst of the chaos Parmjit, Amandeep, Juga and others could be seen granting requests for an audience with a charm and serenity that emanates from their satisfaction with their newest publication. The authors have taken their passion for their own culture and heritage and made it accessible to a world of people who may never have otherwise been able to enjoy it. They have achieved what they set out to accomplish and now want the public to revel in the fruits of the labours.

UKPHA being UKPHA the launch evening had to have a wow factor. Two classical masters gave performances that showcased some of the finest examples of Sikh tradition still practised, although tragically seen all too rarely, in the world today. First to provide the necessary snap, crackle and pop was Nidar Singh Nihang, the last of the great Sikh master swordsmen and carrying the title of Grand Master of Traditional Sikh Battlefield Arts. Nidar Singh, seemingly plucked from the pages of the 18th century gave the audience an insight into the psyche and skills of the Sikh warrior and a spectacular and dazzling display of their martial traditions. Following this came an historical re-enactment of some of the most significant battles fought in and around the temple complex. The second performance came from Bhai Ghulam Muhammad Chand, one of the last of the great Muslim musicians to perform at the Golden Temple. Born in Amritsar, Bhai Ghulam was forced to leave his homeland after 1947 and partition, with it he left the musical traditions passed onto him by his fore fathers. That was until UKPHA found him his first audience in over 50 years.

The success of that evening’s event was beyond doubt. The book is an astonishing feat, the performances of the two classical masters were staggering, the authors were mightily impressive and those that attended left with approving critiques. As I stepped, smiling, past the bust of Pandit Nehru and into the brisk autumnal evening, even his austere expression seemed to have changed into one of awe and admiration.

What a night!

And then came Saturday.

To order a copy of the book, or receive further information, please click here.

Photo credit: Prab Bhatia

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