Can you tell me how to become a Sikh?

Sangat ji

Here is a question that is so perfect in its simplicity. It was asked just today by a new member of Sikh Philosophy Network.

[quote] can u tell me wat all i am supposed to do to become a sikhni? [quote]

My neech tells me that the question springs from a sincere desire to become a Sikh. Yet as simple as the question is, the answers will be very different because each of us has a personal story.

Reference:: Sikh Philosophy Network http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/new-to-sikhism/30539-can-you-tell-how-become-sikh.html
Reference:: Sikh Philosophy Network http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/showthread.php?t=30539
Our new member is asking how to become a female Sikh, a kaur. But let's broaden it a bit. We want to hear from both the Singhs and the Kaurs.

We may be trying to reach the same goal or destination on our journey. But we are going their in very unique ways.

Please tell your story to help our budding Sighni? Thank you ever so much. Make this a very personal and even intimate story so she can find her own way with you as a guide.

Narayanjot Kaur

 
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__________________

I come from a rather unusual family. My father was a Punjabi Sikh and my mother a French Canadian Roman Catholic. I think most of my friends here don't know that I started life as a Roman Catholic, well, sort of. It's all a bit confusing. And it all ends well.

My personal story from my old personal blog, sometimes - 2:



(Note My aunt's name is not Jeanne and the priest 's name was not Leblanc.)


All this happened about 43 years ago, so the conversations are slightly fictionalised. I do not really remember most of them them verbatim. But the meanings are exactly what occurred.


I believe I have mentioned that Dad had promised my mother, who was Catholic, to raise me as a Catholic. He didn't like that at all, but being a man of his word, he kept his promise to her, or rather, he tried to keep his promise to her. No one had consulted me on the matter.


So let's travel back in time of my birth. Mom insisted that I be properly baptised in the church with all the trimmings. Not one of the Sikhs, including Dad and my brothers was there. I was dressed in a very long silk gown that completely engulfed the tiny baby. That dress was kept for a number of years and it was a good meter long. (What became of it I'll tell later.) It was white with elaborate embroidery all over it. Quite a work of art actually. But it did have a stain on it. I, being me, objected to the whole proceedings in the only way a small baby could: I kicked and screamed and threw up all over it. It is said that newborn babies are very close to God and have definite ideas about him/her. I have no recollection, of course, but I was on my worst behaviour, I have been told, kicking and screaming and, as I said, throwing up. My maternal aunt and uncle became my godparents, charged with the duty to make sure that I was brought up and educated as a proper Catholic girl. A Christian name being a necessity, I was named after an ancestor of mine on the French side, Helene-Therese, who, from what I know about her, would have made a fine Khalsa. In fact I used her war dagger in combat. The name was the only good thing about the whole ritual.


My aunt, Jeanne, took me to mass every Sunday for years, and saw to it that I was enrolled in Catechism class, which I had to attend after school.


I hated every minute of it. I begged Daddy to please, please, please put an end to all this; mom had run off and there was no reason to continue. But he was a man of his word, and this forced religious life went on and on. I even hated the smell of the church. It wreaked of cheap incense and old spilled wine. Most of all, I hated the priest, Father Leblanc. He was short and fat and smelled of cigarettes and alcohol. These were the days before Pope John 23 liberalised the church, and the people were taught that the priests were all wise and almost infallible; they were not to be questioned.


This torture went on for years, but when it came time for 'The Sacrament of Confirmation,' I knew I had to put an end to it. No way was I able to stand up and publicly declare that 'I believe in the holy Catholic church.' I knew that if I went to the ceremony, I would have to simply refuse, which might make a point, but would also make a scandal, which I, being a very private person even then, really wanted to avoid. Gradually an idea came to me: If I could get kicked out of the church before all that, the problem would be solved. It would alienate my mother's family, of course, but I had always considered them low-lifes with no standards and would be happy to be rid of them.


