I was walking down the road humming Gareth Gates’s latest hit, heading towards the shops on The Broadway when a black cat ran out and headed for the other side of the road, no doubt being chased out of the garden by some superstitious fool. “Damn” I thought, although being a Sikh we do not believe in any of this rubbish but a black cat crossing your path cannot be taken lightly. I looked around, it was no good turning back, I would have to walk all the way back up the street and turn down the next one, and what is to say that I wouldn’t encounter the ‘kali billy’ again? I started a low “waheguru waheguru waheguru” until I crossed the path of the cat, “phew” I thought that was close!

I turned left at the end of the street and headed towards the sound and smells of Broadway. I spotted John, “Alright geezer?” I shouted. “Kiddha Yaar?” came the reply, even the gorray look and sound like Indians round here. I fixed my gaze to the floor as I passed Gurdeeps house, I owed him £10 so I was avoiding him. Although I was aware that I would have to give him the £10 in this life or have to come back again to settle my account in the next, I just wasn’t ready to part with a tenner right now. I saw the curtains move from the corner of my eye and I quickened by pace, but I was too late, the door opened and out popped Gurdeeps mum.
“Ah Auntie Ji” I said rather relieved.
“Putt, aajaa” she waved.
“Nai nai aunty hun nuhee” I pleaded.
“Dhudd-soda pee ja” she said.
No, not the dreaded dhudd-soda, I thought. I hastened my pace further “phare see” I said “maybe next time.”

The thought of Dhudd-soda made me shiver. Was it a strictly Indian invention or was this common in other cultures as well, I thought. Adding Coca Cola to milk and drinking this strange concoction was something I could never understand. I shuddered and pushed it out of my mind and reached Broadway.

I was greeted with a throng of people milling up and down both sides of the road. Shoppers congregated around the mass of Indian shops that overspilled onto the pavements with fruit and veg and trinkets and odds and ends. As I walked through the oncoming people deftly weaving my way through all the aunties with their carrier bags filled with the weeks alloo, ghunday and obligatory sabzzies. I realised I was nearing the Gurdwara, and as I passed its front steps and paved area various groups of Singhs could be seen deep in discussion with hand gestures and arm waving. I did a quick nimaskaar, mentally putting my head at the feet of my Guru, I looked over to survey the scene and saw a particularly large group, they all seemed to be listening and nodding in agreement to an elderly gentleman with a flowing beard. “Oh no” I thought “ the New Age Sikhs are in force today.” I put my head down and quickened my steps trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, but alas someone must have seen me and shouted out “Oi kiddha?” I waved and gave a weak smile and tried to walk on by but I was summoned over.

Now don’t get me wrong I have nothing against these Singhs because from what I can see their hearts are in the right place but it’s a shame that they have to analyse everything to the nth degree and most deplorably of all, they use their ‘matt’ as opposed to the Guru’s. I recognised the elderly bloke, he was some giani bigshot from abroad, from the far east I think, somewhere like Singapore, Indonesia or suchlike and he was big on his ideas about Sikhism and Lord have mercy on anyone who got in his way. Giani Karnail Singh stood on the top step in front the Gurdwara and was in full swing as I got close, towering over everybody he flashed a glance at me but carried on with his speech, he seemed to be in full swing. I felt uncomfortable in the presence of such eminent Gursikhs most with flowing beards, many in traditional dark blue tunics called baana. You see their views on Sikhism and mine differ greatly and their interpretation of Gurbani and the way I understand it again differ greatly. This obviously leads to our paths to cross and confrontation and arguments ensue, since their brand seems to be on the rise I normally try to avoid these people who take great pride in belittling people like me.

Sure enough Giani Ji was in full flow, I shuffled a bit where I stood gazing down at the ground. “These sakhis that people believe in so much they are all manmat” he shouted “You hear of Guru Sahib Ji doing this karamaat or that karamaat, these are all false made up stories.” People nodded in agreement
“Giani Ji dusso, dusso” they egged him on.
“There is a sakhi where Guru Hargobind Sahib Ji apparently wrote a number one on a piece of paper and the horse upon whom Guru Ji was sat shifted and the one turned into a number seven and a childless Mata had seven sons instead of one” he said with disdain. It seemed to make perfect sense to me for the Guru was Perfect, and so could do whatever he wanted, but the gursikhs stood around me made plenty of disapproving noises. I tried to bite my tongue but it was difficult, this idiot was spreading false information about our Gurus and any young or impressionable people are going to take this drivel on board.
“You see Guru Ji didn’t work like this.” he continued “Take Dusht Daman, complete myth. And so many people trekking all the way up the mountains what for? Why not just visit your local Gurdwara? We Sikhs do not believe in Tirath yatra.“
My temperature was beginning to rise.
I gritted my teeth “Why not stay at home?” I said in determination but it only came out as a feeble voice.
He looked over “Kia kehunda tuu?” he enquired “What are you saying?”
“Why not just stay at home then” I mustered courage “The jyote of AkalPurkh is within us all, why even go to your local Gurdwara?”
This threw him a little, I don’t think many people confronted him very often, but he was well rehearsed. “No putt, you have to go to Gurdwara, where else are you going to experience the sangat and listen to Gurbani” he said.
“I have been to yatra and….”
“Tirath yatra is pointless, it has no place in Sikhi, it is Brahamin baadh.” He interrupted.
“I have been on yatra” I repeated a little more assertively “because of my love for my Guru and I want to feel and experience the vibes of the places where he performed His tapasia"

Many were shaking their heads “No no Yaar, this is Brahmin baadh” they said in low voices.
“Just think of it, you go to Anandpur Sahib where Guru Sahib Ji actually lived for many years, I would rub my nose in the dust a thousand times where my Gurus charan may have touched the ground.” But all around I was getting blank looks with furrowed brows, I was fighting a loosing battle.

