The Color of My Heart

StartFragment

I have always been curious why within a community there is such a divide, when we all believe in the same thing. There is such judgement passed on someone who has made a different choice, the point people don’t realize is that it was a choice. We do have that freedom, you know? When others pass that judgement, they are not taking into consideration that they too had a choice they made. For example, there is a split between people who are baptized and those who are not, who have long uncut hair and cut hair (in the Sikh tradition), the traditional versus non- traditional, those born here against those born in their home country. In the end, what does it all matter? We’re all made out of fragments of burned out stardust, possibly the same star!

I have been married to my husband for 11 years now, and he wears a turban. He has never cut the hair on his head nor has he ever shaved his facial hair. Whenever we are together people always compliment him on the fact that he has remained so close to his religion just by his appearance. In the beginning I used to think, “is that what makes him more important than myself?” I would take offense to it, but I quickly realized that this was someone who was not looking at what a person is on the inside, but rather just their appearance. Most often the people complimenting him are those who were baptized in the Sikh religion. My overall look just didn't fit the mold. Whatever these people were thinking, while they were complimenting my husband, I remembered feeling invisible. I felt I didn't even matter. Does one’s physical appearance determine what is in the heart? I personally am more interested in how the person is from the inside. Physical appearance is something that is very superficial, the soul is what really counts and that holds value.

When I was in high school there were two young Sikh ladies who were baptized. Their heads were always covered with turbans and often times they would wear traditional clothes to school. I, on the other hand, was a tomboy. Because I was tall, I often wore my dad’s khaki pants and baggy shirts. I remember feeling like an outsider, hearing giggles and whispers when I would walk away from them. They were always polite to me, but I felt I did not belong because my appearance would not be accepted.

My children, husband and I went to volunteer with our temple to deliver blankets, where starter kits are prepared for people who are finally in a home after being homeless. The woman running the program was very appreciative of the donation and wanted to show us what she does. She took us all into another room and shared that she also creates toiletries kits alongside full bedding kits. My husband spoke up and told her that there was a young teen who made same toiletries kits as well, and that they might be able to collaborate. The exchange went well, we stayed back for a few minutes to get her contact information and walked out to the parking lot. The man who is in charge of organizing volunteers from our temple was standing outside and chatting with a few others. We stopped to say our goodbyes and my husband began to talk about the young teen who was doing such a great thing for those in need. The man listened for a couple of minutes and then asked, “is she Sikh?” Initially, I was in a bit of shock to hear those words from someone so involved in our faith. Should we really refuse help from others because of the color of their God? Ironically the Sikh faith does not believe there are many gods. We believe that god is one and we have just different names. Why was it then that this man needed to know this information above all else?

As a child, people would ask me where I am from and I would say Richmond (California). That is where I grew up from age of 8 all the way through 26. Richmond seemed to not be the answer others were looking for. Clearly because of my brown skin, I cannot be from anywhere that is called America. The funny thing is that immigrants from India often have the same reaction. When they ask me, “where are you from my child?” I usually say Oakland, because technically I was born there, so that is where I am from. Till this day people tend to look very confused when I say that, generally followed by, but you speak our mother tongue so well! Hearing the comments about how I speak so well, never ceases to amaze me. There are so many layers to this, but the essence is that when I go to India, I am the “American,” and when I am here I am not American. On my first visit to India, my cousins poked fun at the way I pronounced Punjabi words. Why did they do that? They would mock the poor little American cousin, who shouldn’t know how to speak Punjabi. Hell, I spoke Punjabi better than them! It must have been their jealousy showing!

When someone is judged by their outer appearance, their true inner being will never be appreciated by the person doing the judging. Whether we decide to wear traditional clothes, wear our hair long, speak our ancestral language or the opposite, it should not determine what is truly in our hearts. We have all been given our own gifts, which we brought into this world and they should be honored. If the teenager is doing good in the world, her positive contribution is what should be focused on, not which name she uses to talk to God!

BOOM! SORTED!

EndFragment