So I prepared my plan of attack. One day in confirmation class, I looked at my kara, which was the only Sikh object I was allowed (I'm sure none of the Catholics realised it was more than a piece of cheap jewelry), took a very deep breath, and raised my hand. This greatly surprised Fr. Leblanc because I always just sat there, stony-faced.


He smiled his slimy smile at me. 'Yes, child. Do you have a question??'


I nodded.


'I'll be happy to answer it, my child.'


(I'm not your child, thank God!) 'God is our heavenly father who loves us so much that he sent his son, who is also God, to be tortured to death and then brought back to life, so we wouldn't go to hell, and then he sent the Holy Ghost, who is also God to be our helper, so it seems like there are three Gods, but there is only one. I don't understand?'


I was just beginning. I had rehearsed all this many times before and he had to think I was sincere.


He did.


'That's the mystery of the Holy Trinity, child. It is beyond human understanding.'


'And if we don't believe in it, our loving heavenly father will send us to hell to be tortured in fiery torment forever and ever.'


He was beginning to see where I was headed. 'You mustn't question God, child.' He was becoming annoyed.


I continued in this vein for some time, ripping Catholicism up one dogma and down another.


The good priest just stood there, mouth open, aghast at my words.


'I don't question God. But what you worship and call God is not God; you worship an evil demonic thing and I would rather be tortured for a thousand forevers than to worship that hideous evil THING for even one second!'


Priests in those days were not used to being challenged by anyone, especially not by 12 year old girls in confirmation class. Did you know that people really can turn purple? He was beyond anger, nearly insane, I thought his eyes might pop out of his head. He pointed a chubby little finger at me. 'Blasphemer! Heretic! Spawn of Satan!'


Daddy as the devil? What an interesting idea.


(I think he actually used those terms, but I can't be sure; it was over 40 years ago.)


'Get out!'


' GET OUT AND DON'T EVER COME BACK!!'


Mission accomplished.


Usually one of my brothers would pick me up, but since they wouldn't be there for some time, I took the bus home.


When I walked in Dad realised I was early. 'You didn't skip that church class today, did you?'


'No, not at all.'


He heard some expression in my voice. 'What are you up to?


'I told him the whole story, punctuated by an occasional 'You said WHAT?'


When I was done and he was trying to keep a straight face, he muttered something under his breath about Guru Gobind Singh Ji and reached out and touched my kara. 'That was the only compromise your mother would make with me about you and religion.'


'I have never understood why it was important to her what religion I was; she never cared about me.'


He promised he'd talk about that when I got older, which he did, with much difficulty. But that story belongs somewhere else.


'Well, I guess I need to talk to that priest. Let me go get dressed.'
When he came back, he was in full bana, his best Punjabi gear complete with a red turban and a full-length, metre-long kirpan. I could just see him there, calm, rational, self-composed, a bit unconsciously menacing with Fr. Leblanc ready to have a heart attack-nervous breakdown.


When he came back, he informed me that Fr. Leblanc was extremely serious about my not returning. And that the good father had called both of us some names of which neither of us was sure the meaning, but they weren't meant as compliments. I did explain to him that he, never having been baptised was merely an infidel, but I was a heretic; he would be hung or something, while I was supposed to be burned alive. But this was the twentieth century, not the fifteenth, so the worst that would happen is that my French-Canadian relatives would disown me.


He almost skipped away and came back with a smallish box, which he handed to me. 'I have always prayed that one day I'd be able to give this to you.' I opened it and gasped.


Inside was a kara, a kirpan, a kanga, a pair of kechera and a red silk chunni.'You can use any or all or none; it's totally up to you.'


It's totally up to you. It's totally up to me. It's totally up to me. It's totally up to me. Suddenly, it sunk in that I was free, I didn't have to pretend or go along any more. In one very real sense, this was the beginning of my life.


I went to my apartment and built a fire in the fireplace. Then I took a long, long shower and washed my hair. My kesh. I could finally call it my kesh. I called Surinder, Al's wife to help me get dressed.


