As I walked into the lounge, horror of horrors, someone was sitting in my armchair. I felt like a lost animal, I didn’t know what to do, should I sit on the sofa or on one of the round stools or on the carpet? “The grooves” I thought “the grooves that mould to my body as I sit in my beloved armchair would all be ruined.”
It was an old lady who occupied my place all dressed in pale colours with a white chunni on her head. As I looked closer I could tell she must be in her eighties but her skin seemed smooth and tight. “The wonders of Botox” I thought “even maji here looked 20 years younger.” But her face betrayed a deep sadness, she looked up at me with moist eyes. I could see that something was wrong, “Satsiri akal, mata ji” I said desperately trying to think who she was. I knew we were related somehow on my wife’s side but that was it. I sat down next to her on a low stool trying to look all concerned. WWF was on in a few minutes and it was Hulk Hogans bid to gain some shiny belt. She looked at me unable to speak for a moment and then with a quivering bottom lip she said “Rekha.”
“No” I thought “what’s happened to Rekha?” They had been married just six months to the day and they were still in that part of the marriage where everything is still exciting and vigorous. “No no” I thought, all sorts of scenarios started to run through my mind “What ever could have happened to Rekha, she looked so happy the last time I saw her smashed out of her face.” The expression on maji’s face told me something real bad had happened.
Maji spoke in a whisper “Kurri agii”
“Ki ?” it didn’t quite register.
“Kurri” she looked up at me “Rekah had a girl” she said.
I stared at the woman unable to speak, a cold dark stare that seemed to unnerve her. I felt like using one of Hogans head locks on her. “Phare ki hoa?” I asked “So what?”
“Phare ki hoa?” she mustered “Khota khoo’ch pey gia.” I wasn’t familiar with that expression, something about a donkey falling into a well or something, but the message was clear, everything had gone down the plughole. I got up and left the old woman with her head in her hands, sitting in my chair.

I walked into the kitchen and found Pritam Kaur making some tea. I could see that all the ingredients had been added to the pan, the tea bags, sugar, the milk, now all it needed was ten minutes good simmering to get it to a treacle consistency. She also looked sombre. “What’s the matter” I asked “I just found out the Rekhas has had a baby and its like someone’s died.”
“Shhh, maji will hear” she said
“Well aren’t you happy?” I asked her
“Of course I am, I’ve just been down to the hospital and both are doing well. Baby looks just like Joginder.” She said cheerfully.
“Thank God for that” I thought “If she had looked anything like Rekha there would be reason to be glum.”
“There were a few more old ladies at her bed side looking like maji as well” she continued “You know what the older generation is like”
“Yeh, but this is going a bit too far, is’nt it?”
“Yes, but the older lot always want a boy, even though he may turn out to be a complete …..”
I cut in “Does that mean no luddu?”
“No luddo.”
My heart started to sink “No!” I said, but there was worst to come “what about the party?”
“No party”
“Nooooooo” I shouted is despair.
“Shhhhh, stop it, maji will hear”
“Stuff maji, all my plans are in ruins, this is a disaster, what is to be done, what is left?”
“There is only one thing left “ she said “it will have to be an Akhand Paath.”

I had a difficult night, tossing and turning, all I could hear was the distant sound of laughter and glasses clinking getting further and further away. But we were at Rekhas house now and I was waiting to catch the first glimpse of the baby. A contingent of old ladies had parked themselves in the middle of the room each holding a steaming glass of tea in deep conversation. I didn’t care to overhear as no doubt they would be gossiping about some one. The rest of the women were in the kitchen making the dreaded pinni’s.

Now pinni or pujiri is a strange but necessary evil. It looks like someone has thrown a load of muck, dirt and sand into a pan and added lots of seeds and nuts and given it a good stir. But apparently it is very good for you, especially for a new mum. A new mum is not allowed to do anything for six weeks and she gets waited and pampered and force fed the dreaded pujiri.