Giani seemed to look at me with contempt, “This is Brahmin ki reet” he said “just like pictures of the Gurus.”
I was taken back a little “What’s wrong with pictures of our Gurus?” I blurted without thinking.
“What’s wrong? It is idol worship” he said shaking his head “people revere them, and bow to them, and worship them, anyway do you know what they really looked like?”
“No, but….”
“Well there you go then, how can you have a picture of Guru Ji if no one knows what they looked like and what’s with all this bowing to them?” he stated triumphantly, people smiled, I seemed to sense their pity for me, “Poor little misguided Singh,” they were thinking “he is truck in backward ideas, following Brahmin like rituals, it is people like him that are ruining Sikhism” It made my blood boil.
I took a chance, “Giani Ji, do you have your wallet on you?” He looked puzzled.
“Your wallet” I said louder “do you have it with you?” finally he nodded and took out a brown leather wallet.
“Can you open it?“ I asked not knowing whether he would comply or what I was going to do next. Luckily he complied. To my relief there was a picture stuffed into the side of it, I presumed it was his wife. “Before you throw out pictures of the Guru’s why don’t you throw that out first?” I asked him. He still looked puzzled and those around him seemed a little irritated. I explained “Is that not a form of worship? You look at your wife every time you open your wallet and gaze at her, is this not one form of worship? Before you throw out pictures of the Gurus get rid of that first” before he could answer back I continued “When I look at a picture of Guru Sahib Ji, even though I know it is not a true likeness it still reminds me of my Guru and I may bow to it, not to the picture but to Guru Sahib Ji. We all have the true jyote of AkalPurkh within us, some of us, like Sant Mahapursh this jyote becomes ‘pargat’ and if you mutha-take the Mahapursh you are actually mutha-taking the jyote that has manifest itself within him due to his tapasia which may have been performed over many life times. Do not make the mistake of looking at a young Mahapursh and calling him a ‘ladl just because of his age, look behind him at his tapasia that way maybe of many liftimes.” I had gone off at a tangent but things had to be said, most of which went over the heads of the Singhs stood there, ”Anyway what do you get out of staring at that picture in your wallet five times a day?” It was time to make a hasty retreat I thought.

“What are you taking about worshipping my wife, what are you talking about, I don’t worship my wife” he kept repeating deliberately missing the point, which was quite a nice one I thought. Alas, he gave me an evil look and carried on regardless. “These sants are the people who are turning Sikhs away from their Guru and towards their derras.” I was now seeing red. “They are just in it for the money, they come over here to make money, make a CD and do not help anyone.” This seemed to get the greatest approval from the throng.

“This is kalyug, this is kalyug” I kept repeating in my head. “This is what is going to happen in kalyug, and I can see it starting all around me right now. Men of God, men you have spent their lives drenched in the Name of God are being ridiculed and vilified. These Sants, beloved of the Lord who turn people to God without any regard for themselves, who will use their own ‘kumai’ to help those who come to them with tales of woe, they are the ones that are now being turned into the outcasts by the very people who regard themselves as being the true Sikhs of Guru Gobind Singh Ji.

Guru Nanak Dev Ji writes in Shri Raag “O Siblings of Destiny, become the dust of the feet of the humble Saints.
In the Society of the Saints, the Guru is found. He is the Treasure of Liberation, the Source of all good fortune.” Guru Arjun Dev Ji writes also in Shri Raag “Become the dust of the Saints; renounce your selfishness and conceit.
Give up all your schemes and your clever mental tricks, and fall at the Feet of the Guru.”