I took down the crucifix that my aunt had insisted I had to have by my bed and thew it into the fire. Remember my christening dress? That was next. There were a few other things, but those were the most important.


At Dad's insistence, the whole family (whoever happened to be in residence) always ate dinner together. When I appeared, not as a Canadian preteen, but as a young Punjabi lady, everyone was surprised. Before we ate, Dad made a little speech.


'All of you know that I promised our Princess' mother that I would raise her as a Christian. Before today, I didn't realise what an injustice I had done to my daughter. I was wrong to force her into a way of life that neither of us wanted or could believe in. I've been a regular Mughal. I should have broken that promise a long time ago and accepted whatever consequences there would have been. I shouldn't have waited for her to stand up to a ridiculous little priest. I was wrong. Mai, Princess, can you forgive me?'


That is very close to what he actually said. It was a moment that is indelibly burned into my memory.


I couldn't believe what he was saying or how serious he was. But I did appreciate that he realised he had been wrong and had said so.


I matched his solemnity. 'Of course.'


I paused. 'Am I a Sikh now?'


'You're the only one who can answer that. You know enough to make that choice. Do you believe in Christianity?'
Reference:: Sikh Philosophy Network http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/showthread.php?t=30539


'No, not even a little bit. Of course, I'm a Sikh, I always have been inside. Now I can be outside, too.'


'We do need to teach you a thing or two about religious tolerance, though.' He giggled.


Dad reached under a napkin. 'You might want this.' He handed me a small silk envelope with a key on a chain inside. I knew at once what it was. The key to Guru ji's sitting room. With people in and out constantly and kids all over the place, that door was kept locked, but each family member wore a key on a chain. Now I had mine, as well.


That pretty much tells that story। Everything that happened afterward was a result of this day.

Photo by Karamjeet Singh
Used with permission

I continue, now with the story of a lady named Mary, who wanted to be a Sikh. Her story is funny, tragic and very human. This combines two posts in Sometimes - 2 , Mary, and The Day Mary Became A Sikh.


A few months ago, some Jehovah's Witness ladies came to our door. I know most people don't like having the JW's come bother them, but I have always found them fascinating. They have such a deep, unquestioning belief and a total dedication to what they are doing that I can't help but have some respect for them. So I invited them in. When I told them that I am Sikh, they were ready. I would expect that since there are many Sikh families in this neighbourhood. They showed me an article about some Sikh guy who became a JW, and so his family was spared in the 84 'riots.' They also had 'before and after' pictures of this guy. It caused some pain in my heart to see the handsome, dignified Singh transformed into a very ordinary-looking Indian man. But I didn't say that. We chatted for a while, I turned down their offer of a free in-home Bible study, they left their magazines and then went on to the next house. And that was that.

Or so I thought.

A few days ago a knock came on our door. I answered it it to find one of the ladies standing there, looking very nervous. I invited her in, surprised at her obvious discomfort since they always seem so calm and sure of themselves. She started,'I'm sure you don't remember me, but'

I rudely interrupted her,'I remember you very well, you're one of the Jehovah's Witness ladies.'

Looking distressed, she breathed deeply. 'You're Sikh, right?'

'Yes.'

'What do I have to do to become Sikh?'

After picking myself up off the floor, having fainted, all I could get out was, 'Huh?'
Reference:: Sikh Philosophy Network http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/showthread.php?t=30539

'I've tried all my life to believe this that I've been taught, but I can't. It's just a bunch of garbage!'

Even I know enough about the JW's to know that this was totally unacceptable and she was really risking a great deal. They aren't even allowed to have friends from outside the fold, much less walk into an unbeliever's home spouting 'blaspheme.' But I could see that she was dead serious.'Do you know what you're doing?' I just had to ask.

Her voice became very firm and determined. 'I know exactly what I'm doing,' looking straight into my eyes.

Perhaps it is an unacknowledged British part of me, but I believe that most of the problems of the world can be solved over a cup of tea, decaffeinated, of course. So I made a pot and she told me her story.