Joginder came into the room looking bleary eyed, I gave him the customary hug and congratulated him on the new arrival. “So, how’s things yaar?” I enquired.
“Oh, okay” he said rubbing his eyes.
“Sleepless nights eh?” I asked
“Tell me about it”
“Has she been named yet?” I enquired
“No not yet” he said “we got the letter from the gurdwara this week so we are deciding yet”
“So what is the akhar?” I enquired, I fancied a stab at naming the baby.
“It’s a susa, we’ve been thinking of Sissi, Sushiela, Susan, Suzy or even Sanchez” he said in a resigned way. It was obvious he had not had much say in the selections.
“Oh right” I said trying to muster up some enthusiasm. “What happened to some of the traditional names” I gingerly asked “like Sukhinder, Sarabjeet, Sukhdeep.” I continued thinking out aloud “or Simran or Sukhmani. Yeh Sukhmani sounds real nice.” I liked the sound of that, and as I repeated it in my mind I had convinced myself that if ever I had a daughter I would love to name her Sukhmani. Every time you say it you would be reminded of Guru Arjun Dev Ji. “Wow, heavy” I thought “am I getting all religious in my old age” but it didn’t matter, Sukhmani had a real ring to it.
“You know what all the fuffers and massis are like” said Joginder.
“What, oh yeh, your right” I said still making a mental note of Sukhmani Kaur.

As I held the baby for the first time a warm feeling came over me. I quickly looked to see if the nappy hadn’t leaked. No, it was something a lot more profound, I looked at its lovely pale brown skin and its rosy cheeks and lips, I marvelled at the mass of silky hair on its delicate head. As I looked into its most beautiful dark eyes I couldn’t help but wonder at this pure soul. It smiled at me and I couldn’t help but smiled back. It clasped my finger with its tiny hand and something tugged at my heart. They say that when you look into the eyes of a newborn you are looking at God, for there is no difference between the two. Both are as pure as pure, both show no malice or bad thoughts, both want total love. A newborn will look upon you with total helplessness and will love you totally. “Wow” I thought “I really am getting old” there was a time when I wouldn’t have given a baby a second thought, but times change, a person changes and as you get older priorities change, outlooks change and I suppose in some ways the call from beyond starts to get just that teeny bit louder.

The lads, which included Juggy, Jussy, Laadi, Bhauld, Joginder and me all sat around a table peeling bags of potatoes. The Akhand Paath was well underway and we were having a good old ghap shap while doing sewa. Various people were stood around huge pots with large karshies in there hands preparing the turkka for the sabzies and daals that needed to be made. Various guests came and went, doing their matha-take and joining the ghap shap groups stood around the langar area. “It is strange” I thought “that our Guru is talking to us with pearls of wisdom that are so deep and profound that the likes of which cannot be found in any text or holy book anywhere in the world, and all we can do is stand outside and gossip about who did what to whom.”

“Saw a DVD last night, Phantom of the Opera, pretty good” said Bhauld,
“I saw the Indian version of that” interrupted Jussy “it was called Phantom of the Chopra, good songs. Infact the main guy didn’t have to wear a mask,” we all laughed. I looked over and I could see the Giani coming over. I got up and made room for him. “Ahjau Giani Ji, behto” I said “come Giani Ji take a seat.” Giani Ji sat down, he was chewing a letchi or cardamom. He offered us all some lechies but we all declined. “Giani ji it will be April soon” I said “will you be giving a katha on Baisakhi and how we should all be shakking Amrit and becoming Guru wallay?” This was a risky thing for me to say as I was anything but a Guru-walla. I surprised myself with this question as it was not something that I would normally say, but I could detect subtle changes in me, I was mellowing out, and dare I say it, becoming a little spiritual!
Giani looked around before he answered “I have only been here a year and a half” he said “I have to be careful you know.” We all looked a little surprised, maybe we were a little naïve but we assumed that that is what gianies did, encourage all Sikhs to follow the true path of Sikhism and this presumably meant urging us all to give up the bad habits, like beard trimming, giving up alcohol, sharaab, meat and so on.
“Ki kendhay hey Giani Ji” asked Laddi, what are you saying?
“Veer Ji I cannot just get on stage and speak my mind. I cannot preach the full message of our Guru you know, I have to watch myself” said Giani Ji, biting on another letchi.
We were all a little intrigued by this revelation. We all moved in a little closer like a rugby scrum, still managing to scrape the potatoes with the peelers. “Giani Ji dhaso, dhaso” we asked, tell us more.
Giani Ji gave out a chuckle as he leaned back in his chair rubbing is round stomach. “Veer’o, have you seen the committee? Most of them trim their beards, they also drink plenty whisky at home and I doubt if any have heard of amritwella never mind experiencing it” again he chuckled, I instinctively rubbed my chin, there was not much hair on it.
“Yes, but shouldn’t you get up on stage and preach Guru Ji’s message and maybe they will also start to follow the true path?” asked Laddi. That was a good question I thought, I leaned over and looked at Laddi.
“Ha, par it would be the last speech I would make” Giani said “they would have me out of here before I could say ‘sat siri akal’ and I am not puckka yet you know, I have another six months for that.” We were all a little shocked by this.
“Is this the state our Gurdwaras are in?” I wondered out aloud.
“No no puttar, not all Gurdwaras are like this” said Giani while he patted me on my back “there are many that have kirpa of Guru Sahib Ji, but his one …..” his voice trailed off, “they are into politics, not Guru di sewa” he continued. “They do not have piyar for Guru Sahib Ji, it is local politics for them and how much money they can accumulate in the bank.”