Sants are the beloved of the Guru. Guru Gobind Singh Ji himself has written “I have come down to this world and I am here to uphold Dharama . I will root out the evil doers, the tormentors, holy people understand this. I am here to propagate Dharama and look after the holy sadhus.” These are the same Sants that so called modern Gursikhs spew such bile and poison at these days.”
I mustered courage “They earn money like you and me to feed their families what is wrong with that?”
“No no no, they just ply it all onto their deras.”
“The deras belong to the sangat, what is wrong with that?” I asked.
“They mislead people, they make people worship them, rather then our Guru?” he continued in his well rehearsed arguments.
“The Sants I have met all urge people to take Amrit and become “Guru-walley” what is misleading about this?” I asked.
“No, they make gullible people like you follow them rather then Guru Granth Sahib Ji , who is our true Guru”
“I agree, Guru Granth Sahib Ji is our true Guru and this is what the Sants say, they lead you to the Guru.”
“No, no, they interpret Gurbani how they want to, why not go to the source the look for yourself?”
“Who amongst us is so deeply knowledgeable enough to understand Gurbani” I countered “ask a Mahapursh and he will explain one line, just one line of Gurbani for two hours, that is how deeply they are in touch with Gurbani.”
“They lead you to the wrong path” he insisted.
“They lead you to the right path” I insisted “Bhagat Kabir Ji says “kabeer saevaa ko dhue bhalae eaek sa(n)th eik raam. Raam j dhaathaa mukath ko sa(n)th japaavai naam “ Kabir Ji is saying that it is good to do service of the two, the Sant and God. For God brings liberation (from transmigration) and it is the duty of the Sant to encourage people to recite and remember his Name.”
He came out with some lame argument, something about the word ‘Sant’ always meaning God which didn’t make sense in the quote I had just given. I was banging my head against a brick wall. His abuse of the young Sant who had visited the gurdwara recently started and I knew it was time to leave. We Sikhs will criticise to the nth degree someone who is propagating Sikhism and bringing in many people into the fold, on the other hand we will sit on our backsides and spew out hateful abuse through message forums on websites and feel so good about ourselves. I left the Giani ranting on the steps and turned to walk away. As I turned away I heard a rumble and as I looked around the Giani must have lost his footing on the steps and I saw him crumble and disappear in the crowd. Although I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t help a little chuckle to myself. “God works in mysterious ways” I thought.

I hastily made my way away from the Singhs who were now busy massaging Giani Ji’s legs, I neared my destination, Mina’s Emporium. I pushed the door and walked in, rolls upon rolls of colourful material lined each side of the shop. A dhoof or joss stick was busy making swirling pattens with the heavy aroma of incense in the corner, above which hung the obligatory picture of Ghanesh. There were various ladies standing around, I tried to catch the eye of the Auntie who owns the shop but she was in deep conversation with her customers.
“How much is this one?” asked an elderly lady
“Let me show you” Aunty replied pulling the roll off the shelf and unravelling it in front of her.
“Berra chunga kappra” the elderly lady said “kitnay daaa hey?” how much is it?
“Take it Bhenji, take it, it will make a nice suit “ Aunty insisted although the garish colour was totally inappropriate for the old lady. “Salesperson in full swing” I thought, “she couldn’t pull a fast one me.”
“Ha Ji, Ha Ji, very sundar kaprra, kirnay daa hey?” she asked again.
“Don’t worry Bhenji, just take it, we will work something out” Aunty skirted the issue again.
“Why doesn’t she just tell her the price, for God sake” I wondered, the old lady lingered a little and then toddled off. “Missed sale” I thought, “all because you wouldn’t tell the bloomin’ price, not a good salesperson” I moved closer.
“Aunty, I need a ramala, what about this one?” I pointed to a roll of shimmering red.
“Ah, no that is for suits only” she said without even looking at me, I was taken aback a little.
“But I only need two yards” I said.
“No no, if I give you two yards then I will have kaprra left over on the roll at the end”
I was a little perplexed; why wasn’t she selling me some kappra that I needed?
“I don’t understand?”
“Look, I can cut certain number of suits from this roll, if you take two yards then at the end of the roll I will not have enough for a suit, then what do I do with it ?” she explained.
“Hmmm” I thought.
“How many yards is a suit?” I asked.
“A suit is six yards” she replied
“And all suits are six yards?” I explored.
“Yes” she seemed a little irritated.
I gestured over to a rather large plump lady at the other end of the shop, “If Aunty over there wanted this kappra could she make a suit is six?”
“Err no, she would need a little more”
“Maybe eight?” I offered.
“Hmm yes, maybe” she had fallen into the trap.
“So if she buys eight yards has that not eaten into the next suit and will you not have some kappra left over?” I said triumphantly. I just got a blank look back.

I felt rather pleased with myself as I walked out of the shop with my ramala from the shimmering red roll under my arm. Somehow she had managed to sell me some bangles a steel jug and a brass Shiv-ling as well, not quite sure how that happened but there you go!

As I opened the front door the aroma of something nice and spicy wafted up my nostrils, it was rather comforting. Pritam Kaur peered her head from round the corner and her brow furrowed immediately. “You been to Mina’s again?” How did she guess, that’s what I want to know. “Err yes” I said as I walked into the kitchen arms laden with goods.
“What has she sold you this time” she said as she took the things off my arm and started taking them out of the bags. “Bangles?” she said “didn’t know you wore them?”
“Ahh there for you“ I said without any conviction.
“Yeh right” came the reply “and a steel jug what’s that for?”
“Well we always need jugs” I was struggling, I was dreading the next bit though.
There was silence for a moment as she tried to take it all in, then “And what in God’s name is this?” Pritam Kaur said as she stepped back in amazement and confusion.
“Not sure really” I said rather sheepishly as the rahter large brass object was placed on the table.
I could still hear the laughter as I bid a hasty retreat to the living room and settled down in my armchair.
“Ho hum” I thought “Mina, you got me!”