She was raised a JW and had always been expected to follow that path. For all her life, she had done as she was told, getting baptised at the proper time, the door-to-door ministry, marrying a brother, being submissive to him , the whole thing. She said that she had been trying to believe all this and acting the role of the perfect JW for years and years and she just couldn't do it any more. For the past year, she had been sneaking off to the library, studying books and using the computers there to try to find something she could believe in. She had been impressed by the Sikh people she had met on her rounds, so she had been studying a lot of Sikhism.

'It's what I've believed in all along, but I didn't have a name for. I just don't know what I have to do to join.'
-
'Won't your family disown you?'

'I've already sent a letter to the elders at the Kingdom Hall, so my family looks on it as I've disowned them. I've disfellowshipped myself, so none of the brothers or sisters will talk to me or even act like they see me. It has been publicly announced. So even if they don't let me be a Sikh, I'm not a Jehovah's Witness any more.'

I didn't realise they practised shunning. 'What about your husband?' I stopped a moment. 'Children?'

'He hates me. Luckily, we don't have any kids.'

I have a practical streak in me. 'Are you staying with him still?'

'No, I've been staying at a hotel, but I need to find an apartment.'

A sudden thought came to me. 'Which hotel?'

She told me, and I laughed out loud. 'Do you know that a Mr. Singh own that motel?'

She didn't and kind of grinned at me. 'But he's not, uh, turbanised? I haven't seen anyone with a turban working there.'

Even so, she doesn't need a cold motel room at this time, which is so difficult for her. I offered her a place to stay until she finds a permanent apartment. Now we have two house-guests, Suni and Mary. We talked for several hours, and that doesn't need to all be recorded here.

She has a job where she makes enough to live on, thank God! But with no credit history, it may take her a while to find a place.

I have encouraged her to go to forums at several different Sikh websites and ask questions there. She is a little shy about that, but I have pointed out some questions others have asked and assured her that, as long as she's polite, no one is going to give her a bad time. 'But I'll sound so ignorant!'

'That's OK. You ARE ignorant about these things. And the cure for ignorance is knowledge.' ...

A couple of days later, she and Maman, my beloved mother-in-law from my first marriage, went for walk. A long, long walk, lasting several hours. When they returned hours later, Maman had transformed Mary into a Punjabi, or at least she looked like one. She was wearing a really beautiful purple and saffron salwar kameez, with a purple chunni that perfectly set off her pale complexion and blonde hair, which was now in a neat bun. And a kara. And a kirpan. And a kangha. And she had stopped cutting her hair and shaving some months before, so that would, I think, qualify as kesh. The kechera I'm not sure about, but knowing Maman, they were there, too. And Maman announced to Suni and me that we have a new sister.


So Maman was convinced not only of her sincerity, but also of her knowledge.


Obviously, a great deal had transpired during that walk. Maman decided that Mary needed to stay with her. So the two of them gathered Mary's things from our house and we saw neither of them for several days.


Then Maman called us all to get dressed and come to her. When we got there, she told us all to get in the car, that we needed to go to the gurdwara. So we got dressed and went. Here is something really strange to me: for all her studying, Mary had never been inside one before.
Reference:: Sikh Philosophy Network http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/showthread.php?t=30539


The granthi was expecting us and gave us all the grand tour. Other than the five of us , the building was empty. I stand corrected; there were six of us. And Mary was most impatient to greet that sixth 'person.'


I had wondered if she would be able to bow properly to Guruji. But doesn't she do everything perfectly? She did and when she stood up, she looked like a different person. It was as if all the tension and stress in her had melted away. She looked ten years younger. I, too, have experienced that moment of freedom when the past simply lost its meaning and a new life began.


For me to bow to properly matha tek is difficult since the left side of my body is paralysed. Luckily, my martial arts training taught me how to fall. It's not very graceful,but I do manage it. Getting back up is another story। I do need help for that. (How hard is that to admit.)