He proceeded to paint a grave picture at the Gurdwara, how he was told to do menial work like clean out the toilets and even make the committee members tea when they had their many chit chats in the office. How raggis - who have travelled from India leaving their loved ones behind to come and do ‘kirtan sewa’ and earn enough to send back to their families – are not allowed to keep the kirtan paytta that is bestowed upon them by the sangat but instead get a very basic flat rate payment from the committee. The committee knows that the raggies cannot complain, and they get to keep the rest of the sewa. How none of the raggies can do proper parchaar because they know they will never be invited back.
“Ha ji ha ji sewadhar baot achey hey” said Giani Ji loudly, which caused puzzled looks all-round until we noticed the pardhaan walking towards us. “Theek taak ho?” the pardhaan asked, we all stared and nodded in unison, while stabbing the potatoes in our hands with the peelers.

I love functions like this where all relatives and friends get together. We did sewa late into the night, cutting and peeling and washing and chopping as instructed by the many aunties and uncles who had taken it upon themselves to be the chaudhries. It was well past midnight when all the work was done. The sabzies and daals were made, the milk and ‘jaag’ was put to rest wrapped in a blanket and in the morning it would be wonderful yoghurt. The kheer was made and rice was done. The tables had been laid out for the morning tea that the sangat would have. We sat down, a little tired and grateful for the glasses of hot steaming tea coming our way. We all took our glasses from the tray and slurped loudly. “Isn’t sewa great” I said loudly, everyone looked up. “Just think, if this was a party we still would have had to do all this work right?” I asked. “This way, we are doing sewa, and this sewa will come in use to us in the future, it will be part of our lakha.” I could see Bhauld looking a little puzzled. Juggy always looked puzzled.

“Think about it. All this work is for the sangat right?” they nodded “and who resides in the sangat, Guru Nanak Guru Gobind Singh Ji” some eyes lit up. “So, the sewa we are doing is the sewa of our Guru, what could be better then that?” almost everyone’s eyes lit up at the revelation.
“That’s a little deep for you, Sarwan” asked Laddi.
“Sewa we do here will be written down and will give us great dividends in the future” I was on a roll. “The more sewa we do, the more our sins will be washed and the more closer we will become to Guru Ji.”
Juggy’s eyes now lit up, a full two minutes after everyone else’s.

The bhog was set for 10.00am so that all the sangat could arrive in plenty of time. We all sat in darbar sahib listening to the slokes, and the raagmala. After Sri Anand Sahib it was my favourite, arti in raag dhinasari, which was sung by the kirtanees. Did you know that the arti starts off with Guru Nanak Dev Ji’s arti shabad followed by the arti shabads of various bhagats. Bhagat Dhunna Ji had said that he wanted to compose an artaa instead, which is why in his shabad he writes “Gopal taira artaa….” The devaan bhog was followed by the langar and we did sewa all the way through. We even got a pat from the gyiani. The new arrival was duly named Sukhbir Kaur, much to everyone’s relief and she was handed around to all who wanted to give her lots of cuddles.

We arrived home, Pritam Kaur carrying a number of bags with plastic cartons. Some contained Aloo Paneer, some maha di daal, some Khutta, chawal and my favourite, kheer. We were both tired, Pritam Kaur had worked tirelessly in the kitchen bailing the roties and later on washing the thallies and sweeping up. I walked into the lounge and looked at my armchair. I remembered what that nasty old lady had done to my grooves. “Pritam-Kauray” I shouted into the kitchen “put some coffee on” I sat into my chair wiggling my backside trying to reform the grooves “this .... may.... take .... a .... little .... while.”