We all sat in silence for a time, which is my personal favourite thing to do in a gurdwara. After a time, Mary got up and approached the Guru and asked the granthi if they could take a hukam. Of course, he complied.


The results were warm and welcoming. We all stood there for a few moments and then Mary spoke quietly.


'Now what do I have to do to become a Sikh?'


I think we were all surprised at her question, but Maman answered, 'Dear, you've studied the Reht Maryada. Do you believe in Waheguru and the ten Gurus and the one in front of you? And the amrit? And we know you're not a follower of any other religion.'


'Of course, that's why I'm here. But isn't there some ceremony or something? Doesn't it need to be officially written down or something?'


'No, not really. I think it's more something to acknowledge and try to live. And you're already doing that.'


Suni chimed in, 'That's what the SRM says, but most of the Sangat won't really consider you a Sikh until you take Amrit.'


She continued, 'In any case, you do need to be introduced around, so people can know who you are and get used to seeing you. They'll be curious, of course, but they should be very friendly, I think.'


We all went together on Sunday. We are a strange-looking family, four women, four colours from Suni - the darkest - to Mary - the lightest, with Maman and me in between. Maman and Suni are both tall and slender, while I'm short and fat. Mary is in between. Maman, Suni and I had gone to a Kingdom Hall one Sunday to see what it was all about, and we warned Mary that the gurdwara was going to be a bit noisier and less decorous and a whole lot livelier. It was. People seemingly randomly wandering in and out, children running around, the kirtan definitely livelier than anything she was used to. Everyone wanted to meet her, of course, I thought the prashad was especially sweet that day.


Then the langar, also her first. I love the Indian foods with all the ingredients and complex spices. But I even more love the simple fare at this particular gurdwara. You can almost taste the love in every bite, not disguised or hidden by a lot of seasonings. Everything is always very fresh and the vegetables aren't overcooked, as Indian vegetables tend to be. And the company is warm and friendly. I know I'm being a bit Pollyana-ish, but it was that kind of experience. We could just set the world aside for a while and enjoy the magic of the moment.


On the way home, I finally got up the nerve to ask her, 'What exactly was it that made you have to leave everything you'd ever known to join what really is a very wonderful, but strange group?' I knew it wasn't the dogmas that had driven me out of the church, as Jehovah's Witnesses believe in neither trinity nor hell.


'He's so angry!! Jehovah God is just filled to overflowing with anger that we didn't turn out like what he wanted. I couldn't imagine that the true God would be given to temper tantrums. That was the first.


'And then I was supposed to be happy as a submissive wife through all eternity on a perfect earth. Neither the male chauvinism nor being stuck in one place, however perfect, forever made any sense to me. I know enough to know that Sikh men tend to be male supremacists, but as long as it's against the religion, there's hope and I can accept that.' She giggled. 'And they're awfully handsome.' (Note: The JW's forbid both long hair and beards on men.)


I tried to get Mary to write this post. Reading it, I can see it lacks the passion that she could convey. But she is too shy about her writing to let the public read it, so until she is more confident of her own writing skills, this is what you're left with.


Since writing that back in April, 2007, much has happened. Mary is now a Khalsa living with Maman in Amritsar. She has returned to this country (USA) only once, to finalise her divorce. Unfortunately, neither she nor Maman come online much, but we exchange snail mail and the occasional phone call.

Waheguru Ji indeed works in mysterious ways to re-connect the Soul to the previous life source!

May you always enjoy Waheguru Ji's Divine Love & Blessings and may you be the personal 'pathway' to inspire / motivate other souls to follow through your life experience!

Nobody becomes a Sikh after birth. Everyone in the world is born a Sikh. Sikh means student. Everyone does not act like a Sikh. Babies are born with curiousity to changes in their environment. They are open to learn new things. As we get older, we stop looking outside the box and formulate our own lifestyles and habit by copying others around us. We depend on the environment that stimulates our behaviour. If we study Guru Granth Sahib, then we become pure Sikhs. Get baptized in Sikhism is not what makes a person a Sikh. The amrit ceremony is the initiation into being a Sikh, it is not the majical push the plastic button instantly a Sikh formula. You can train a monkey to take the Amrit and wear a Sikh costume. Happy Halloween, but they still can steal and cheat and fight like the 5 vices controlling. There is little room for Guru gian. Monkeys chirp around, birds, too. Many people chant waheguru and they think they are pleasing Guru Ji. I can play a recording of it but that does not make the difference.

If we do not grasp Guru's instructions via Guru Granth Sahib, then acting like a Sikh in a Sikh costume is not enough. There are so many pseudo Sikh cults and fake Baba Ji Sants of Hindu origin wearing Amritdhari costumes, but the rape women and promote Brahmanism, not Sikhism. The RSS bribes them and people born of Sikh families to deceive so many Sikhs. They have made the rules of Sikhism so pathethically difficult that only stupid people want to become a Sikh or take the Amrit. Not a single one of them promotes study of Guru Granth Sahib. They also promote against the Rehat Maryada of Shromeni Committee, like many Akhanda Paath recitation in one room at the same time, akhanda paath jot, vegetarianism, moorti puja, extreme ritual cleanliness but the hearts are corrupt,no women being allow to recite akhanda paath, and teaching that women are dirty yet they give birth to the Gurus.

SSA,
Yes Harsimrat kaur ji, these all problems ( kurhits ) exists and are a big setback to sikhi. A lot is supposed to be done and this types of threads and forums will greatly help to increase the number of real ( genuine sikhs. Let's keep up our efforts.
Reference:: Sikh Philosophy Network http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/showthread.php?t=30539
Roopsidhu

All jios
To much REALNESS in these comments to warrant anything other than a group 'Bravo'!
Reference:: Sikh Philosophy Network http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/showthread.php?t=30539
Hypocracy runs deep! Narayanjot will scold me if I start to digress to far into my recent experiences.....byt being raised Roman Catholic, and taking shelter in the Buddha, has cost me dearly; due entirely to the Hypocracy of it all.
Too bad that the Sikhi, in Harsimiritkaur jis opinion, suffers from it, too; as my view of Guru Nanaks Lovely Child is very positive!
Sometimes (and this is one of them) it seems to me that Christian Zealots are making non-Christians feel ashamed of themselves for not adhereing to a beliefs that more in alignment with their own very narrow (supposedly 'orthodox') points of view; which is why I say Woman are NOT "Un-Clean"!
Reference:: Sikh Philosophy Network http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/showthread.php?t=30539
Goodness! Is this the Modern Age - or do we all still believ in some kind of 'Original Sin' is responsible for Normal, Understandable, Physiological Functions?

JimRinX, Fatehji!
Reference:: Sikh Philosophy Network http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/showthread.php?t=30539

No scolding today.. :happykaur:

Vaheguru Ji Ka Khalsa
Vaheguru Ji Ki Fateh,

Harsimrat Kaur Ji, I agree with you on your post except the Vegetarianism part.

The vegetarian part? Vegetarianism is good for the health. Too many people eat too much meat.

I am not imposing vegetarianism on people who chose to be Sikhs. I studied Raag Malaar pg 1289 and 1290. "Maas maas murkeh jhagla" People drink milk but do not eat eggs. Hindus forbid meat but allow milk because it comes from the mother cow goddess. Many so called Sikhs are imposing this custom to Sikhs that they cannot eat eggs but can drink milk. Then I guess we shouldn't eat fruit because we kill the produce or cause the plants pain. It is proven that vibrations and voice patterns, good or calming affect plant growth. Plant life is just as a vital part of the world as humans are. Sikhs respect all forms of life but refrain from Sanyasism to avoid extremisms.
Reference:: Sikh Philosophy Network http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/showthread.php?t=30539
Reference:: Sikh Philosophy Network http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/showthread.php?t=30539

Sikhs are not allowed to eat Halal, and if they have to eat meat, it should be jhatka. Everything is maas, we marry and join to maas, we are born maas, we die maas.